I admit it. I’m a collector. Oh, some people might call me a hoarder, but that’s not true. I’m highly selective in what I buy and collect, always. For the last six months, I’ve been having a reoccurring dream. In the dream, I wake up to find myself in my car parked outside a store. The name of the store is OF MEMORIES PAST. The first night that I had the dream, I woke up with a start. And I couldn’t get back to sleep. I kept obsessing about the store OF MEMORIES PAST. I try to recall if I have ever frequented such a store, but I have no memory of shopping there or even seeing a store by that name.

Monkey Rocking Chair by Bob Culver

The second time I have the dream I wake up just as I’m about to lock my car door and walk across the parking lot and toward the door of the store. The third time I have a dream I was turning the doorknob. I hear a ringing sound as I open the door I look up and see bells that are attached at the top of the door frame and jingle when the door is opened.

The last time I had the dream was two weeks ago. I walk through the door and into the store. It’s an antique store, and it holds not only antique furniture but also any kind of ephemera. As I walk up and down the aisles of the store, I see many interesting items, including a candlestick holder that’s a snake. It’s placed on a side table with nothing else on it.  Its ornate base is coiled, and the snake’s head is erect and holding a candlestick in his mouth. As I gaze at the snake, his eyes shift in my direction and stare at me. And at that moment, the candlewick lights up and starts burning brightly.

When a snake symbol appears in a dream, it usually indicates that something important is happening in the unconscious. It can be either dangerous or healing. The snake symbolizes both negative things, such as toxic thoughts, fear, worries, and running away from something, and positive such as transformation, regeneration, growth, or rebirth.

And besides, the candlestick is an antique oak rocking chair. I’m sure it’s well over a hundred years old. I can tell by the way the wood pieces are joined. The oak is quite old, and its patina is golden and cool to the touch. The seat is upholstered, and there is an image of a monkey in a jungle wearing blue and white striped pantaloons and, a red and white shirt, and a vest with a beret with a gold medallion on it. I’m immediately attracted to this chair. I know I must acquire it. And that is when I woke up.

I’m familiar with all the antique shops in the area, so I contacted all the local dealers and described the chair and the candlestick holders, but none of them owned either object. One dealer suggests contacting local private collectors, and another suggests I look into local estate sales in the area. None of the dealers has either of these objects, but one dealer, whose name is Macomb, tells me that there is a huge estate sale in three days on Saturday, and he gives me the phone number. As he is about to hang up, he tells me to get there early because the estate sale has been widely advertised.

I arrive one hour early for the estate sale, and there is already a line going around the block. I feel confident that if my dream chair and candle holder are present at this estate sale, I will be able to purchase them because there is nothing about them that should garner a great deal of attention.

As always, everyone waiting in line is somewhat excited. They all believe they will find that one treasure that will be worth a great deal more money than they have to pay for it because they alone will realize its true value. After all, going to estate sales is the modern-day treasure hunt. I have to admit I feel a bit of a buzz myself. Not because I hope to find a treasure that will make my years of searching for treasure worthwhile. But because I’m looking for something so special that perhaps I will learn the secrets of the universe. Or maybe a way to travel through time and space or the secrets from the past.

About a half-hour ago, they started allowing five people at a time into the house. At this rate, it will be over an hour before I even get to the door. But I will wait patiently because I have a deep belief that my dreams have taken me to this point, and I will succeed. And so, I wait. I think back on all of the sales that I have attended over the years. And I have found some forgotten treasures, some I have kept, and some I have sold for a profit. I don’t regret one moment of it, not the long lines where I stood outside in the cold, in the pouring rain, and on the hottest days in July and August.

Five more people, and it will be my turn to go into the house. My heart is beating hard, and I’m so excited. I start taking deep breaths.  And then I heard my number called. “Numbers 56 through 61 come in. Everyone else steps back.” We are going to take a half-hour break before anyone else comes in. A noticeable moan goes through the remaining crowd waiting behind me.

Finally, I’m walking through the double doors. And I see before me an entryway that is astonishing, to say the least. It appears to be a hand-laid mosaic floor reminiscent of Giotto di Bondone of Florence during the Renaissance. It seems to be almost a sacrilege to walk on it. It is a garden scene in Italy with grape vine-covered stone walls and idealized romantic mountains and rivers. I walk along the edges of the floor, afraid that I might damage it in some way.

