Every second Saturday of the month, there is an electronics flea market at a nearby community college. I've been once before, and it was like taking a stroll down electronics-memory lane. Everything from old voltage meters, reel-to-reel tape decks and radio tubes, through turntables, early model Powerbooks, PalmPilots ,software packages like Aldus Persuasion, and all the way up to last generation Airport Extreme base stations can be found there.
In many cases, If I didn't know better, some of this crap was likely once mine, or even my father's. It's a small little event in a sectioned off part of the parking lot. Tthe sellers seem to be of a rather worn-'n-torn variety, and the shoppers are seasoned geeks and aging ham radio operators.
Somehow, although I don't quite feel like I completely belong, I still feel somewhat strangely at home.
In the ham radios and voltage meters, I smell the must of my father's workbench, feel the hardening rubber surrounding red and black alligator clips I'd tinker with, and hear the firm audible click of the dials and switches I'd turn to various settings, never having a clue about what they'd do or why. And in the interim booths, I recognized turntables and 8-track players, and a darkroom timer identical to one I used for years. I find vinyl albums warping in the heat of the summer sun, with covers I instantly recognized, including "Face The Music" by ELO and the original broadway cast recording of "Jesus Christ Superstar". I see 90's Apple hardware, including things I used in my work and international travel, groundbreaking in their day, which now seem as antiquated as the tube based radios a few aisles back.
I took my camera with me yesterday morning on a solo journey to walk the rows lined with memories, and was struck by how many things I felt a history and connection to, as well as the idea that the stuff I walked right passed without any interest might likely mean the world to somebody about to stumble across it in the next few minutes.