Let's start with the photo to our immediate left. According to the tag, it is an 1800's Bleeder. "In Leather Box." DUDE. I totally understand that these items are a representation of just how far modern medicine has come, and would be highly collectible to some people, but I just can't see wanting a BLEEDER. Yeeeeech. But wait - it's in its leather box. THAT MAKES IT COOL. Yep.
The chicken pictured to the right will remain forever engraved upon my mind, my heart and my soul. Before anyone thinks I am waxing poetic ABOUT A CHICKEN, let me tell you why I am forever bonded with this chicken. We were "somewhere up Nawth" on one of our buying trips. I was admiring the scenery (cause truly, the countryside in New England is outstanding and always makes me want to move to a farm and raise pigs. Not really, but anyway.)From the road I see a chicken (and yes, I am from the South where stereotypically, you see A LOT of chickens in peoples yards, but this chicken was....DIFFFERENT.) I made Darby pull over so I could take a picture. At this point I have all ready made 2 mistakes: pulling up in someone's driveway in the country, and getting out of the car in my cute shoes to take a picture of a CHICKEN. I approach the chicken and am thrilled that he is letting me get this close. Unfortunately for me, this was apparently someone's GUARD CHICKEN, and right after I snapped this photo, he puffed up, opened his beak and hurtled straight towards me. I realized quickly that this Yankee Chicken DID NOT appreciate the Southern Belle amateur photographer snapping his photo without asking, so I let out a high-pitched screech and started running to the car with this pissed off chicken literally at my heels. My dear husband is laughing so hard he can't speak, so of course I start laughing as well while yelling; "Floor it - let's GO!" - because I had visions of this chicken taking off and attacking our car. As we backed up, a man opened the door of what I thought was an abandoned building, glares at me, sits down on his steps and CALLS THE CHICKEN. And then pets the chicken while looking at me all suspiciously - like I had harmed his guard chicken. I was mortified to have been busted, not just by the chicken, but by the chicken's owner. I have a new respect for pissed off chickens. AMEN.
After an intense morning of buying jewelry and tiny, fabulous treasures, I decided I needed a drink. Let me point out 2 things: 1) I do not drink much at all - maybe one drink every other month at best. I just don't like the way it tastes and I do not want the calories. 2) When I do have a drink, I really prefer a margarita, on the rocks, light on the tequila and extra extra salt, thankyouverymuch. I had not eaten breakfast that morning, and seeing as how I have NO tolerance for alcohol, my yummy little margarita inspired me to post a nice little status update on Facebook in which I proclaimed I was "drinkin' and 'tiquin." (Drinking and Antiquing). Which turned out to be a very popular status update, with lots of friends saying they wanted to go "drinkin' and 'tiquin" - and I thought - WOW - wouldn't that be GREAT for business? A bunch of tipsy adults buying their way thru antique malls. Cha-ching!
This little beauty to my left nearly gave me a heart attack and caused me to jump backwards, almost landing in a big, glass display case and purchasing thousands of dollars of unintended merchandise. I was innocently digging thru an old wardrobe stuffed to the gills with scarves, purses and the occasional piece of jewelry. Let it be known that we antique dealers all have a common disorder: we cannot pass by a stuffed box or wardrobe without HAVING to dig thru it. Cause seriously - we think we're gonna find a gold bar at the bottom. But me? Noooooo.....I get to find a creepy-eyed doll head without her body. And she's frowning at me. After realizing I had not, indeed, stepped into a scene from a scary movie (choose your favorite), I calmed down, took Creepy's photo, and got the heck outta there. Without a treasure.
HERE'S TO A FANTASTIC 2012
DIGGING FOR TREASURES!!