As I walk through the entryway, I see the living room beyond me. It is a room of light. It has huge ten-foot windows with stained glass in the top five feet of the windows. I stand there in awe. Even if I don’t find the treasures that I’m searching for, I know that this house and its contents are something I will not soon forget.

Most of the furniture in the living room has already been tagged as sold. This happens so often at these high-end estate sales. The antique dealers are the first buyers that get in, and they have already been made aware of what treasures are available for sale and they make offers a way out of range for the ordinary people to match.

But then, most of us are voyeurs or looky-loos who come to see how rich people live. And we pick up the odd knick-knack or souvenir. I have to say that I am truly impressed by the quality not only of the original artwork but the floors, the lofted ceilings, the marble, and on and on.

Unless I have the money and an interest in any particular piece of furniture or artwork, I never touch it. It is sacrosanct.  Not to mention that the oil and sweat from people’s hands are damaging to fabrics, paintings, and any handmade object. I hear the people around me oohing and ahhing throughout the house, so I know I’m not the only one who admires quality.

I begin to ascend the spiral staircase. The railings alone are awe-inspiring. There is a vining pattern that appears throughout the house. On the second-floor landing is a crystal chandelier that is to die for. But I can not imagine any other home that it would feel at home in besides this one. I’m sure the artist came to this home and designed it for this home and no other.

I peek into each bedroom on the second floor, and I’m pleased but not surprised to see the beauty and originality found in each bedroom. I would be hard put to pick one that I loved more than the next. I stop and walk into the main bathroom. It is black and white tiles from the floor to the ceiling. And a Victorian-footed bathtub that is immense. I have no doubt that three grown adults could bathe in it with space to spare. It looks as if the walls are a one-of-a-kind hand-painted mural of the sea off the coast of Italy. It has dolphins jumping out of the waves into the sky and swimming through the sea. Stunning.

I take a deep breath and walk on. At the end of a long hallway in which there are a least ten bedrooms, I find a small doorway with an old fashion skeleton key in the lock. I turn it. I turn the knob, and the door swings open. I see a narrow stairway. I look around, and no one else is near me, so I walk through the doorway and make my way up the dusty stairway. It doesn’t look as if anyone has been up here in a long, long time. I quietly make my way to the top of the stairway.

My heart begins to beat irregularly. I know, I absolutely know for sure that I’m going to find my rocking chair and the Snake candle holder in this room. I know I‘m meant to find it. I find a chain hanging down from the ceiling and pull it, and a dim lightbulb turns on. I find my way to the front of the room and pull open the curtains, which are heavy and purple velvet. I can’t imagine how hot and stuffy it must be in this room in the summer.

Light streams into the room. Which is much larger than I imagine. I wondered who lived in this room over the years. Was it an employee, a servant? Or perhaps a nanny for the many children that must have lived in this house over the years? Or a relative who was no longer in favor of the head of the household? Who knows?

I wonder if there is any way that I can investigate this family through historical records or perhaps a family member that likes to tell people about his family history. I believe I will have to contact the local historian for the wealthy families that have lived in this area in recent history.

I see that there are many, many storage areas along the walls. There are doors that are about two feet tall. I pull one open, and I see a Sea Chest. I struggle to pull it out. But it is so heavy. I push open the cumbersome top and peer in. There are woman’s garments. They look as if they are from the turn of the century. Maybe the 1920’s. They look as if someone could put them on today and look amazing in them. I examine the inside of one of the dresses, and I can see that it was all made by the hand of the finest silk. It is a sky-blue dress with a lowered waist and a pleated navy-blue skirt. I tuck it back in and close the lid.

I pull myself up and walk to the other side of the room and pull open the curtains on the window. And low and behold, I see a small table with a candle holder in the shape of a snake holding a candle that is yellow with age. It is sitting on a small side table with a hand-carved top that looks like mountains next to the sea.

And then I see what can only be described as a rocking chair, made of oak with an upholstered seat cushion with none other than a monkey climbing a tree wearing pantaloons and a shirt and vest and a Barret with a gold medallion on it. On the top of the chair, the headrest is ornately carved with the legend OF MEMORIES PAST. For a moment, it occurs to me that I might actually be asleep and dreaming. And that none of this is real.

