Tag Archives: antiques

Cape Cod Day 6… antiques, cocktails and dinner on the water.

 

Because you know no road trip with my husband is complete without a visit to an antique store…

 

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I’d managed to make it almost 6 full days without one, but my luck ran out.

 

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He scoured the stalls…

 

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Thoroughly perused the cases…

 

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Chuckled at the creepy mid century Santas.

 

 

And then….

 

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Bought a folding freight sled.

And if that wasn’t bad enough? The damned thing was from Maine!

Jesus wept.

 

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And I drank.

 

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It was the only appropriate response.

 

 

So we ended the afternoon at a wonderful waterfront restaurant…

 

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Called Fisherman’s View.

 

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Where I worked my way down the cocktail list.

 

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Have you ever had Casoni 1814 in a mixed drink? Ooh la la!

I hadn’t… but will be looking for it soon.

 

 

Food?

 

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Yes, they had that too. But since it was late afternoon and I wouldn’t be cooking when we got back, we opted to stay and wait for the dinner menu…

 

 

And watched the non stop crabbing…

 

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As well as some tugs escorting a barge through the Cape Cod Canal.

 

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Crab cake appetizer for me….

 

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Butternut squash and apple bisque for the other half.

And as evening rolled around…

 

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Neither one of us managed to get past that night’s specials.

 

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Scallops Spaghettini for me…

 

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Beef tenderloin for the hubs.

 

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Both were superb…. and I cursed the the fact that we hadn’t found this place earlier in our trip.

Replete…

 

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We took a short walk around the harbor.

 

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Enjoyed the sunset.

 

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And the view of that wonderful restaurant lit up in the distance.

 

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Back at the resort condo, the husband was knee deep in the impeachment coverage on MSNBC.

A guaranteed way to kill my buzz…

 

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So I escaped upstairs to my nook overlooking the living room to read….

 

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And (not quite) drunkenly play with my phone.

Cape Cod Day 5…. P’town, sand and a museum.

 

Day 5 of our Cape Cod vacation found us driving to the Outer Cape. About as out as you can get and still be on the Cape actually…

 

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Provincetown.

Or P’town as it’s known to the locals.

I’ve heard it’s the place to be in the summer, but it was November and the wall to wall tourists were long gone. Sadly, so was most of the fun as many places were closed for the season. But we managed to have a good time all the same.

As you draw near, you realize it’s unlike other sections of the Cape.

 

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John F. Kennedy designated a National Seashore here…

 

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And there are miles upon miles of unspoiled beach.

 

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As well as some pretty impressive sand dunes along the road.

 

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But it was cool, foggy and threatening rain so we kept driving… keeping an eye out for this:

 

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Thankfully it’s hard to miss on the skyline. Wanting to climb to the top for the fabulous views, I was unaware of the museum at it’s base.

 

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Never one to pass up a museum, we began strolling.

 

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The first thing you notice? Pilgrims.

 

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And Pilgrim history. Figuring it was because they landed up the coast at Plymouth… I had to admit I was shocked.

 

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Whaaaat? You mean my grade school teachers got it wrong…

And I went all the way to Plymouth to photograph a rock for nothing! Yes ladies and gentlemen, the Pilgrims landed in P’town first. And believe me when I say they take that fact very seriously at the museum.

 

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But it wasn’t all Pilgrims.

 

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The building was filled with maritime history…

 

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And a musk ox, like any good museum should be.

 

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There were recreations of a Captain’s ship board quarters…

 

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Which aside from the chamber pot, looked pretty comfy.

 

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As well as his home on land.

 

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There was an antique fire engine…

 

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And a wreath made of human hair.

 

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Because who doesn’t want one of those hanging on their living room wall?

 

 

There were maps of the Cape..

 

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With questionable artwork.

 

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Is it me, or is that Griffon in dire need of a Jane Russell 18 hour bra?

 

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There was some Arctic expedition fashion…

 

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Shoes!

 

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Even a rooster hat…

 

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And a couple of local celebs who clearly knew how to have a good time.

 

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Yes, there was a Mayflower replica…

 

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But it was the antique doll collection that made me want to run screaming from the room.

 

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Holy Hell, those things are creepy.

 

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I mean, come on…

 

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You know this one will be feasting on your flesh long before you’re dead.

