Tag Archives: collecting

Antiquing in the Brewer area.

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I can always tell when my husband isn’t going to like an antique store.

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You know the type…. filled with shabby chic and crafty things. He cruises through those stores quickly and rarely enjoys himself,

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Until he turned a corner in this one and saw the shredded wheat crate he’d just purchased for $25…

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(Yes, he collects wooden yard sticks. Don’t ask.) ….was selling for $125.

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Then? He was a fan.

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And chuckled at a few things.

Especially the creative way the owners of this old schoolhouse decided to deal with their roof leak.

New shingles? Not exactly.

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Indoor guttering.

Odd… but you have to admit, it is interesting.

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The search continues.

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The husband and I hit another antique store yesterday, but failed to find any appropriate vintage beer or whisky crates for my vinyl collection. (okay, I did see a Budweiser crate but even I have standards)

I’m afraid the search is proving fruitful in only one aspect.

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And that’s enlarging the number of albums I need to house in the first place. But I was happy to find 13 of the same records I lost decades ago. A few covers are in rough shape, but for $2 each I won’t complain.

And lest you think the husband came home empty handed, he found a treasure for the man cave as well.

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A wood bound mixed drink recipe book from 1941.

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It’s a hoot and has some interesting drawings.

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As with anything the husband purchases, he always tells me to look it up and see if he paid too much.

This was the first listing I saw.

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Yikes! I was impressed he only paid $15 until I saw a bunch of others ranging from $20-100.

Good luck wdan1351. If you manage to sell it for that price? Please let me know.

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Sensory overload and a naked man.

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We found a very, how shall I say? ….unique antique store last week.

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It was an old Victorian house with elaborate overgrown gardens and more stuff than I have ever seen crammed into one place at one time.

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Yes, even more than my husband has in our basement. And trust me, that’s saying something.

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It was a veritable jam packed maze with room after room of … stuff.

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Advertised as an antique store, it was also filled with arts, crafts and assorted holiday decorations.

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I’m hoping the hand was for Halloween.

I really am.

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We had a long conversation with the owner who astoundingly told us it only took him 10 years to fill the place. Honestly? It could take a person that long just to go through it.

He also reiterated what my husband heard at the flea market. No one is buying. Anything. Lots of dealers are calling it quits.

Proof positive there is such a thing as too much stuff.

We discovered he lives upstairs and he told us that area is just as heavily populated with his personal collections. The mind boggles.

As we were leaving my husband said that made sense because he thought he saw a naked man on the balcony when we walked in.

Whaaat!

How do you not lead with that observation?

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In which we discover how truly anal I am.

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I have a large collection of vintage vinyl albums. It used to number close to 800, but I made the mistake of storing a large portion of them in my MIL’s attic years ago between moves and a leaky roof cut my collection in half. Today, after culling… it’s slightly over 350, and though they’ve been housed in plastic crates for the past 20 years, I recently decided they should be relocated to the man cave in vintage wooden beer or whiskey crates.

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Did I mention my albums are organized alphabetically?

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The Dewar’s scotch crate that I liberated from the husband’s stash (because if he’s not going to give it to the pub, he can give it to me) has A-B.

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When I pick up a few replacements here and there at flea markets?

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Adjustments must be made.

Pickwick Ale?

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C, D, E and F.

Those were the only two alcohol related crates my husband had in his crap treasure filled cellar, so I guess I’ll have to go antique shopping for G through Z.

😉

Flea market miracle – the results.

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My husband came home hot, tired and grumpy after his 14 hour long adventure at Todd’s Farm flea market in Massachusetts. (Why did he feel the need to travel two and half hours out of state to divest himself of treasure? Because we’d been there years ago and it was an impressive array of antiques with lots of wealthy buyers.) He had visions of selling everything for big bucks and coming home with an empty truck.

This did not happen, much to his… and most certainly my… chagrin.

From the start, the crowd was small. And those who were shopping didn’t seem to be buying.

Anything.

From anyone. The husband was set up next to a veteran antique dealer who agreed it was a horrible day. Interestingly enough, he also said it was a horrible week, month and year.

Wouldn’t you know it? Just when my crap collecting spouse finally decides to get rid of some crap… the crap market bottoms out. He spoke to a dozen dealers as well as a large cross section of pickers making the rounds and they all said the same thing. The secondary antique market in New England is sick, dying, and pretty much dead.

Don’t get me wrong, hubby managed to sell probably a quarter of what he took… but he didn’t get anywhere near the prices he asked, and was surprised that it was all the low end items that sold. The nice, unique pieces returned home with him.

As did the beast. That 200 lb monstrosity of a scale I had to help him move… again.

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And damn it, now it’s right alongside my car in the garage.

Husband was disappointed, but not quite ready to give up. He plans to try again at a flea market closer to home which is probably a good thing…. because since I refused to let all the crap back in the house, the table he set up to store it in front of the Harley is making parking in the garage a bit tight.

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He did surprise me with one item though.

The wicker love seat his sister left in our barn 12 years ago. She didn’t want it and told him to get rid of it over a decade ago.

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He finally did.

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It’s really happening!

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The miracle I’ve dreamed of for nigh on two decades has finally happened. My husband, crap hoarder extraordinaire…is going to sell some of his junk treasure at a flea market.

Be still my heart.

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Pieces were chosen, collected and researched for current market value.

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Okay, that last part was all me. But I hope to recoup some of the tens of thousands of dollars he’s probably spent on this stuff over the years and don’t trust him not to give it away.

John Maddock English chamber pot circa 1870? Lidless, but still deserving of a $70 price tag. Hey, if nothing else… it will make a great planter.

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And I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to see the last of this beast.

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Circa 1903, it weighs an utter ton and yours truly has dragged it from the truck to the cellar to the garage to the second floor of the barn and back down to the truck…. hopefully for the last time.

Yay!

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Old doorknob, hammered aluminum tray and non working Xmas lights from the 50’s?

Bye bye!

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A truck packed with things I hope to never see again is a beautiful sight.

But I almost forgot the best part!!!

I didn’t have to get up at 1:00am, to leave at 2:00am, to drive two and a half hours out of state to help him unpack, set up, sit in the baking sun and heat for 8 hours, pack up whatever he didn’t sell and drive two and a half hours back home. I didn’t! Because he had a friend who actually wanted to.

Life is good my friends. Very, very good.

Of course I’m a supportive wife and filled a cooler full of sandwiches, fruit, cold drinks…

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And a big bowl of freshly made broccoli salad.

It’s got a pound of bacon in it… what’s not to love?

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It’s spreading like a virus.

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A fungus is currently taking over Casa River and it’s all I can do not to scream.

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It multiplies.

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It jumps from room to room…

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It’s covering every empty space and driving me crazy…

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But I’m not saying a word.

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I’m not nagging, I’m not bitching (out loud) because something miraculous has happened. I’m not sure I should even mention it lest I pierce the magic veil from whence it came… but here goes.

My husband… hoarder extraordinaire, the man who never saw a piece of junk he didn’t want to own… said he wants to sell some of his useless crap treasure at a flea market! Believe me when I tell you I almost passed out from the shock.

When … or even if …. this unheard of event will take place is anyones’s guess. But I’m doing my best to keep quiet and tiptoe around the plethora of rubbish that’s being vomited up from the cellar. If there’s the slightest chance some of it could disappear, it’s the least I can do.

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