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Things have started appearing on our barn porch.
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Rusty things.
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Old things.
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Things that look like my husband chose them.
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He swears he didn’t, and since we weren’t home when these things showed up? I have to believe him.
Someone is leaving things on our porch.
Things we don’t need.
We have more than enough things!
So please, whoever did this?
Keep your things to yourself.
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Work continued on the big barn ceiling insulation project and one corner was finished.
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.
And as I knew would happen, the covered pool table became a repository for stuff.
(Not to be confused with a suppository for stuff, because no one wants the husband’s stuff there.)
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On this day I was given the task of hauling more useless crap treasure upstairs.
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In case you were wondering…. the answer to the question how much stuff is too much stuff? has yet to be determined.
Christ, there’s even stuff hanging from the rafters.
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Antique collectibles…. or torture chamber implements?
Tough call.
But downstairs, stuffing progress was made.
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And yes, there’s a bathroom sink on the love seat.
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.
I think it looks quite comfortable, don’t you.
Was it our sink? No.
Did we need an ugly ass shell shaped sink from the 1970’s? No.
But we have it all the same, because….
Say it with me now:
It was free!
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One side of the ceiling was fully stuffed when the husband realized he had a problem.
I would tell you his problem was not listening to me 5 years ago when he insisted on putting these ugly, bright as the surface of the sun, fluorescent lights in…
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And running them on one electrical line with no junction boxes, but I doubt he would admit it…. because, you know. Men.
But now that he’s outfitting his man cave with a heat pump, insulation and a ceiling …. he’s changed his mind about those ugly ass lights and wants to put up these more attractive, appropriately rustic fixtures instead.
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Which is great, except there are no junction boxes and they’re all on the same line.
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Not being an electrician, he’s been pondering this predicament for a while…. and was forced to set up temporary lighting. (Which throws an equivalent BTU level as the bonfire at Burning Man. I swear our electric meter was spinning so fast there was smoke…. and the stock holders of Central Maine Power were chortling with glee.)
If he figures this all out without electrocuting himself and/ or burning down the barn, I’ll be sure to let you know.
I woke up on our last full day of vacation in Williamsburg, Virginia (Yes, we’re finally there!) cursing our second resort’s small bathrooms.
I mean… come on.
For a girl with big hair this is a very small space to make the magic happen.
And the shower?
One teeny tiny shelf!
I had to put the rest of my things on the floor.
We started the day at the husband’s favorite breakfast spot where he was now greeted with ”The guy who wants two plates of chipped beef on toast is here”.
And seeing that we’d had 2 full weeks of doing everything I wanted to do, I thought it prudent to throw the husband a bone and let him pick our last day’s activities.
As expected, that bit me in the ass.
He chose the Williamsburg Antique Mall… and let me tell you, that’s a whole lotta mall.
I have never in my life seen so much useless crap stuff in one place. It went on forever, aisle after aisle after aisle. The husband was in heaven.
Oh, there were some interesting things.
And some seriously hideous things.
It was hard, but I managed to pass on this quartz rooster head.
And the Christmas tree in a shoe.
But damn, at the one hour mark we’d only managed to cover a little corner of the place.
The building was so huge it had push button call stations for help because it was too damned long a walk back to the front to find a sales clerk.
Two hours in there was a drunken Santa….
And some of the money the husband used during the Vietnam War.
Three hours in there was a pair of wolves on skis…
The ice cube trays I cursed with every breath as a child….
And some questionable artwork complete with psychedelic chickens.
Four hours in there were Civil War era hats and a saleslady who gave me a piece of paper to write down the aisle number, the booth number, the case number and a description of each article we had questions about because no one ever remembers what was where. If you look in the upper left hand corner of the picture you’ll see my hand clutching it.
And no, I wasn’t going to give it to the husband …. I’m not stupid.
The husband?
Happier than the proverbial pig in shit.
Rusty tools….
Rusty tools everywhere!
I passed on more vintage chickens.
And wondered who this wide eyed Santa was going to poke with that…. that….
Whatever the heck that was.
At the four and a half hour mark I had to use the rest room.
Where I did indeed flush my hopes and dreams of ever leaving this place down the toilet.
There was definitely something for everyone.
Even if some of the price tags made you gasp.
Five hours in I told the husband I was too hungry to continue and we needed to go get some lunch.
Yeah.
My worst nightmare came true….
They had a cafe.
Where we had tiny overpriced sandwiches and frozen solid fruit to fortify us for more hours of antique shopping.
