Tag Archives: fun
It was one of those fabulous old antebellum homes for which Madison is so well known. Off the main street, a couple of blocks back into the residential area. Academy Street.
In obvious need of exterior painting, and some roof repairs, it was nonetheless a grand old house. Twelve foot ceilings. Large rooms. Beautiful hardwood floors. And lot’s of quirks. Like the staircase with only a six foot clearance for heads.
But it wasn’t the outside of the house which had drawn me here. Or the others standing in line waiting to go inside. For me it was the things inside, treasures amassed over a lifetime by the last resident of the house. Now all for sale.
My understanding was that the last resident had, at age 98, slipped this mortal coil. Her family had sold the house, and was now parting with everything inside. Strange things you might find. Someone pointed out that there were hundreds of family photos. And even the guest book from the funeral. Small things can sometimes make big statements.
What I noticed was that there was a relatively small turnout for this sale. There were several people in the line that I recognized. Other estate sale junkies. Or antique dealers. There were plenty of treasures here indeed. The owner had obviously been a collector, on a small scale, all her life. And she had treasures from every time period, and from around the world. She seemed to like Asian items. I mention this only because that is something I always look for, and am excited to find.
Most of the crowd seemed to be local people. People who knew this woman. They wanted to see the inside of the house. And perhaps to claim something that would remind them of her. One woman wanted the handwritten recipe cards from the kitchen. Zero monetary value, but tremendous sentimental value of some sort.
There was also at least one family member there. She identified herself as such when told that the item she wanted was already sold to someone else.
Maybe she was family. Maybe not. That one thing that she had always wanted was somehow not willed to her, or passed along by closer family members. She found something else and was satisfied.
I have no ties to this person. Or to any of the people whose estate sales I go. I’m a collector and reseller and that is my purpose and interest in these items from someone’s life. I do often wonder what kind of person this might have been, and usually end up creating my own story about them. Everyone is a hero.
One day my estate will be sold off. I’m glad I won’t be there for that. But I will at least know the story behind every single item sold.
That’s part of my story. What’s yours?
Hi my name is Matt and I’m an antique dealer. Hi Matt! comes the chorus from the group assembled at the regular meeting of antiquers anonymous. That’s how my dream goes some nights.
Over the past four or five years I have been to countless yard sales and estate sales. So many that I can’t even remember the places I’ve gone. Neighborhoods yes, but specific houses? Pretty rarely. Would have been someplace that had something really incredible to offer.
On those same lines, I’ve moved so many items in and out of the house, and my antique shops, that I can’t even picture most of them. Hell, I can’t even look in the store and figure out what’s missing from week to week. Sometimes I’ll look at the list of things I’ve sold and wonder what this or that even was.
So you might imagine that it was quite a shock for me the other day when I walked into a house where the owners were having a sale and saw something hanging on the wall that I had once owned. A one of a kind hand made weaving that I had found at another yard sale, kept in my house for a while and sold. No doubt about it, it was the same one.
I told the girl who lived there that I had once owned the weaving depicting an ancient South American bird god. Her jaw dropped and she ran outside to tell her boyfriend. He remembered me. And where I lived and how on the day that he and his friend bought the piece they had come to my house in a blue pickup truck and strapped this huge masterpiece on the back of the truck. It was too big to fit inside the bed of the truck. And I remember that on the day that I bought it I had done the same thing.
The friend had moved away and left the weaving for his friend. And it was not for sale. I wouldn’t have bought it again, but I sure did like it hanging on their wall. Big, bold. Lots of wow factor. And I was glad to know that someone was enjoying it so much. After I had certainly saved it from the scrapheap of history.
That’s part of my story. What’s yours?
One reason that people move out to the country is for the open spaces. Acreage. Maybe to plant a garden or raise some crops. Or to raise a few cows or chickens. And to put some distance between themselves and their neighbors.
Not that country folks aren’t friendly. In fact quite the opposite is true. Neighbors come together to help each other. They just don’t want people breathing down their neck.
While I was out on the lower forty clearing some brush, I was a little surprised to see these neighbors staring at me over the fence. The fence marks the property line. It also keeps some tings in, and others out.
Silently they had all come to look at me. Who was I and what was I doing? I went over to introduce myself calling out, “Hello!” There was no reply, but I could tell that they were eyeing me, and seemed quite satisfied that I was friendly.
Until I got right to the fence and made a move to climb the small embankment that stands between my driveway and the fence. I made a quick movement, accompanied by a medium loud grunting sound as I leapt toward the fence. That sent the neighbors running.
Trying to regain their confidence I called out again. “It’s ok, come back.” They stopped, and turned. One by one the bravest moved toward me. And as they did, others followed.
