In my home, I have an old attic where I can store things I’m not currently using.  From 
time to time I’ll go up there in search of something and I’ll invariably get drawn to an 
object that I’d long forgotten about.  At what seems a blink of an eye, hours will fly by 
and I’ll still be pouring over old books, pictures, or any one of a number of interesting 
odds and ends.


The attic is the original time machine; it carries you into the past.  It is a place where one 
keeps things left over from different times in their life.   It is, physically, a record of its 
owners past.


I am amazed at how things accumulate in my attic, and how much I’d forgotten until 
through some chance I get trapped again among those old cherished things.


We are a sum total of our experiences and attics are a place where mute objects related to 
these experiences are kept.  There’s an old framed picture for instance, or an old toy, a 
hat, a baseball bat, and the list goes on and on, but with each object goes a nice 
remembrance.  


Unfortunately, time catches up to attics and its contents pass on to the next of kin, 
institutions, auction houses, flea markets, garage sales, and rubbish piles.  “Dust to dust” 
as the saying goes and attics are no exception.  


In this new world of computer science and technical wonders, the old attic is fast 
becoming extinct.  This will be a great loss since these old vaults of love and sentiment 
are a bridge to our past.  To me, these old rooms with their relics are a testimony of life 
lived, and love given.  I love an old attic, it reads like a beautifully written book.  Oh, I 
suppose one could say we have crawl spaces and storage areas in the new homes of today, 
but nothing can ever replace that little old stairway going up into the past.  No, nothing 
will replace the charm of an old attic with its exposed structure, its cobwebs, and dusty 
contents arranged in systematic disarray. 


As the attic fades, so does a little more of our old permanence.  We’ll keep replacing it 
with paper cups and dishes, with single generation lifestyles and just enough space for 
necessities - and we’ll let tomorrow take care of itself.  Perhaps this is as it should be and, 
perhaps I’m just overreacting, but darn it all, I love old attics.


Joseph Vosbikian