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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
The den closet, home to an overflow of the husband’s useless crap treasure.
(Yes, he collects old wooden hangers. Don’t you?)
Half of one side had to be emptied and strewn all over the room….
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.
A design paradigm we curse the builders for quite often.
It’s a bit of a nightmare getting up there.
And no, the husband didn’t appreciate me making a Kodak moment out of the experience.
He wasn’t thrilled that I stuck my head up through the hole to offer advice either.
Men. There’s no pleasing you.
But look… I found an antenna from the 1970’s!
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.
So after scuttling around like a crab and lying on his back…
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.
Doesn’t this look like fun?
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.
Meanwhile I’ll have this lovely and ever expanding wart to look at.
River's world..... 