Big family. I counted twenty seven of them. We chatted over the fence for a while. Or at least I chatted. They seemed more interested in staring than talking. And finally I decided to head on down the driveway to recover my newspaper.
As I walked down the driveway they began to follow me. Still watching me. I wasn’t sure what they were expecting from me. Just curious I guess. When I got to the top of the driveway and bent down to pick up the paper they all ran off again. Skittish bunch I thought. But eventually several began to follow along as I walked back down the driveway.
They didn’t say anything this time, but I have heard them many times before. Loud voices. Day and night. But not distressing or disturbing.
Not the kind of neighbors you’d have in the city. Or in a subdivision. Only in the country. They need a lot of space like the rest of us out here.
And it’s neighbors like these that brings many of us out to the country. And a way to get back to nature just a little bit.
That’s part of my story. What’s yours?
On the approach, the new Mercedes Benz stadium was clearly visible. Unlike the path that the crow flies, the road system I was travelling did not go straight to my destination. I could see a nearby landmark, but not the road I needed to take.
And so, as is common to my travels, I took a wrong turn. The GPS rerouted and sent me on a new path so it was no major disaster. But it threw off my concentration. And I missed another turn.
Ending up in a parking lot full of nothing but boat trailers, I knew I was in the right area. But I couldn’t park there. The blue lot was my destination. There was a gate guard at the main entrance to the trailer lot so I stopped to ask him where I needed to go to reach my goal. He seemed a bit surprised that I came from within the trailer lot, but very kindly gave me the directions. It was just a around the corner and I was there in no time. Pretty good for me!
The boat show promised to provide the mother lode of boats to examine. I would like to buy a boat, but it’s hard to go to every dealership to look around. And even worse to have to face the scrutiny of hungry salesmen on the small stage of a single dealership. This big show was sure to be somewhat more relaxed. And would allow me to look at vessels I would not normally see at my local showroom.
The exhibit hall at the World Congress Center did not disappoint. It was huge. And filled with hundreds of boats of all sizes and shapes. Long lines to get onto and explore the biggest and fancies yachts.
Actually buying a boat here was not in my mind at all. That would be way too impulsive. But as I walked around I did see signs on several boats indicating that they were indeed sold.
My goal was to clarify in my mind what type of boat I really wanted. Or more precisely, which type I should actually buy. I had three options in mind. In no particular order, they were sailboat, pontoon boat, and runabout boat.
Each type comes in many sizes and styles, but it wasn’t within these categories that I needed to decide, but rather between them.
I have had two sailboats and I enjoy drifting silently across the water powered by only a nice breeze. But there are places that sailboats can’t go, like close in to a shoreline. The pontoon will go anywhere I want it to go, carries a good number of people, and is easy to drive. But somehow it seems a tad boring. Now the runabout, a classic vintage one, is to me just the coolest thing ever. Lapstraked hull and curved windshield with that 35 horsepower engine. OMG! Not like the big offshore boat I saw with three 300 horsepower engines strapped on to is after end. But I didn’t expect to see an antique boat at this show. And quite honestly, I think I’d be afraid to drive it lest it get a scratch.
Row after row I looked, and climbed aboard several. The sales folks seemed to ignore you unless you sat on their boat for more than ten minutes. And very strangely, I noticed that every one of the people I spoke with had their hands and mouths full of food. Boring show?
There were several food and beverage options available at the show. Including beer and wine. Oh lord, a drunken sailor! And it wasn’t just boats on display. There were people selling lakefront real estate. And patio furniture. Skin lotions and clothing. Anything and everything that had even the slightest connection to outdoor and water oriented recreation. That part of the show I breezed through.
In all of my researching here I did discover one thing. While I love all three types of boats that I’ve mentioned, the pontoon is most practical for my desires.
It took a while, but I finally found an example of a pontoon boat that fit my needs. Especially in the price category. I don’t have six figures for a boat. Basic is what I want. Low budget. Not too big. Plenty of seating. And enough of a go fast device to go just fast enough.
But I won’t be buying one of these fancy new boats. Still out of my budget. I should say out of my will to pay. Instead, I’ll find an experienced boat, one well travelled and a little broken down. Just like me.
That’s part of my story. What’s yours?
Everything had to be perfect. The shape. The size. And most especially the location. Visible from any angle. This was no ordinary tree!
Moving from my old house meant that I would have to leave all of my landscaping handiwork behind. Over the years I had touched every bush and shrub, and seemingly every blade of grass on the property. Much of the greenery I had planted. All of it I had nurtured. Redbuds, dogwoods and peach trees. Lenten roses in the shade. Flowering forsythia and camellia. Maple trees and two giant river birches. I loved them all.