 

 

Quick…

Find the monument before she gets hungry.

 

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White Mountains trip…. last night, last day, last post in the series.

 

A full day of resort hopping on day 7 made us hungry so we stopped at an inn near our resort that had a well recommended British pub/restaurant.

 

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The Jolly Drayman seemed inviting enough.

 

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And though it was a very small place with limited seating…

 

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I was willing to like it.

It’s a shame I couldn’t.

 

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What English pub worth it’s salt only has 1 British beer on tap? Where was the Harp? The Smithwicks? The Old Speckled Hen? Yes, there was Guinness thank God….

But Pabst Blue Ribbon? Come on!

It went downhill from there.

 

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A limited menu.

A disinterested, unfriendly server.

Uncomfortable seats.

 

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And the worst beef Wellington I’ve ever had.

 

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The husband had a not nearly hot enough beef stew ( with mashed potatoes?)  that must have weighed 12 pounds…  served in a fish bowl.

 

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Framed fart humor not withstanding….

I wouldn’t go back.

Day 8…. the departure.

One more breakfast under the canoe.

 

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And beside the twig lights.

 

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We checked out and said goodbye to the dangerous looking ski motif rocking chairs…

 

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And laughed at the resort’s wedding advertisement for the last time.

 

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Heck, that’s as good a reason as any… right?

 

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Through one more covered bridge…

 

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And because you know my husband can’t drive past an antique store.

 

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Funny part is, I went outside to wait for him because the owner was a crotchety old man I didn’t like the look of.

A few minutes later the husband comes out and I can hear that old man screeching his lungs out like a lunatic, cursing my husband from here to next Sunday.

Apparently husband had the audacity to take an old magazine out of it’s plastic sleeve and flip through it. Guess that’s a no no in the mountains.

Anyway, vacation over.

Home safe and sound with…. how shall we say?

 

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Some coffee and a few beauty products for my cabinets.

Hey, if they’re going to charge an extra $25 resort fee per day for that lousy condo?

I’m going to fill my suitcase on the way out.

 

 

The end.

(You may now officially breathe that sigh of relief you’ve been holding.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A bridge too far.

 

It’s bad enough my husband stops at every yard sale he sees.

 

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It’s bad enough he comes home from the dump with more than he went with.

It’s bad enough he built a giant barn and filled it with useless stuff before it was completed.

 

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But what happened the other day?

Is a bridge too far.

We woke up, had a lovely breakfast, went outside and saw something on the barn porch. I didn’t think it was a good something…

But the husband dragged it inside before it could run away.

 

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Yeah.

 

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Someone left an old sewing machine.

 

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Complete with original boxes of accessories….

 

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And owners manual… with free mouse turd. Ack!

We have no idea who committed this heinous crime…. but when I find out?

They will feel my wrath.

 

 

The husband needs no help finding old worthless junk!

So please… I beg you.

Bypass our porch and take your crap to the dump next time!

(Though not the one in our town, or any neighboring towns where he’s apt to shop.)

 

 

 

 

He volunteers, I do all the work.

 

So we’ve established my husband is a collector of  vast piles of junk,  boatloads of crap,  too much rusty old stuff,  some eclectic treasure.

Lots of people know this, and think being an antique expert goes hand in hand.

 

 

They constantly give him items and want a full history,  description of use,  plus what it’s worth.

Problem is….. more often than not he has no frickin’ clue.

 

 

Which is when he hands it off to me.

I research, investigate, and compare so he can go back and look knowledgeable. Which leads to more people giving him more items to identify. It’s a vicious circle.

*Note to self – stop researching, investigating and comparing*

Last month he came home with two items that were beyond even my scope of reference.

Supposed Native American artifacts.

 

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A medicine man’s turtle shell rattle…

 

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And a warrior’s breastplate.

 

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I admit, even I was clueless here.

 

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His friend gave him some accompanying paperwork that was, to say the least….. a wee bit strange. It was a statement from a man named Silver Wolf who said he saw the items at an antique show 10 years ago and was then visited in his dreams by the original owner Red Hawk, who lived in the late 1700’s.

Okaaay.

A man named Ernie then purchased the rattle, and took it to a Pow Wow to “awaken it”. A red tail hawk flew overhead during the ceremony and apparently that was the spirit of the original owner.

Okaaay.

