Besides the omnipresence of cellphones (“those little machines”), my mother’s greatest frustration in her final years was the sluggishness of the antiques market.

Yes, back in my mother’s heyday as a flea marketeer, “the sky is the limit” was the motto for prices on vintage furniture, quilts, butter churns, Gramophone cylinder-record players, hand-cranked wall telephones, Buck Rogers ray guns and other treasures with a Cracker Barrel Old Country Store vibe.

Today’s motto? “Look — up in the sky! It’s a bird, it’s a plane – no, it’s just once-valuable dishes being used for skeet-shooting practice.”
Granted, there are still nods to the glory days (reproduction tin advertising signs at Hobby Lobby, newspaper headlines trumpeting a record-breaking Sotheby’s bid on some high-end objet d’art); but, in general, I understand my mother’s consternation.

The situation may be less dire in your particular geographic location, but many once-bustling antique shops have become like museums. Shoppers have devolved into mere browsers murmuring observations like, “You know who that classic quill pen would be perfect for? That cousin who is no longer on our gift-giving list. Oh, well…”

Why don’t antiques hold as much appeal for Millennials or Gen Z as they did for the Greatest Generation (who lived through the Great Depression) and their Boomer offspring who heard their stories? I mean, besides the fact that 27 percent of younger consumers associate the “Great Depression” with that time Ticketmaster had a 15-second delay in offering Taylor Swift tickets?

Well, for starters, disposable income is certainly an issue. Inflation, high interest rates and student loan debt don’t leave much cash for mule collars and laundry scrub boards. Although, creativity can justify an exception. (“I just had to buy that blacksmith bellows. Talk about vaping in style!”)

Tiny homes do not mesh with some of the heftier antiques. (“I know family lore says this kitchen cabinet came over on the Mayflower, but *grunt* I think it really WAS the Mayflower.”)

The affluence and collector mentality of their elders has probably soured a lot of youngsters on artifacts of yore. Patriarchs and matriarchs used to bequeath the bare essentials of useful-and-or-sentimental keepsakes. Now kids are told, “I know you want to go out with your friends, but you need to dust the 5,000 ‘Joanie Loves Chachi’ Bobbleheads I’m leaving you when I’m dead.”

Slasher movies have made antiques seem quaint and irrelevant. Why decorate your hallway with framed portraits of long-dead strangers when you can revel in images of freshly killed strangers on your 98-inch flat screen TV?

I suspect that some young people would feel shame if surrounded by antiques. Who wants to be reminded of an era when everything was proudly crafted to last? (Only a trademark dispute kept cast-iron long johns off the market.) It’s much more comforting to live in a time of cheap, disposable thingamajigs imported from China. (“Well, if my $1.99 life jacket dissolves in frigid waters, I’ll just order a replacement.”)

Whatever is causing the lack of motivation, I implore youngsters to devote a little time, money and space to the good things of the past.

Drop in on a flea market or estate auction soon.

At least call an antique mall.

But not on one of those little machines!

If God had meant for man to have little machines, He wouldn’t have invented rotary phones! Or something like that.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at tyreetyrades@aol.com and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”