I just came back from the dermatologist, whom I have enlisted in my war on aging.
And he’d better win. I am in my 40s and not happy about certain changes taking place on my body’s outer wrap. I keep meaning to ask my parents: Which side of our family tree is inhabited by reptiles?
“Why am I suddenly getting these brown spots?” I ask the doctor.
“Maturity,” he says.
I want to kick him, but he’s holding the laser.
I may be aging, but I’m not going down without a fight.
“Mom, you cougar, you,” my teen says when I share my self-preservation plan. I’m taking “cougar” as a compliment. Heck, these days I take ogling workmen as a compliment, even if they are probably looking at my daughter.
Then, as if I weren’t depressed enough, I talked to Don Williams, senior conservator at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., where you’ll find such national treasures as Dorothy’s ruby slippers and the light bulb that Thomas Edison invented.
Williams’ job is to make old stuff last. “But no matter what we do,” he told me, “everything turns to dust.”
There. All cheered up now?
I then realize that Williams is fighting my fight, though likely with more success. He actually makes a career out of stalling the inevitable. And he wants to share his preservation principles so that real people, not just museums, can extend the lives of meaningful keepsakes.
A book he co-wrote, “Saving Stuff” (Simon & Schuster, 2005), helps do that. The people who grab this book are the ones who have uncovered a stack of photos in which they can no longer tell the men from the women (and I’m talking about photos taken before the ’60s); or who stumble across a grandmother’s wedding dress and feel the lace crumble in their hands; or who find the 300-year- old family Bible soaked in the basement after a pipe broke. These are people who wonder what they might do differently from now on.
“Though nothing lasts unless we can change the nature of the universe,” said Williams, “we can help make things last longer.”
That’s the spirit! I wonder if his techniques work for skin.
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Syndicated columnist Marni Jameson is the author of “The House Always Wins” (Da Capo). Contact her through
Keepsake preservation
Degeneration is inevitable. But with a few simple practices, you can slow the process. For folks who want to protect and preserve their heirlooms, collectibles and other keepsakes, museum conservator Don Williams has this advice.
Know your enemies. The big ones are heat, bugs, vermin, bad plumbing, light and dirt. (These can’t be too great for your skin, either.)
The right place. Most people stick heirlooms in the basement or the attic — bad choices. Basements flood. Attics get hot. And garages are the worst. “They combine unregulated temperature, exposure to the elements, and vehicle pollution,” Williams says. If the basement is the best you can do, be sure that the structure is sound, that you don’t store items directly under water pipes, and that you keep them up on pallets. The only precious items you can safely store in the attic are ones that can’t burn, like ceramics, china and crystal. But for most other items, cool storage is best. For every 18 degrees Fahrenheit, reaction rates for deterioration double. So an item stored at 88 degrees will break down twice as fast as it would have when stored at 70 degrees.
The right container. Store keepsakes in sealed, plastic (polypropylene or polyethylene) tubs. Clean the inside with rubbing alcohol. This will prevent the major causes of deterioration: moisture, contaminants, pests and light. Toss in an envelope of dry activated charcoal, the kind available at pet stores for fish tanks. Charcoal will absorb odors and pollutants and create a chemically controlled microclimate. (Note that this also works for stinky shoes.)
The right climate. Avoid light, as well as excessive heat and moisture. Light damage is cumulative and irreversible. Whether it comes from the sun or artificial lighting, whether it’s direct or indirect, it wears things down. At museums, Williams and other conservators determine total lumens a painting can receive per day. When the exposure hits that limit, the painting goes into the dark.
The right handling. When you do want to appreciate one of your collectibles, say old letters or an old baptism gown, wash your hands. Don’t wear skin creams or perfumes; do wear clean gloves.
The right stuff. Williams encourages people to create a “museum of you.” Obviously, you’ll want to preserve items that have value in the marketplace, like that Stradivarius violin. But other items — including important papers such as birth and marriage certificates, house titles, wills and other legal documents — have value to families for generations. Also important are those things that define a person’s passions. Williams, for instance, values his father’s work apron, which no one else could appreciate.
“Each person has to decide what belongs in his family museum, then protect it. What remains is the fabric and memory of society.”
