So many items popped into my head when I read this… but if I’m going to have to choose one:
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The milk box.
(No, I didn’t grow up in Palmyra, PA … but I couldn’t find an image of the dairy that provided our back porch with a milk delivery box so this will have to do.)
Young people today are amazed when you tell them a milkman actually came to your house twice a week and left the milk, cream, and butter you ordered in a zinc lined metal box. And while I admit I vaguely remember ours as the service ended when I was quite young… never running out of milk had to be the ultimate convenience. Some dairies left ice cream as well.
Now that’s a delivery I can totally get behind.
Your turn.
What item did you grow up with that no one sees anymore?
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.
Onward… through the never ending stalls of useless crap timeless treasure we went.
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Box of 1950’s risqué playing cards?
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Check! There were two.
Vintage hi fi speakers?
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Check! Two as well.
Absurd 6 legged patriotic corner table?
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Yup. That was there as well.
Because I don’t spend nearly as much time examining the junk unique items on sale as the husband, I’m always far ahead of him in the store. So when I see an area I think might be trouble?
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Like an entire room of rust…
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I try to steer him clear. But this time he surprised me and passed by the tool stall of horrors with nary a glance. We were halfway through the store by this time and I was lulled into a false sense of security that we would exit before dark.
And then….
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He found a pile. Actually he found pile upon piles of ephemera. For the uninitiated pickers among us, an explanation.
Ephemera – items of collectible memorabilia, typically written or printed ones, that were originally expected to have only short-term usefulness or popularity.
There were boxes stacked on boxes, files stuffed in drawers and a floor to ceiling shelf full of ABSOLUTELY nothing worth a damn. But this didn’t deter my husband, oh no. The more he looked and found nothing? The more he was sure there was something. He just knew an undiscovered copy of the constitution or Abraham Lincoln’s handwritten will was waiting to be unearthed .
I walked the entire mall three times, sat down and blogged for half an hour, chatted with other customers and read two old Life magazines. He still wasn’t done.
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I found old shoes that made my bunion hurt just looking at them.
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And World War II German mountain trooper boots I wouldn’t want to hike the Alps in…. but still, the husband wasn’t through.
After 2 hours and 38 minutes…. ( That’s how long he stood there sorting and sifting through stinky brittle old scraps of paper. Yes. I timed it. ) I pulled him away and gave him an ultimatum. He could finish browsing the store before it closed or I was taking the car and leaving him there.
Since it was a 65 mile walk home? He deserted his giant pile of vintage grocery store lists and life insurance policies and resumed browsing.
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.
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 barnMahal 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.
So I walked in on my husband the other day, and this was what he was watching….
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I knew it was going to be good.
Or bad.
Or so bad, it’s good.
I wasn’t disappointed.
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A walking tree stump reincarnation?
I was in!
Having missed the first third of the movie I can’t give you the background story, but I knew something was going to go wrong when the visiting doctors dug up a tree with a face and a knife in it’s… chest?
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Back at the lab, the lady doctor/heroine whipped out her stethoscope to check its vitals.
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The diagnosis? None. They were stumped… (pun intended) and left the room to confer with colleagues.
Bad idea.
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Very bad.
The rampaging evil spirit tree, which we learned is named Tobanga, ran amok and captured a South Sea native girl.
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And hurled her in the quicksand.
She begged for her life…
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But Tobanga was merciless.
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Bye bye scantily clad native girl.
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Her death stirred up the villagers and they vowed to track the malevolent creature.
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But you know that didn’t go as planned.
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This fellow was tossed into a ravine and impaled….
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Which pissed off the guy in the stunning headband to no end.
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He gathered more natives to dig a pit… and used himself as bait to lure the creature.
Edge of your seat drama. Yessiree.
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Success! We shall stab the beast with our spears..
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Light him on fire and make charcoal briquettes!
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But alas, that didn’t turn out well either.
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Headband guy was doomed.
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And chucked off the side of a mountain.
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And as you know it had to..
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Tobanga then captured our heroine.
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Her fellow doctors armed themselves and were in hot pursuit, willing to lay down their lives for the fair haired damsel in distress.
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(Except for the guy on the right who knows that bitch Karen deserved it for digging up the cursed thing in the first place.)
Bam!
Our hero saved the day with an expertly placed shot to Tobanga’s … heart?
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And into the quicksand he went….
Bye bye Stumpy.
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The natives were so grateful they asked our hero if he would be their village witch doctor.
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And though flattered, he refused… and moved back to Burbank with Karen.
My girlfriend was in the market for furniture and asked me to go with her to the new Jordan’s that opened at the Maine Mall.
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Holy mackerel Batman!
Clearly it’s been a long time since I shopped for a sofa, because this was a totally immersive experience.
Yes, that picture is of the one store… not the mall itself. Huge doesn’t begin to describe it. We walked and walked and walked and thought we’d never find the end.
Some of the furniture was…
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Different.
Let’s go with that.
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Wait…
What?
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Is this the hamster night light option?
Or disco lighting for when your urge to do the Hustle is too strong to ignore?
Either way, I’ll pass.
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The home office section had a few quirky pieces as well.
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They were actually selling these vintage typewriters.
Price? $450.
And yes, I’ll be checking the husband’s barn for one as soon as I’m done posting.
So it was an interesting place. But the weirdest thing of all?
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This:
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Yes.
It’s been long time since I went furniture shopping.
Aside from all the decorative items, the Dewitt had some pieces of historic interest as well.
Here’s the father of our country casually leaning on a cannon. And if you look closely, you’ll see this…
Yes, they even have George Washington’s jewelry…. which had been lost for nearly two centuries. It was rediscovered in 1990, when the daughter-in-law of a Virginia Beach woman descended from Supreme Court Chief Justice John Marshall found it in her dead mother-in-law’s jewelry box.
Just think… it could have been put in a yard sale. Or donated to Goodwill.
Damn. Another missed opportunity.
Continuing past the silver, there were vast collections of porcelain and pottery.
Complete with creepy ass vintage dolls.
If you invite this little chicka to a tea party?
She’s going to nibble your fingers like biscuits.
By the amount of tankers on display, there was some serious beer drinking going on in the 18th century.
Have I mentioned this place went on forever?
It was fabulous.
There was a section dedicated to indigenous art as well.
And these were quite special.
Even the husband was intrigued.
Each piece had a story.
But I’ll just give you one example.
Two years?
Damn. That’s dedication.
George showed up again, though in iron this time.
“Dumb” stoves?
I’ve cursed a few in my lifetime, but never knew they were actually a thing.
After George, I knew I’d lost the husband.
Because this is his idea of heaven.
They weren’t rusted, but these are just the sort thing he likes to fill our barn with.
( And if his were in good shape and displayed artfully like this? I wouldn’t half mind.)
And because you know I can’t pass up an opportunity, let’s play Name That (not) Crap again.
What is it …. #1?
What is it… #2?
Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
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