It was at this point I knew we’d never leave.
I was doomed.
Too late for that warning…. the husband has had it for years.
He was bound and determined to see every last item in this store or die trying.
And by this time I was happily planning his demise.
Yikes.
Paging Morticia Addams….
And holy crap.
Who in their right mind wants that hanging on their wall?
Six hours in I found a bug collection….
Some chicken humor…
And part of the line to check out.
These people took a number…. and have probably been waiting since June 13, 1976.
But the husband was still going strong.
And if I told you how many rusty old pesticide sprayers we have in the barn already? You’d fear for my safety.
Here’s proof positive there’s a magazine for everything.
And a painting that contains fish bones.
You’re welcome.
SEVEN HOURS in and we weren’t even 2/3’s of the way through.
I knew he wasn’t going to leave without buying something, but by then I’d reached my limit of utterly useless crap antique shopping.
I was on board with the old phone. It could have been fun in the barn…. when he builds that bar he keeps talking about.
You know, the bar he can’t build because he has too much utterly useless crap stuff in the way.
Eight hours in?
I was silently screaming FFS….just pick something and let’s go!
Or maybe I said it out loud, I can’t remember.
So there it is, the result of 8 hours of antique mall shopping.
A giant glass water bottle to add to the other 20 or so giant glass water bottles he currently has collecting cobwebs.
I love him.
I do.
And as long as I keep telling myself that I’ll be fine.
The first settlement in America looked something like this.
And I have to admit the buildings were larger than I thought they’d be.
This was the church.
And I swear it’s bigger than the one in my town today.
I loved the thatched roofs on the cottages.
And we enjoyed poking around inside them.
Some of them were simple.
Some a little more grand.
Check out the armor on top of the cupboard.
Nothing like some weaponry over the dining room table to get the gastric juices flowing.
Speaking of that…. there was an armory.
And it doesn’t matter how many times I see these, I still can’t imagine having to wear them into battle. I mean damn, they make my underwire bra look positively comfortable in comparison.
Needless to say the husband was loving all the old tools and farm implements.
Yes dear….
Rusty metal…. I see it.
The last building we checked out was a communal kitchen.
And you know what I found… right?
Wandering at will….
Hoping something would fall off the table.
There were also fake cocktails, which is a rude tease to those of us who happened to be thirsty.
Hell, if these fell off the table they’d bounce.
And that’s not my type of cocktail at all.
Okay.
Now we’re talkin’….
This was what I’d come to see.
And with a nod to Abe, we entered.
By definition:
That may be….
But I just think it’s fun.
Would I ride a carousel ostrich?
You bet your tail feathers I would.
And hey….
Chickens are prominently featured, so you know I’m on board.
Folk art has numerous styles, shapes and mediums.
Paintings being one of the most popular.
And this collection didn’t fail to impress.
From nautical…
To agricultural…
To portraiture…
There was something for everyone.
And chickens rule.
Which clearly surprised this canine.
And yes, there were creepy antique dolls now and then as well.
Sleep with this shifty, black eyed, soul stealing creature in my bedroom?
Was this woman used as the model?
I see the resemblance.
And that poor man looks half dead already… so it could be.
Aside from all the decorative items, the Dewitt had some pieces of historic interest as well.
Here’s the father of our country casually leaning on a cannon. And if you look closely, you’ll see this…
Yes, they even have George Washington’s jewelry…. which had been lost for nearly two centuries. It was rediscovered in 1990, when the daughter-in-law of a Virginia Beach woman descended from Supreme Court Chief Justice John Marshall found it in her dead mother-in-law’s jewelry box.
Just think… it could have been put in a yard sale. Or donated to Goodwill.
Damn. Another missed opportunity.
Continuing past the silver, there were vast collections of porcelain and pottery.
Complete with creepy ass vintage dolls.
If you invite this little chicka to a tea party?
She’s going to nibble your fingers like biscuits.
By the amount of tankers on display, there was some serious beer drinking going on in the 18th century.
Have I mentioned this place went on forever?
It was fabulous.
There was a section dedicated to indigenous art as well.
And these were quite special.
Even the husband was intrigued.
Each piece had a story.
But I’ll just give you one example.
Two years?
Damn. That’s dedication.
George showed up again, though in iron this time.
“Dumb” stoves?
I’ve cursed a few in my lifetime, but never knew they were actually a thing.
After George, I knew I’d lost the husband.
Because this is his idea of heaven.
They weren’t rusted, but these are just the sort thing he likes to fill our barn with.