Later, a chief said the rattle had a person named Many Eyes bound inside of it and the spirit needed to be set free.

So, yeah.

How the hell do you research that?

I tried. And the closest I came was this:

 

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Pretty damn close. (Red tailed hawk and trapped spirit not withstanding.)

As for breastplates? They’re everywhere… in hundreds of designs, made with multiple materials, some old, some new and I have no utter clue how to differentiate.

So I went to the Maine State Museum….

Where no one had a clue either.

 

 

But they gave me the name and email address of a supposed expert…. so I contacted her and sent photos.

This was her response:

 

Boy. I’m not the expert, At All. The breast plate looks modern to me, but don’t take my word for it! And I have never seen a rattle like that so I really can’t judge. It could be Plains, but equally, could be new. It looks dirty, as opposed to worn, which sets off alarms for me. 

That said, I am NOT that versed. If you want to talk to someone who is, my ex-husband is very knowledgable.

Best of luck in your search!

And thank you for thinking of the Maine State Museum.

 

 

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So after wasting more time than I thought possible on this, I was done.

I passed along what I learned to the husband to give to his friend, with the expert’s ex husband’s phone number, and called it a day.

The next morning after having breakfast with his friend? The husband came back with the items and said his friend wanted me to sell them for him.

What???

No!!

Personally… if the items are real Native American artifacts? I’d give them back to the tribe of origin, or at the very least a museum. So much Native culture has been bought and sold over the years, I felt bad even having them at our house.

And if they’re reproductions? You wouldn’t get any serious money for them so why bother.

This is what happens when your husband can’t tell his friend no.

It’s a simple process…. and one I need him to learn.

 

 

See?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fun at the fair…. and balls.

 

We hadn’t been to the Topsham Fair in years, and after going the other day I remembered why.

Maine has some fabulous county fairs….. but this isn’t one of them.

With a $12 charge per person to get in? There should have been more… everything.

 

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We started with the livestock, because I do love me some critters.

 

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I got up close and personal with sheep….

 

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While the husband chatted up a cow.

 

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This cow was lying down.

 

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As was her owner…

 

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And it took all my willpower not to yell at him to drop his phone and learn how to spell her name properly.

 

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Sorry El….

 

 

This cow had a little speck of something on her nose…

 

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Which proved to be no problem.

 

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Yes, that’s her tongue. And she knew how to use it.

 

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Did you know…

 

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Cows can’t vomit?

I live to enlighten.

 

 

 

We saw ox, and horses.

 

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Some huge.

 

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Some small.

We saw pigs…

 

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With lots of baby pigs…

 

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And goats..

 

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With some pretty big…

 

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Sorry…. but holy crap!

 

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How do you walk with balls that big?

 

 

We strolled around looking for the chicken barn….

Only to discover there wasn’t one.

Very disappointing.

 

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And then we walked past the “Decorate a Bale of Hay” contest.

 

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Which… yeah.

 

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Was a bit odd.

 

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I temporarily lost the husband to some old rusty crap.

 

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And found him checking out some sweet old vehicles for sale.

 

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We meandered through the collection of carriages and sleighs which we always love…

 

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And found a cannon…

 

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With a strategically placed ball.

 

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In a sack.

Tell me someone doesn’t have a sense of humor….

 

 

We made the obligatory walk through the exhibition hall.

 

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But the Blue Ribbon rhubarb failed to thrill.

And aside from the carnival rides we didn’t ride and the roach coach junk food that we didn’t eat, that was it….

Until I spotted George.

 

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And fell in love.

 

 

I mean… look at him!

 

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George is an Emu.

 

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Homely…

 

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Humble..

 

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And despite the prehistoric raptor like gaze, quite friendly.

Here’s some riveting video of him drinking water.

 

 

And a little something closer up.

 

 

He’s over 6 foot tall, with coarse dense feathers.

Yes, we bonded…. and I petted him.

Totally worth the $12 admission price.

 

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Name That Crap #2

 

My first attempt at stumping WordPress readers with the husband’s crap failed miserably.

Name That Crap

Answer to Name That Crap

Clearly, you lot know your crap.

 

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No, it’s really not.

But let’s try again anyway.

 

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It stands approximately two feet tall and is made of wood and metal.

What it is?

 

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Yes, it is.

But I’ll need you to be more specific….