Tag Archives: flea market

A flea market bust but a brew pub win.

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My husband heard about a large flea market in Fryeburg , Maine… and since the 90 minute drive did not deter him, over to the western part of the state we went.

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There was indeed a flea market, but that’s the only good thing I can say about it. Yes, there were a few antiques scattered here and there… but mostly it was tacky new merchandise. Like this:

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Clearly Barbie has reached menopause age.

It was hot as hell that day with no breeze whatsoever and that made me cranky. The only thing that made me smile?

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Martian chauffeurs.

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After a few fruitless hours of my husband searching for treasure and me searching for shade, we left empty handed. And since it was well past lunchtime and I’d worked up a terrible thirst.. there was only one place to go. The penultimate brew pub.

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If you don’t know where it is, you’ll never find it… tucked away down a narrow wooded residential road, alongside a golf course in a quiet town near the border of New Hampshire called Lovell .

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The barn is the pub, and there’s outdoor seating as well.

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If you’ve never heard of Ebenezer’s? Good. That means more beer for me.

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But if you live in New England, chances are you know this award winning shrine to suds. A visit there never disappoints.

To be continued….

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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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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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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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