A matter of taste

ntiquing seems a rather fallish thing to do, a good way to while away hour after rainy hour. This past weekend, you’d have found me on a particular mission. You see my china hutch does spring, summer, and Christmas with great flourish, but tends to flounder in the autumn. So I set out for teacups in hues of orange and chocolate, maybe a deep plum or mustard thrown in for good measure.

Alas, easier said than done.

I happened upon nary a autumnal colored cup. I did, however, stumble upon a large variety of rather disturbing dolls, enough to fuel a decade’s worth of nightmares, at least. Eeh. And let’s not forget the junk–because let’s be serious, sometimes one man’s junk is really just junk. Then there were the “antique dealers” attempting to hock anything old(er) as vintage. I spotted a garden gnome from last year’s Fred Meyer collection. Last year, I tell you . . . from a grocery market. Please.

Then again, perhaps it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Perhaps it simply my frame of mind, dampened by elevator music playing ad nauseum in the background. If only I could have jitterbugged my way through the store that table lamp made of Popsicle sticks may have held some allure.

Then again, big band may have done nothing for that lady across the aisle, perusing wares while happily humming to a slow and steady Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime.

So, that was the height of my weekend adventures. You?

Also, seeing how it may take me awhile to brave the ‘antiques’ world again, if you happen upon a lovely teacup of the fallish sort, do let me know . . .