I run my hands over the smooth oak arms. It is like glass. And although it is clear that is a very old chair, it is also apparent that whomever this chair belonged to took care of it with loving hands and heart. I fondly look at the image of the monkey in the tree. He looks as if he is looking directly at me with an all-knowing look. I’m tempted to sit down in the rocker. It is such a strong impulse I decide to take a chance. I look carefully over the chair to make sure there are no loose joints and that the seat is firmly attached. It is in pristine condition. But I know that the glow of the wood indicates that many hands and arms have rested here in this chair and found peace and comfort.

I gently sit down on the seat and slide, and sit back as far as I can. I lay back my head on the back of the chair and closed my eyes. I take several deep breaths. And the chair begins to rock back and forth slowly. It seems as if the chair has a life of its own. I begin to relax, and I feel completely safe and sleepy. I nod off.

I awaken, and I find myself in one of the bedrooms downstairs. I’m standing in front of a mirror. I’m wearing an apron over a dress that falls several inches below my knees. I have heavy stockings on my legs and black boots with low heels and shoelaces tied all the way up over my ankle. I look at my face in the mirror, and I don’t recognize the face in the mirror, and yet I know it’s me, somehow.

My hair is long and dark. It is pulled back into a complicated bun on the back of my head. There is a silver hair clip holding my hair in place. I move closer to the mirror, and I see that my eyes are light blue and reflect intelligence and humor somehow. It looks as if I could burst out laughing at any moment. There are small perfect pearls on my earlobes. I walk over to the closet and open the door, and I see similar clothes as I’m wearing. Some are plain, and there are some far in the back that is ornate and in bright colors.

I walk over to the bed, and I see a picture of a younger woman who bears a resemblance to the face that I saw in the mirror. It must be a photo of her younger self. She is standing next to a young man who has his arm around her waist. And he is looking at her with what could only be described as love and devotion. And for some unknown reason, I feel deep sorrow and loss.

I walk across the room and look in the other closet. I open the door only to find that it is empty. I feel the same sense of emptiness and loss. I realize that the young man is no longer among the living.

The next thing I remember is walking to the narrow door in the hallway that leads to the attic and opening the door, and walking slowly up the staircase. And then I sit down on the rocker and close my eyes and breathe deeply and feel sleepy.

I wake up to find myself groggy and sleepy and not knowing exactly where I am or what I’m doing here. I hear someone calling out to me, “Miss, miss, you have to wake up now. Other people are waiting to come in. Wake up now.”

I slowly open my eyes to find a large woman with bright, red curly hair saying.

” Wake up, wake up, miss.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just sat down for a moment. I didn’t sleep well last night. I must have drifted off. I would like to purchase this chair and the Snake candle holder.”

“Of course, take this ticket downstairs to the woman sitting at the card table. Tell her you wish to purchase these items. And then, you can bring the receipt up here and take your items. You’ve made a very good choice with this chair and the candle holder. The chair belonged to the lady of the house. She was given this chair when she was expecting her first child, and she used to sit there and write in her diary in the evening by a candle when she wasn’t rocking her babies.

Later in life, after her husband passed away and her children left home, she would sit here and rock in the evening and write in her diary or read books. You know, the strange thing is that you bear a strong resemblance to her, except for the fact that she had dark hair, and your hair is light. And she had those startling light blue eyes, and your eyes are dark blue.

“Thank you, I’ll go down and pay for these items and be right back.”

“Alright, I’ll wait here for you.”

Less than ten minutes later, I returned to the attic, and the woman was looking out the attic window, still waiting for me. “Oh, good, there you are. I have your two items here. I hope you will enjoy them for many years. You might want to look up the history of the family to see if you are related to the Carlisle family. There really is a strong resemblance.”

“You know, I think your right. I feel a strong attachment to the chair and the candle holder. And actually, to this house. I wouldn’t be surprised to find I am related to this family. I picked up the chair and the candlestick holder and carefully made my way down the narrow steps, and in a few minutes, I found myself walking out the back door and into the back garden. It, too, felt so familiar to me, especially the arbor covered in grapevines over the picnic table.

Although I couldn’t recall ever being here before, I made a promise to myself to investigate the Carlisle family. I know that somehow, I’m connected to them and that the young woman in the mirror was a relative that had reached out to me and wanted me to have her precious rocking chair and the memories that it held.

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