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Not Forgotten: First Things

Not Forgotten: First Things Not Forgotten First Things by Julia Ridley Smith For almost thirty years, my parents ran an antique shop, Tyler Smith Antiques, in an old two-­ tory house in downtown Greensboro, North Carolina. When I was little, stuff arrived and departed by way of my mother’s van, a matte-­ reen 1970s camper, stripped of its bunk and golden burlap curtains. Illustrations by Kristen Solecki. For almost thirty years, my parents ran an antique shop in an old two-­ tory house in downtown Greensboro, North Carolina. When I was little, stuff arrived and departed by way of my mother’s van, a matte-­ reen 1970s camper, stripped of its bunk and golden burlap curtains. It had no air conditioning and smelled of cigarettes and french fries. Daddy kept the shop while Mom went out on buying trips or traveled to set up her booth at antiques shows in Raleigh or Charlotte or Asheville. This arrangement suited them, as he was sedentary and depended on routine, and she liked to be out and about. She enrolled first my brother, then me, in a morning preschool at the Episcopal church down the street, but we spent our afternoons at the shop. While Daddy, http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Southern Cultures University of North Carolina Press

Not Forgotten: First Things

Southern Cultures , Volume 23 (3) – Oct 31, 2017

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Center for the Study of the American South.
ISSN
1534-1488
Publisher site
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Abstract

Not Forgotten First Things by Julia Ridley Smith For almost thirty years, my parents ran an antique shop, Tyler Smith Antiques, in an old two-­ tory house in downtown Greensboro, North Carolina. When I was little, stuff arrived and departed by way of my mother’s van, a matte-­ reen 1970s camper, stripped of its bunk and golden burlap curtains. Illustrations by Kristen Solecki. For almost thirty years, my parents ran an antique shop in an old two-­ tory house in downtown Greensboro, North Carolina. When I was little, stuff arrived and departed by way of my mother’s van, a matte-­ reen 1970s camper, stripped of its bunk and golden burlap curtains. It had no air conditioning and smelled of cigarettes and french fries. Daddy kept the shop while Mom went out on buying trips or traveled to set up her booth at antiques shows in Raleigh or Charlotte or Asheville. This arrangement suited them, as he was sedentary and depended on routine, and she liked to be out and about. She enrolled first my brother, then me, in a morning preschool at the Episcopal church down the street, but we spent our afternoons at the shop. While Daddy,

Journal

Southern CulturesUniversity of North Carolina Press

Published: Oct 31, 2017

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