Tag Archives: collectibles

The motherload continued…

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A few more oddities from our antique store stroll.

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Because you never know when you’ll need a personal, portable steam engine on wheels. It can be yours for a mere $4,000.

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I have no explanation for that.

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Proof positive everything can be made into a lamp… whether it should be is another issue entirely.

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We almost can home with this corn cutter.

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The fact that it was on sale required closer examination.

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I was all for putting this little dude in the man cave/Barn Mahal but the husband disagreed.

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Truth in advertising is a rare thing.

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Antique motherload.

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Still in search of that last vintage beer/alcohol crate for my vinyl, the husband and I headed to a massive antique mall in Oxford.

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And I have to say we were blown away. Parts of it had the normal antique mall booths with multiple vendors and then there was this room.

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Which was really more of a museum. Those vintage hand painted sleds were da bomb.

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There were some truly fabulous items.

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With fabulous prices to accompany them. We spent hours just in that one room. And then we moved on..

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My husband probably has a dozen of these old glass water bottles and frames, but that never stops him from looking for number 13.

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I nixed the idea of hanging that on the Barn Mahal door.

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Husband wanted to buy all these Trump dollars and use them to start our next fire, but I couldn’t stand the thought of that man riding all the way home with us even if I knew he’d end up in the ash pile.

To be continued..

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Things I don’t need today.

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While it’s true my face may not be as firm and tight as it once was…

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I have no desire to cover it in Pepto Bismol rubber either. Sometimes the price of beauty is too high.

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Is it? Because that doesn’t look the least bit appetizing to me. I need my meat to bun ratio a lot lower than this.

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Would duct tape work just as well?

Asking for a friend.

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I saw this remarkably accurate John Wayne doll in an antique store the other day and was ready to lambaste the seller for spelling effigy incorrectly…. until I did some research and discovered Effanbee is a company that produces collectible dolls. It’s a good thing my husband didn’t see it. I don’t need that horror staring me down in the man cave bar.

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I see your dogs playing poker velvet wall hanging and raise you one toothless, cigar smoking set of gambling scallops.

My money’s on the straight flush mollusk.

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Braving the heat and the crowds for treasure.

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Husband wanted to go to the annual giant yard sale at the Cumberland Fairgrounds this past Saturday and you know only the lure of cheap treasure would make him wait on this kind of line.

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The gates opened at 9:00am. We were there at 9:01 and the line was already insane. This is just a fraction of it –

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Naturally the heat and humidity came roaring back with a vengeance that day.

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How hot was it?

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Bald men wearing trash bag hats hot.

Was the treasure worth the long line and $10 per person entrance fee?

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I didn’t think so.

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But you know the husband had to fully examine each and every table.

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We were there for nearly 4 hours. Me getting sweatier and crankier by the minute… him never failing to strike up a conversation with a fellow Marine.

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In his hands? Some kind of haying tool and an antique wallpaper ruler.

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And whatever this was.

Treasure?

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You be the judge.

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Zoolak?

This required some research. It certainly doesn’t sound tasty….

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And though there were vintage crates galore, not one was man cave appropriate… so I just came home with a few more albums.

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For Mistermuse –

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Treasure… part 2.

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More ephemera for the collection.

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WWII gas ration book, Army Air Corps ( precursor to the Air Force) birthday card and a warning from Uncle Sam.

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Vintage political.

And then there was this strange little booklet about the different lodges. When you read it, start with the number on the top… it’s a countdown.

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I’ll spare you the entire book…

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Long live the Elks! They know how to hold their liquor.

And finally, my personal favorite…

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An ad from the St. Louis chemical company famous for its miracle cures and odd skeleton graphics. Many products contained quinine and heroin but this particular flyer is for Antikamnia. The formula varied over the years but the main ingredient was acetanilide, a coal tar derivative which caused cyanosis… turning patient’s extremities blue from a lack of oxygen. Deaths were reported as early as 1891. No miracle there I’m afraid.

The flip side.

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And now, the treasure.

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You knew the husband wouldn’t come home empty handed from all those antique stores we visited, right?

It was a banner day for ephemera and since the market is pretty much dead right now, these little gems were only a few dollars for the batch.

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An old Maine prohibition postcard.

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It’s takes 160,000 children to keep me in gin? Thank you boys and girls. River appreciates all your hard work.

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Continuing in the alcohol vein… vintage beer coasters for the man cave.

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So many brews I’ve never even heard of.

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1939 World’s Fair. Very collectible.

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Trade cards. These used to go for $20+ each.

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And because I still haven’t found any crates to house them, another old vinyl record.

