Tag Archives: vintage

Vintage recycling.


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.



I was on a mission and didn’t dilly dally. The same can not be said for my spouse.



I moved him quickly away from this horror…



Because right now the only thing the barn Mahal doesn’t have is a kitchen sink… and I wasn’t taking any chances.



Fresh lobster made us laugh. There’s nothing worse than cheeky crustaceans.



I had my eye on that wagon to the right. But at $520 it seemed a bit pricey for empty beer bottles.



Even the chicken thought so.

And then I found it…



Buried in the back and full of oars.



$50 later…. the old barrel with original lid… made a perfect returnable container.


The more things change…


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.



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



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



It positively skewers him and his policies.



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



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



The more things change…



The more they remain the same.



The best one yet!


So I walked in on my husband the other day, and this was what he was watching….



I knew it was going to be good.

Or bad.

Or so bad, it’s good.

I wasn’t disappointed.



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?



Back at the lab, the lady doctor/heroine whipped out her stethoscope to check its vitals.



The diagnosis? None. They were stumped… (pun intended) and left the room to confer with colleagues.

Bad idea.



Very bad.

The rampaging evil spirit tree, which we learned is named Tobanga, ran amok and captured a South Sea native girl.



And hurled her in the quicksand.

She begged for her life…



But Tobanga was merciless.



Bye bye scantily clad native girl.



Her death stirred up the villagers and they vowed to track the malevolent creature.



But you know that didn’t go as planned.



This fellow was tossed into a ravine and impaled….



Which pissed off the guy in the stunning headband to no end.



He gathered more natives to dig a pit… and used himself as bait to lure the creature.

Edge of your seat drama. Yessiree.



Success! We shall stab the beast with our spears..



Light him on fire and make charcoal briquettes!



But alas, that didn’t turn out well either.



Headband guy was doomed.



And chucked off the side of a mountain.



And as you know it had to..



Tobanga then captured our heroine.



Her fellow doctors armed themselves and were in hot pursuit, willing to lay down their lives for the fair haired damsel in distress.



(Except for the guy on the right who knows that bitch Karen deserved it for digging up the cursed thing in the first place.)


Our hero saved the day with an expertly placed shot to Tobanga’s … heart?



And into the quicksand he went….

Bye bye Stumpy.



The natives were so grateful they asked our hero if he would be their village witch doctor.



And though flattered, he refused… and moved back to Burbank with Karen.

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


It’s not just for furniture anymore.


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.



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…




Let’s go with that.







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.



The home office section had a few quirky pieces as well.



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?






It’s been long time since I went furniture shopping.


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.




I mean… come on.

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

And the shower?




One teeny tiny shelf!

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




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”.




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.




As expected, that bit me in the ass.




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.




Oh, there were some interesting things.




And some seriously hideous things.




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




And the Christmas tree in a shoe.




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.




Two hours in there was a drunken Santa….




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




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




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




And some questionable artwork complete with psychedelic chickens.




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.




Rusty tools….

Rusty tools everywhere!




I passed on more vintage chickens.


IMG_2375 (1)


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.




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




There was definitely something for everyone.




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.





My worst nightmare came true….

They had a cafe.




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





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

I was doomed.




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




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.





Paging Morticia Addams….




And holy crap.

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




Six hours in I found a bug collection….




Some chicken humor…




And part of the line to check out.

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




But the husband was still going strong.




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




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




And a painting that contains fish bones.

You’re welcome.




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




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.


IMG_2402 (2)


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.




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.













The DeWitt continued…. George Washington, creepy dolls, weavings, and more Name That (not) Crap.


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?






DeWitt Decorative Arts Museum…. a whole lotta silver and Name That (not) Crap.


I’ve visited a large number of museums in my day and tend to be jaded…. but I have to say, the collection of sterling silver in Williamsburg impressed even me.




Some were simple.




Others elaborate.

(Goose feet! I loved it.)




Some embellished your shoes.




Cases as far as the eye could see of master craftsmanship.




The thought of polishing all these beauties left me quaking….




But honestly…








There was a cover for your honeycomb…




A ceremonial scepter.




And countless teapots.




Morbid jewelry?





Giant turtle?




With a slightly bored husband mimicking the facial expression of the fellow over his shoulder?





There was even a piece perfect for my Name That Crap game…. although it’s far from crap.

Let’s play!

What is it?

Colonial Williamsburg museums…. Folk Art tree, vintage weapons, furniture and an 18th Century catwalk.


There are two distinct collections in what used to be the lunatic asylum building… The Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Folk Art Museum and the DeWitt Wallace Decorative Arts Museum.

It’s a bit fluid when you enter…




And since it was the Christmas season I wasn’t surprised to see one of these.

Please note there’s a chicken instead of an angel on the top. I’m not sure what that means, other than there might be a secret cult of barnyard fowl practicing nearby. Which lead me to Google image search ‘religious chicken’ and then I was off….








I’m easily distracted… but you have to admit,




This architect had a sense of humor.

And now back to your regularly scheduled program:




The story behind it was interesting.




Me like.




Though I doubt I’ll be making my own or buying the book.




And opposite the festive tree?




Implements of death….




Because nothing says holiday cheer like various ways to kill each another.




But even I have to admit they were beautiful specimens.




And if you look closely, you can see the scowling face on the bottom of the grip.

I read the DeWitt has the largest collection of southern furniture in the world…




And I believe it.




There were rows and rows of unique examples.




There were also some fabulous fashions of the day.




And yes…








And if that wasn’t wonderful enough… there was 300 year old fabric.




And a vintage runway.




Those little harlots.

Did you see how much ankle she was showing?


Oh, good grief.


Try as I might to avoid it, sometimes I have to go upstairs in our barn.

This usually forces me to emit a heavy sigh over the husband’s new acquisitions.

You know,  the ones he snuck in there without me noticing.




While I was pleasantly surprised to see he’d done a little organizing (read – shoved everything to the sides) and the floor was visible this time….




And also delighted to see a small section of crap had been put on a shelf.

A shelf!



(What? You don’t collect dusty old water stained cardboard boxes half full of rusty rivets and tacks…

Why ever not?)

A groan did escape me when I saw more bed frames….




And old rusty pesticide sprayers…




As well as whatever the hell this is in front of the vintage cabbage slicers.




I’m thinking I should make him use that in the baby barn to level out the dirt floor.

You know, as penance for bringing the damn thing home in the first place.



I  wish I knew.

And if you’re thinking to yourself, geesh River, that didn’t look so bad…. let me point your eye downstairs where it looks like this:




And this:




And this:




Enough said.



Oddly enough….


When I think of lawn ornaments?

Mr. Potato Head is not the first thing that comes to mind.




And while I love a good spud with my steak as much as the next person…




I can’t say I’d want this bigger than life fellow greeting me at my door every night.




Maybe so.

But I’m old enough to remember this creepy vintage playground Potato Head.



And stand by my statement.

No thank you!