The hardscaping was mine too. Railroad ties to create terraced steps in front and back. A slate paver patio. Brick retaining walls. And the koi pond. That was a real masterpiece.
But the greatest thing in the whole landscape, my very favorite item, was the gingko tree. With it’s green fan shaped leaves in the summer and the rich gold and yellow it transforms to in the fall, this most ancient of trees is simply spectacular. There are several majestic specimens in my town. They always catch my eye, and I have to stop dead in my tracks to stare and admire them. Even when the leaves fall off late in the season, the mound of golden leaves on the ground is worthy of tribute.
And so, I decided that the landscape at my home could not be complete without one of these trees. It wasn’t easy to find. And because of its combined rarity and popularity, it wasn’t cheap. Worth every penny.
The most magnificent specimen I had seen in town was fifty feet tall. With a trunk more than a foot across. My new acquisition, of which I was very proud, was four feet tall. And not quite an inch in diameter. Gingko are slow growers, so I knew I was in for a long haul with this tree.
I planted it where it would have good sun. In decent soil. And where it could be seen from the street and from every room in the back of my house. One day it would be spectacular.
The first couple of years were trying. I had to water it a lot. And indeed it grew slowly. But it sprouted leaves every spring. And they turned yellow every fall. But they didn’t hang on to the branches very long. That’s ok, the golden mound of leaves on the ground was still beautiful.
At some point something clicked with this tree. I guess the roots got happy and it took off. It grew, and thrived, and produced more and more of the golden leaves. The whole family loved it. But the leaves never did hang on very long.
When we moved, there was no gingko at the new house. I would have to plant one. Even as a priority it took me nearly a year to find the tree, and the perfect spot. The tree was actually easier to find than the spot. Several times I passed on getting the tree because I hadn’t decided on the spot.
Good soil. Perfect sunlight. In a place where it could be seen from every room in the back of the house. But not too close to the house. And not in a place where it would block the view of the pond in the back.
Finally I bought the tree knowing that having it in hand would force me to find the right spot. Straight and well branched, it stands four feet tall. And measures about an inch in diameter. It had golden leaves clinging tightly to the branches.
The potted tree was placed in the yard. How did it look here? Or there? Move it a few feet this way, and back. Now six inches left and two inches forward. That was it. All of the siting requirements were met. Where is that shovel?
Having positioned the tree with laser precision, I knew that digging a hole would not be quite as accurate. Close enough. It was in the right place, and it was standing straight. I backfilled the hole with dirt, mulch and special planting soil. This tree will lead a pampered life.
My youngest daughter went by the old house to get a look at the gingko. It was now nearly twenty feet tall, and about four inches in diameter. The leaves had already fallen off. The new owners no nothing of the history of that tree. And might not even like yellow. Now my new homestead has a gingko to call its own. Or more likely, a gingko has this new homestead to claim for itself.
I’ll make sure that it is happy, as it makes me happy. That’s part of my story. What’s yours?
The crystalline and powdery snow that fell last night was beautiful. But it wasn’t very good for snowman building. I tried to ball some up but it wouldn’t stick together to make any kind of clump. Just fell apart.
We don’t get much snow here, and it’s been a long time since I have built any kind of real snowman. This snowfall required one. Somehow.
If I couldn’t build a person out of snow I would have to build a person in the snow. I had just the thing. In my office I have a family made of several wooden sculptures. Mom, dad, kid and dog. I could use one of those for the basic figure.
Add a head, and a scarf, some arms and its ready to go. Easier said than done perhaps.
In the coat closet there is a box of scarves and hats and gloves. The scarf with red and white stripes, which I’ve had for nearly fifty years, was obvious for a snow person. And a few sticks from the yard would be good for arms.
Not too thick, not too thin. Break them off to the perfect length and lash them together so they can be attached to the basic figure. When I put the sticks down to take off my glove so I could tie the sticks on to the body, the dog ran up, grabbed the sticks and ran off with them. She chewed the end off of one! Not a total disaster. Big head, shorter arms.
Speaking of the head, that was not hard at all. Sounds a little odd I guess, but I have a head, other than my own, in my office. It’s an old mannequin for hat displays. And that’s what I use it for. It wears a top hat. I can just stick it up on top of the basic figure and viola! Almost human!
I put the whole thing in the backyard, overlooking the pond. Since it wasn’t really attached, the head kept falling over. So I had to prop it up with the scarf. I wasn’t trying to build Frankenstein’s monster. It’s name is Hungry, because it’s a little on the thin side.
It soon became evident that the dog would eat the whole thing if I left it outside, so I just took a couple of pics and brought it back inside.
The snow won’t last very long. And the snow person was short-lived as well. That’s how Mother Nature rolls I guess. Everything changes.
That’s part of my story. What’s yours?