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Because you never know what my husband will bring up from the cellar …

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The search for items to sell at a flea market continues and things are being belched up from the basement at an alarming rate. I don’t know if he’ll ever actually go through with this plan, but he certainly is enjoying the trips down memory lane.

Today’s treasure?

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The 1967 version of an adult party game. And judging from the look on that woman’s face, insufficient martinis were consumed before play began.

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The game is simple. 24 cards are placed on top of the feely box, you draw one… then reach inside to pull out the corresponding item.

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Yes, those are teenie tiny dentures. 1967 sounds like a blast.

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A little drip now and then….

 

Leaking roof saga continued.

Winter is the worst possible time in Maine for your roof to spring a leak … so of course, that’s exactly what’s happened.

Remember when I said I’d cringe every time it rains?

 

 

That’s the sound of me cringing.

It poured the other day… and so did our ceiling.

 

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So much so I had to add another pan.

Which drove the husband nuts when he came home…. and because he’s a man and had to do something?

 

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Yeah. He decided to climb up into the attic to see where it was leaking.

Naturally this isn’t as easy as climbing a set of stairs… because no.

Here at Casa River, we like a challenge.

 

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The den closet, home to an overflow of the husband’s useless crap  treasure.

(Yes, he collects old wooden hangers. Don’t you?)

 

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Half of one side had to be emptied and strewn all over the room….

 

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Because the only way to access the crawl space we call an attic is to remove all the shelving and climb up a hole at the top of the closet.

 

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A design paradigm we curse the builders for quite often.

 

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It’s a bit of a nightmare getting up there.

 

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And no, the husband didn’t appreciate me making a Kodak moment out of the experience.

 

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He wasn’t thrilled that I stuck my head up through the hole to offer advice either.

Men. There’s no pleasing you.

 

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But look… I found an antenna from the 1970’s!

 

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Did I mention there’s no actual floor up there? Just a few scattered pieces of particle board that break when you kneel on them.

 

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So after scuttling around like a crab and lying on his back…

 

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And pointing his flashlight near the section of the roof of the addition you can’t access from the crawl space, he did find where the water was coming in. Halfway up the peak, and running down the beams…. which we can find absolutely no reason for.

 

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Doesn’t this look like fun?

 

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Especially since there’s not a damned thing you can do about it until spring when you can rip off the shingles to find the bad spot.

 

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Meanwhile I’ll have this lovely and ever expanding wart to look at.

And every time I do?

I hear a cash register.

Ka-ching!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My only question is… why?

 

I never know what I’ll find in my husband’s barn.

The other day? I found this hanging on the wall….

 

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After I was through shuddering, I named it Creepy Baby.

Because, it’s a baby. And it’s creepy. I swear it’s eyes follow me around the room, and you know that never ends well.

I also saw this perched on the window sill.

 

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Yes….

 

 

It is what you think it is.

 

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The question is….

 

 

As a decorative item, it leaves a lot to be desired.

 

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And I can only hope the mechanism used to make it go boom isn’t in there as well.

But with my husband?

You never know.

 

 

 

 

Please don’t tell my husband.

 

At one time or another my husband has collected all of the following:

Bottles, playing cards, coins, rusty farm implements, stamps, egg coddlers, antique mitre saws, Life magazines, Coca Cola memorabilia, post cards, baseball bats, radios, toy cars, fishing lures, vintage board games, alabaster eggs, crackle glass, razors, old telephones, fire extinguishers, glass oil jugs, wooden hangers, milk crates, Fenton, mason jars, books, Tinker Toys, sleds, bean pots, grain scales, wooden skis, haying forks, lamp fixtures, cigar boxes, pencil sharpeners, apple peelers, grinding wheels, cast iron skillets, flour sifters, fishing rods, tennis rackets, flashlights and egg beaters.

 

great-scott-thats

 

And no, I’m not exaggerating.

The sad part is, that’s probably not the entire list… but I’m cringing just thinking about it and had to stop. Or slaughter him in his sleep, and who needs that mess on a weeknight.

Kidding!

I think…

For the past 35 years if someone was selling it? He was buying it. And as soon as he had one? He wanted more. To which my response was always..

 

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We currently have an apple press, a wooden washing machine, a butter smoothing table, a potato planter and two 5 foot tall wagon wheel frames in our barn.

Why?

My answer is –

 

 

His answer is –

 

 

So when I read there’s now a market for old Kool Aid packets, and they’re selling for hundreds of dollars a piece?

 

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It’s true.

 

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It’s beyond ridiculous.

And if any of you tell my husband?

I will hunt you down and rip your tongue out through your nose.

 

 

 

P.S….

If the late 80’s and early 90’s are vintage…

What the hell am I?