( And if his were in good shape and displayed artfully like this? I wouldn’t half mind.)
And because you know I can’t pass up an opportunity, let’s play Name That (not) Crap again.
What is it …. #1?
What is it… #2?
I’ve visited a large number of museums in my day and tend to be jaded…. but I have to say, the collection of sterling silver in Williamsburg impressed even me.
Some were simple.
Others elaborate.
(Goose feet! I loved it.)
Some embellished your shoes.
Cases as far as the eye could see of master craftsmanship.
The thought of polishing all these beauties left me quaking….
But honestly…
Wow.
There was a cover for your honeycomb…
A ceremonial scepter.
And countless teapots.
Morbid jewelry?
Check.
Giant turtle?
With a slightly bored husband mimicking the facial expression of the fellow over his shoulder?
Check.
There was even a piece perfect for my Name That Crap game…. although it’s far from crap.
Let’s play!
What is it?
Because you know no road trip with my husband is complete without a visit to an antique store…
I’d managed to make it almost 6 full days without one, but my luck ran out.
He scoured the stalls…
Thoroughly perused the cases…
Chuckled at the creepy mid century Santas.
And then….
Bought a folding freight sled.
And if that wasn’t bad enough? The damned thing was from Maine!
Jesus wept.
And I drank.
It was the only appropriate response.
So we ended the afternoon at a wonderful waterfront restaurant…
Called Fisherman’s View.
Where I worked my way down the cocktail list.
Have you ever had Casoni 1814 in a mixed drink? Ooh la la!
I hadn’t… but will be looking for it soon.
Food?
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…
As well as some tugs escorting a barge through the Cape Cod Canal.
Crab cake appetizer for me….
Butternut squash and apple bisque for the other half.
And as evening rolled around…
Neither one of us managed to get past that night’s specials.
Scallops Spaghettini for me…
Beef tenderloin for the hubs.
Both were superb…. and I cursed the the fact that we hadn’t found this place earlier in our trip.
Replete…
We took a short walk around the harbor.
Enjoyed the sunset.
And the view of that wonderful restaurant lit up in the distance.
Back at the resort condo, the husband was knee deep in the impeachment coverage on MSNBC.
A guaranteed way to kill my buzz…
So I escaped upstairs to my nook overlooking the living room to read….
And (not quite) drunkenly play with my phone.
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…
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.
John F. Kennedy designated a National Seashore here…
And there are miles upon miles of unspoiled beach.
As well as some pretty impressive sand dunes along the road.
But it was cool, foggy and threatening rain so we kept driving… keeping an eye out for this:
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.
Never one to pass up a museum, we began strolling.
The first thing you notice? Pilgrims.
And Pilgrim history. Figuring it was because they landed up the coast at Plymouth… I had to admit I was shocked.
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.
But it wasn’t all Pilgrims.
The building was filled with maritime history…
And a musk ox, like any good museum should be.
There were recreations of a Captain’s ship board quarters…
Which aside from the chamber pot, looked pretty comfy.
As well as his home on land.
There was an antique fire engine…
And a wreath made of human hair.
Because who doesn’t want one of those hanging on their living room wall?
There were maps of the Cape..
With questionable artwork.
Is it me, or is that Griffon in dire need of a Jane Russell 18 hour bra?
There was some Arctic expedition fashion…
Shoes!
Even a rooster hat…
And a couple of local celebs who clearly knew how to have a good time.
Yes, there was a Mayflower replica…
But it was the antique doll collection that made me want to run screaming from the room.
Holy Hell, those things are creepy.
I mean, come on…
You know this one will be feasting on your flesh long before you’re dead.
Quick…
Find the monument before she gets hungry.
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.
The Jolly Drayman seemed inviting enough.
And though it was a very small place with limited seating…
I was willing to like it.
It’s a shame I couldn’t.
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.
A limited menu.
A disinterested, unfriendly server.
Uncomfortable seats.
And the worst beef Wellington I’ve ever had.
The husband had a not nearly hot enough beef stew ( with mashed potatoes?) that must have weighed 12 pounds… served in a fish bowl.
Framed fart humor not withstanding….
I wouldn’t go back.
Day 8…. the departure.
One more breakfast under the canoe.
And beside the twig lights.
We checked out and said goodbye to the dangerous looking ski motif rocking chairs…
And laughed at the resort’s wedding advertisement for the last time.
Heck, that’s as good a reason as any… right?
Through one more covered bridge…
And because you know my husband can’t drive past an antique store.
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?
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.)
