I have always loved old-fashioned things. Antiques. Faded sepia photographs. I love that I grew up in an era where my Mom wore house dresses and aprons. It's nice to be old enough that I am somewhat of an antique myself. Are the things I love treasured merely because they come from another time? Do I think that earlier generations were better? Are my dreams about foregone days foolish imaginings? Why am I afflicted with such yearning?
