Aged

Mother used to work in the antiquing business. We owned a store up in Sainte-Adele, right on the 117 highway. It wasn’t that many years ago, yet it feels as though a lifetime has gone by since then. The first job I ever had was working for her. She taught me how to restore old furniture, strip them bare and repaint them using special aging techniques so they wouldn’t lose their charm. We even made custom reproductions. After a year of working under her supervision, I could make a desk that wasn’t even a couple days old look like it had been through a couple of centuries. Selling the store was sad. The up side was that I was able to keep any piece I wanted for my home.

In order to age wood without the wait, all you have to do is beat it to a pulp and smear it with dirt, sand, grass, etc. Of course there are many other techniques, but I am not one to divulge secrets.

People are not much different.

Take drug abusers for instance. Ever see a twenty-something heroin addict? You wouldn’t give her twenty-something. Of course, by beating the crap out of your body, what did you expect? Sorry angel face – can’t call you that no more.

So what happens when all the blows one gets are on the inside?

Those wounds are not visible and there’s no way she’ll tell you about them. She needs to keep pedaling and focus on what’s ahead, if not she’ll crash. She has had it with crashing. Her body has long ago failed to keep up with her mind, she feels old. She is weary. How long before her mind passes, leaving her body empty and inert? Till that time comes she’ll walk on, hunched over from the weight of her emotional baggage.