Tag Archives: antiques

New/old treasures.

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A few new old things have been added to the man cave of late.

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A primitive sled, which I thought was for children.. but turned out to be for hauling split wood from the shed to the house back in the day. And no, it didn’t stay in that position….

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It’s precariously propped up in the corner behind the chairs.

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A pump action vacuum cleaner. And as a modern woman of today, let me tell you… it ain’t no Roomba.

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A few more Name that Crap! tools have made their way to the table of antique horrors.

So if you ever need to draw information from a recalcitrant friend or loved one… let me know.

😈

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They could be twins.

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When it comes to collecting crap stuff, my husband is the epitome of the phrase ‘the thrill is in the hunt’.

He’ll tirelessly scour flea markets and antique stores for that just right piece of crap treasure….. but once he owns it? It will languish in the closet or be left in a deserted corner to gather cobwebs.

And now?

His cat is displaying the same traits.

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Yes, that’s a half dead mouse.

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And just like his father….

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After he hunts it down, Lord Dudley Mountcatten could care less what becomes of it.

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Back in the Barn Mahal…

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It was recently brought to my attention that our barn was in need of comfortable seating in which to kick back after a vigorous session of drinking. And to that I say…

I’m way ahead of you.

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Okay, so it’s actually just the porch furniture we store inside every winter… but I’m thinking come spring, when it heads back outside? Two leather club chairs with a small table in between.

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Husband hung a few appropriate signs behind the (soon to be bar) the other day.

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Armpit lemon? Remind me not to over indulge in Puerto Rico.

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no sewing required  spot was found for the husband’s assorted patches.

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And a few more photos were carefully hung… while standing on a safe.

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As you can see, I have arrived … and finally been given representation in the man cave.

Yay me.

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A magnetic bottle opener was installed on the staircase.

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And a recent antique store purchase was displayed.

It’s time for Name That Crap!

What is it?

(Kerry, you be quiet. 😉)

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Vintage recycling.

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Since I multi purposed our giant crock as a trash can, I decided I wanted something equally fun and antiquey for returnables.

You would think shopping in my husband’s vast array of crap stuff would yield the appropriate receptacle, but sadly nothing was found. Which is when my spouse gleefully suggested we visit the antique mall.

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I was on a mission and didn’t dilly dally. The same can not be said for my spouse.

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I moved him quickly away from this horror…

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Because right now the only thing the barn Mahal doesn’t have is a kitchen sink… and I wasn’t taking any chances.

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Fresh lobster made us laugh. There’s nothing worse than cheeky crustaceans.

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I had my eye on that wagon to the right. But at $520 it seemed a bit pricey for empty beer bottles.

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Even the chicken thought so.

And then I found it…

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Buried in the back and full of oars.

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$50 later…. the old barrel with original lid… made a perfect returnable container.

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Barn decorating.

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If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. So I did and tried my hand at a little Barn Mahal decorating.

Under the stairs, some antique crocks and a large one that will double as a trash can.

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The apple press and butter table have now found a home.

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And then it was time to supervise the beginning of the husband’s I love myself wall.

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Marine Corps dress sword and a collection of photos of him in Vietnam, Okinawa and Beirut.

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I think it turned out well.

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And for the piece de resistance …

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A pool table cover I spent a fortune on as a gift.

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Needless to say it was a hit.

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The blog where things are moved and hung.

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Since all the trim work was finished in the barn, it was time for a little decorating…. husband style.

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The old washing machine was slid across the floor.

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A few military helicopter pictures were hung.

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And of course….

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His favorite sign of all was prominently placed.

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Moving back inside….

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A second tier of shelves was built into every corner.

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And then it was time to go shopping upstairs.

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Apple press?

Check!

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Butter table?

Check!

And then my husband, the man who visibly cringes every time I put a nail hole in our walls….

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The man who has given me hell for each and every thing I have ever hung in our home…. decided this would be his I love me section and plans to fill it with photos and plaques while turning his barn walls into Swiss cheese.

I admit, I may have cackled at this point. The irony was simply too strong.

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Magazine chuckles.

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I have stacks and stacks of free magazines I have yet to read. ( If you’re interested let me know, I’ll hook you up.)

Here are a few articles that got my attention.

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Online reviews of our National Parks. Proof positive people are idiots.

Although it’s hard to argue with ‘a very very large hole’ for the Grand Canyon.

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Thank you, no.

A month ago they were pushing mermaid shampoo and that was bad enough.

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Avocado pudding?

I’d rather eat kale stuffed meatless meatballs.

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I think I’ve mentioned my hatred of dolls and all things doll like. But a museum filled with uber creepy antique ones?

Now that’s a blog worth writing.

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Llamapalooza?

I am so down with that!

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Kind of underwhelming?

We visited Plymouth last fall and saw this oh so famous rock.

Kind of is the understatement of the year.

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Another round if you please.

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Sadly I’m not talking about my kind of round… the one that involves limes and tequila.

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The insulation, ceiling and lights were finished in the big barn project. And silly me…. I thought that meant we were done.

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But upon further deliberation, the husband decided he want to put quarter round moulding all around the top of the walls for a more finished look.

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And while I’m never one to argue with finish work…

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With the husband, things don’t always go as planned.

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Yes, he’s holding  a bottle of glue.

And no, you don’t want to know why.

He even put moulding on top of the steel beam.

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And got me up on the ladder to hold it in place, which wasn’t exactly where it should have been.

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The 327lb prized antique potato planter was moved a few hundred times, because, you know… they’re never where you want them.

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Do we plant potatoes?   No. We never have, and never will.

Enough said.

And while we’re at the porch door…

Kindly look up.

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There… see it?

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That.

A section of plywood ceiling that clearly has writing on it.

Why?

Because the husband says he didn’t notice it and refuses to undo everything to flip it over.

Finish work does not always look finished around here.

😰

A bridge too far.

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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.

And we’re stuffing again.

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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.