Yesterday was a positively filthy day, in the most negative of terms, as far as weather is concerned. It was cold, windy, and heavily overcast, incessantly rainy and utterly miserable. Since the forest canopy is no longer in residence in the ravine there was not even the optimistic tendency for us to gear up for rain and venture out into the ravine, notwithstanding the weather. It was raining too heavily, blowing everywhere, to allow us the comfort of a ravine walk. And so we missed out on one, yesterday.

We should have known, actually. Invariably, on the very day that those who arrange such things, feature the annual Autumn antique show now held at the Fieldhouse of Carleton University, this is the typical weather that prevails. If I search my memory of all those times we've ventured out to attend that antique show it is in such weather. So off we went, marvelling during the drive downtown, at the ferocity of the rain and the grimly threatening darkness of the clouds overhead, seemingly layered with malevolence toward all living creatures below.

Traffic was busy, and the drive to the site is always a little complex-seeming, but we did arrive, much earlier than we usually do, since the matter of our ravine walk was settled in such a negative manner. It was interesting to note that unlike the spring antique show there appeared to be more dealers. More dealers, unfortunately, of items like 'vintage' clothing, jewellery both fine and collectible representing days gone by in showy costume jewellery. And the usual pottery, glassware, silver and paperweights, odd bits and pieces that people discard and others collect because they appeal to our collecting instinct, somehow.

We greeted some long-familiar faces, among them dealers from the Montreal area whose wares are expensive, and elite in the manner of what they represent; fine objets d'art of an appreciable quality and far beyond our pocketbook, but certainly deserving of our admiration. We saw icons and bronzes, paintings and porcelains, ivory figures and jewellery of fine distinction and outrageous pricetags, that always leave us wondering who in this city buys these desirable things; certainly not us.

The show wobbles between the unique and the rude in its offerings. And then there's the in-between, objects of beauty and fine workmanship harking back to an earlier day that also elicit our admiration, their pricetags more representative of what we are able to afford. On this occasion several sellers of Canadian paintings of 19th Century vintage that we're familiar with, were present with a selection of such paintings. We were glad to see them, because they are all who are now left of the many such dealers who were accustomed to coming out to this city for the semi-annual antique fairs. They no longer come, because though the city is awash with those who can afford such desirable objects, they choose to put their investment in acquisitions of rare distinction elsewhere.

Furthermore, moaned one of our acquaintances -- who had scant hope of selling much but dragged himself and his paintings up to the show from Toronto in the remote expectation that a miracle might occur and a few of them might be sold -- the younger generation is not interested in paintings and antiques. Leaving hope in the fact that the older generation who formed the backbone of his business might still be interested in acquiring them. But the older generation has already acquired all that their homes and incomes might accommodate, besides which they're more discriminating, and a painting has to appeal mightily almost viscerally, to loosen their determination to merely browse and admire, not acquire.