This is the time of year when I start to get the antiquing itch again. Really, it's the nesting itch-- the cozy realization that winter is, in fact, coming, (eventually, after this mountain of tomatoes gets itself canned) and inside had better be ready.
Finding myself idle last Friday, and-- it must be said-- thoroughly put-out with spending a bit too much time sitting home alone working, and also quite put out with humid high 80s temperatures, I drove to Oxford, bought an iced coffee, and got lost for like an hour and a half in one of my favorite newly discovered antiques stores.
I brought my camera in with me, fully intent on documenting its splendor, but was too invested in plucking the perfect treasures from shelves full of milk glass and old house parts to remember.
Shelves nearly floor-to-ceiling. The building might've been a garage at one time, I'm not sure. It is big. Lots of furniture heaped in great dusty piles, everything dimly lit and reluctant to reveal its potential. The best place to get lost with an iced coffee and a checkbook.
Three frames, a twig basket, two white vases and a McCoy bowl. And that perfect little easel. At the register, she took one or two dollars off everything I'd picked out, without me asking. I love it when they do that.