Sunday, June 29, 2014

Painting a picture while asking you questions

Imagine if you will…

It’s summer – possibly June or July. The weather is warm if not downright hot.  The gardens are planted, flowers are blooming, tomatoes are ripening and there’s a song in your heart and a smile on your face because you’re planning to attend an amazing vintage event over the weekend to shop for something specific or perhaps for everything in general (my preferred method).

With that in mind, let me ask you this:  How would you feel if you turned a corner at this hypothetical summertime vintage event and came across something like this?

Please do not attempt to adjust your eyeballs. This photo is blurry.

Or this?

 Or this?

I brake for Shiny Brites. 

Would you stop and shop? In July?

Would you need to put your head between your knees and count to 10 to avoid passing out? (No, wait, that’s not you. That’s me).

I’m curious to know if anyone else shops for vintage Christmas year round like I do?  

I did mention there would be questions, didn’t I? See, there’s another one. 

I know if I came across a vendor in a middle-of-the-summer vintage event (or even during a regular non-holiday-season visit to a vintage mall), who was dedicated solely to vintage Christmas, regardless of what might be on my shopping list, I would stop dead in my tracks.

More blurriness shiny-ness.

But maybe that’s just me. Shopping year round for vintage Christmas is one of those things that feels perfectly normal.*

OR… maybe it’s not just me.  Maybe it’s you too. 

Maybe we’re all in the same secret, sparkly, shiny club and don’t realize it!  

And so because I know how I feel about the topic of vintage Christmas year round, I wonder how you might feel about it and would greatly appreciate any enabling feedback you’d like to provide.

Thank you and Merry Vintage Christmas.


* Disclaimer: I acknowledge that it’s entirely possible I may have lost my grip on “normal” some time ago.

PS I took the Christmas photos shown here in late 2013 when Magpie Ethel and I combined our vintage Christmas hoards at Monticello Antique Marketplace.  She wrote a fun post about it and you can CLICK HERE to read it. Lots of eye candy. 

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

The post about Farm Chicks 2014 that involves way too many asterisks* (and quite a few parentheses)

Every person attending has a version of this photo on their phone. It's Farm Chicks law. 

After several hours of driving and Skittles-eating, my traveling companion, Pam, and I arrived at the Farm Chicks Antique Show a few hours after the event opened on its first day and I made a beeline to my favorite vendors, the Vintage Linen People.**

I immediately gave them all my money (holds up hands and says “I have this many”) and then got to work selecting the items which would ultimately return home with me to join their friends who were eagerly awaiting them in my vintage linen hoard/stash /collection/whatever-we’re-calling-it-these-days.

I was recognized right away by one of the Vintage Linen People thanks to my repeat performances on the exact same spot in 2011 and 2012. 

Three years later they still remember me because of my previous summit attempts on their vintage linen mountain.  

Vintage barkcloth 1.o

Once completed, this transaction resulted in a drop-off trip to the car because it’s physically impossible to navigate the aisles of Farm Chicks while carrying a garbage bag stuffed with vintage tablecloths, barkcloth and doilies. Trust me on this.

(I secretly suspect those shoppers pushing baby strollers through the Farm Chicks venue don’t have human babies tucked away in there.  I now believe their strollers were filled with toddler-shaped gobs of vintage tablecloths in an effort to avoid multiple trips out to their cars. Smart.

Note to self:  Begin bookmarking folding baby strollers on eBay.)

Vintage barkcloth 1.2

Occasionally I would cross paths with my friend Ethel and her rock star, vintage-toting mom, signaling acknowledgement with just a friendly wave and a nod because Ethel was in her ZONE, a ZONE which prefers to skip over non-essential chitchat while there is still vintage goodness to be discovered.

That’s why dinnertime was invented. For the chitchat.

And I get that.***

Wrinkled. So very wrinkled. 

The second day of Farm Chicks was very similar to the first day for me. I spent some time with the Vintage Linen People (they had replenished AND FOLDED (!) their inventory) and then I moved on to some general junk browsing since the crowds were lighter this morning (that changes quickly as the morning goes on). 

This day I was actually able to see more of what was for sale rather than who was in front of, behind and all around me, buying it before I could reach it.

I exercised great restraint and these signs were my only other purchases and I plan to resell them. 

As if I need one more thing. Or one more vintage tablecloth.

Except maybe for these.

The drive home included one small unscheduled detour because someone was talking while her smartphone GPS was waving its arms in the air, pointing and shouting to let us know TAKE THIS EXIT. NOW.


I made it home eventually, happy with my very own mini mountain of vintage linens.


*See what I mean?

**Vintage Linen People, if you have a formal business name, I apologize for not knowing what it is and for bestowing you with such a McBasic (yet apt) descriptor. Maybe hang a sign or something? Or not. Whatever.  I love you.

***One of these days I’ll write a post about THE SECRET TEST**** Ethel gave me the first time I ever went junking with her.

****I passed. (spoiler alert)

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

A Pain in the Grass

About an hour after I bought this thing on a recent road trip, I had some serious buyer’s remorse.  

Now that I think about it, my remorse started to set in as I lugged it across the street from the thrift store where I purchased it in order to put it in the car (which sounds much easier to do than it actually is).

By the way, as far as foreign objects in the back of a Subaru go, an anchor is very close to the top of the list of things to avoid.  It takes up an awkward amount of space, is impossible to pack around and, in a true crime against the senses, IT RATTLES.


As we rolled down the highway, this thing jangled, clinked and clanked in a way that could only result in a series of tiny-yet-constant mental seizures for me so at one point I pulled it out of the car (this too sounds much easier than it actually is) and went at it with a pair of pliers, 100% ineffectively, just to try to make the (insert any curse word here) clinking stop.

 (Issues alert: I once pulled my car over on the freeway to silence a suitcase zipper pull that was jiggling just a little, a sound not detectable by any human ears other than mine).

Another member of the exclusive Anchors Anonymous club. 

I quickly learned that when you’re the person in the car who BOUGHT AN ANCHOR and that clanking, awkwardly-shaped anchor is eating up precious cargo space, you pretty much have to go along with just about anything your traveling companion buys, says or does.

Because you are the person who put an anchor in their car.

 “May I have a sip of water, please?”
“No, because you bought an anchor.”

“May I get out of the trunk and ride in the car now?”
“No, because you bought an anchor.”

“Are we there yet?”
“No, because you bought an anchor.”

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Not Subaru-friendly. 

Once at home, I sent the anchor straight to storage because we needed some time apart to think about where this relationship was going and don't you know it, I suddenly started seeing anchors everywhere.*

4,852 likes can't be wrong, can they?

And then this post popped up on Facebook, courtesy of Mike Wolfe American Picker


*Three anchors probably don’t indicate an impending anchor-d├ęcor-trend but it’s all I’ve got to go with.  

JUNE 16, 2014 UPDATE:
 Thrilled to report that ten days after I dropped anchor at Monticello Antique Marketplace, it sold! Turns out it's just as awkward in an antique store as it is in the back of a Suburu.  Anchors away!