Antiques

There's this little town near where we live that I love.  It's small and artsy and has the sort of small town, artistic and beautiful vibe that I want to embody someday.  We went there recently, for the sole purpose of walking around.

We visited a tiny farmer's market that was filled with wooden sculptures, healthy foods (like eggplants.  Do people really eat eggplants?), and the creative craftiness that makes me want to PAINT ALL THE THINGS.  There was a stand that specifically sold jerky and long horn skulls; another that sold everything bee related (including wax chapstick); yet another that made bird houses out of dried out gourds.

As we walked along, we passed an old, falling-to-pieces shop that I've had the misfortune of seeing fall into ruin over time.  It's still the gem of the place:  pop art painted over white bricks, a garden scattered with rusty old chairs.  A picture of Madre Teresa so faded that she looks like a zombie.  It used to be a cafe or a boutique, I think, and people were always resting their feet in the garden.  Now it is abandoned.

Further on, we passed a tavern, which, despie being in the middle of the day, was already full of life.  A lady in a black crop top caught my eye, leaning against the wall.  She paused between texts to take a swig of her beer, then a cigarrette.  Wattresses brought laughing tables their food and the place smelled like BBQ and something else pleasent I couldn't quite place.

We stumbled upon an antique shop that I instantly fell in love with.  If I could, I'd take my laptop and just sit in that shop, writing the day away.  Maybe one day I will.

The halls were lined with boxes, and the ceiling was so high that a ladder was required to reach the top shelves.  The instant you walked in, you could smell the dust and the haunting familiarity; I couldn't shake the odd sort of feeling that everything there once belonged to a somebody, a somebody with a story and a life and a smile.

Boxes upon boxes of old nick knacks and gadgets.  Baskets of cookie cutters in odd shapes.  A yellowed wedding dress that I so wanted to buy, even though I may never marry.  A patterned jacket that I very nearly bought (and am now wishing I did) that probably walked straight out of the 80s.  Old candies with names I've never heard of before.  Paintings that should be in a museum, they're so beautiful.  A telephone with a curly black cord; a video camera that required you to turn a crank to work it; five working typewriters that made that soothing clicky-clack sound!

Gosh, I can't wait to go back to that shop, even if nothing has changed.  I just want to go back and see it all over again.

Where did you go today?

Listening to:  this soothing piano music