Tag Archives: vintage

Treasure.. part 3.

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The husband bought another vintage cocktail recipe book, though to my knowledge he’s never mixed a cocktail in his life.

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He knew it was old because it said so right in the title.

🥴

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Mixed drinks are no mystery to me, but whatever.

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Pinch bottle and spot bottle? Now I know what my mother was talking about when she said she added a pinch of this and a pinch of that.

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Those are some pretty potent potables, and I definitely could have used the income tax cocktail during my 8 hour conversation with the IRS last month.

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And look, they even have vintage snack recipes. Though no crudite …. sorry Mehmet.

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Husband’s other little treasure was this promotional package of Squirt. Can’t say I ever drank it, but I’m thinking it’s citrusy.

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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.

😉

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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Antique store oddities part two.

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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.

To be continued….

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New/old treasures.

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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.

😈

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Vintage recycling.

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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 barn Mahal 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.

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The more things change…

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While the husband was busy Swiss cheesing his barn walls, I rummaged through the house looking for something my mother had given me many moons ago.

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It’s an odd little self published booklet from 1938 that was left to her by an old extremely wealthy boyfriend.

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To say it’s a scathing rebuke of Franklin Delano Roosevelt is an understatement.

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It positively skewers him and his policies.

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It was put together but a bunch of old money fat cats…

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And could be the Facebook or Twitter of it’s day.

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The more things change…

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The more they remain the same.

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The best one yet!

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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.

Yeah, you know he’s going to regret that.

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It’s not just for furniture anymore.

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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.

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Day 15… Small bathrooms and antique store Hell, where River reexamines how much she really loves her husband.

 

I woke up on our last full day of vacation in Williamsburg, Virginia  (Yes, we’re finally there!)  cursing our second resort’s small bathrooms.

 

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I mean… come on.

For a girl with big hair this is a very small space to make the magic happen.

And the shower?

 

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One teeny tiny shelf!

I had to put the rest of my things on the floor.

 

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We started the day at the husband’s favorite breakfast spot where he was now greeted with ”The guy who wants two plates of chipped beef on toast is here”.

 

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And seeing that we’d had 2 full weeks of doing everything I wanted to do, I thought it prudent to throw the husband a bone and let him pick our last day’s activities.

 

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As expected, that bit me in the ass.

 

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He chose the Williamsburg Antique Mall… and let me tell you, that’s a whole lotta mall.

I have never in my life seen so much  useless crap  stuff  in one place. It went on forever, aisle after aisle after aisle. The husband was in heaven.

 

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Oh, there were some interesting things.

 

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And some seriously hideous things.

 

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It was hard, but I managed to pass on this quartz rooster head.

 

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And the Christmas tree in a shoe.

 

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But damn, at the one hour mark we’d only managed to cover a little corner of the place.

 

 

The building was so huge it had push button call stations for help because it was too damned long a walk back to the front to find a sales clerk.

 

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Two hours in there was a drunken Santa….

 

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And some of the money the husband used during the Vietnam War.

 

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Three hours in there was a pair of wolves on skis…

 

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The ice cube trays I cursed with every breath as a child….

 

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And some questionable artwork complete with psychedelic chickens.

 

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Four hours in there were Civil War era hats and a saleslady who gave me a piece of paper to write down the aisle number, the booth number, the case number and a description of each article we had questions about because no one ever remembers what was where. If you look in the upper left hand corner of the picture you’ll see my hand clutching it.

And no, I wasn’t going to give it to the husband …. I’m not stupid.

The husband?

Happier than the proverbial pig in shit.

 

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Rusty tools….

Rusty tools everywhere!

 

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I passed on more vintage chickens.

 

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And wondered who this wide eyed Santa was going to poke with that…. that….

Whatever the heck that was.

At the four and a half hour mark I had to use the rest room.

 

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Where I did indeed flush my hopes and dreams of ever leaving this place down the toilet.

 

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There was definitely something for everyone.

 

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Even if some of the price tags made you gasp.

Five hours in I told the husband I was too hungry to continue and we needed to go get some lunch.

 

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Yeah.

My worst nightmare came true….

They had a cafe.

 

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Where we had tiny overpriced sandwiches and frozen solid fruit to fortify us for more hours of antique shopping.

 

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It was at this point I knew we’d never leave.

I was doomed.

 

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Too late for that warning…. the husband has had it for years.

 

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He was bound and determined to see every last item in this store or die trying.

And by this time I was happily planning his demise.

 

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Yikes.

Paging Morticia Addams….

 

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And holy crap.

Who in their right mind wants that hanging on their wall?

 

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Six hours in I found a bug collection….

 

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Some chicken humor…

 

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And part of the line to check out.

These people took a number…. and have probably been waiting since June 13, 1976.

 

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But the husband was still going strong.

 

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And if I told you how many rusty old pesticide sprayers we have in the barn already? You’d fear for my safety.

 

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Here’s proof positive there’s a magazine for everything.

 

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And a painting that contains fish bones.

You’re welcome.

 

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SEVEN HOURS  in and we weren’t even 2/3’s of the way through.

 

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I knew he wasn’t going to leave without buying something, but by then I’d reached my limit of  utterly useless crap  antique shopping.

I was on board with the old phone. It could have been fun in the barn…. when he builds that bar he keeps talking about.

You know, the bar he can’t build because he has too much utterly useless crap  stuff in the way.

 

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Eight hours in?

I was silently screaming FFS….just pick something and let’s go!

Or maybe I said it out loud, I can’t remember.

 

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So there it is, the result of 8 hours of antique mall shopping.

A giant glass water bottle to add to the other 20 or so giant glass water bottles he currently has collecting cobwebs.

 

 

I love him.

I do.

And as long as I keep telling myself that I’ll be fine.