After I had found my bar cart and had stocked it with accessories and the makings for libations, I noticed something was missing – an ice bucket. While not particularly necessary, it didn’t seem right without one to complete the look and feel of a vintage bar. I searched and searched but had a difficult time finding one to which I was really partial. I eventually bought one at World Market that fit right in with the look of the bar cart. I do believe it is quite fetching, even if it’s not vintage.
Each time I see a vintage kitchen table or dinette set, I cringe slightly over the fact that I can’t buy one. My kitchen is very small, and I do not have one of those cute little nooks for a table. Nor do I have a proper dining room in which to put one. It’s quite sad, I know, but I pull through. Like many things I have written about on the blog, I can dream and fantasize. I assure you, I do.
No, not like, “I got pinned by my boyfriend.” *giddy laughter* And no, not anything to do with Pinterest. Brooches, people. I’m talking brooches.
Where was it that I heard no one under the age of 50 should wear a brooch? In a movie? A TV show? Read in some inane fashion article? I’m not sure, but what complete rubbish. Pins, or brooches, are lovely. They add a little extra to an outfit. They can help one showcase their personality in a classic or quirky way. I have vintage brooches and costume jewelry pins, and I love looking through the cases while out antique shopping. There are some beautiful pieces and some that are pretty funky.
Growing up our TV was also a piece of furniture. When I was in the first grade my Dad (always the lucky guy) won money off of the radio and purchased a new TV. It was big, and encased in wood. As I said, it was a piece of furniture, we had things on display sitting on top of it. That thing lasted forever. I don’t know how many times it was affected by lightning and had to be taken to the repair shop, but each time it returned back to my parents’ house working like new. That is, until a few years ago, when lightning finally won the battle with it. Rest in peace, large wooden TV. To my surprise, my parents bought a snazzy HD flat screen TV. They’re more up on technology than I am!
Vintage radios have always had a charm and appeal about them that I have a difficult time expressing in words. It’s probably better illustrated through the starry-eyed look I give while running my hand over them. There’s something about the design of them. The grip you get on the knobs. The way the dial glides over the numbers with the buzz and static interchanging with the brief sound of a station coming in tune. If anything gives the deep nostalgic feel, it’s the look, feel, and sound of a vintage radio.
Some people dread decorating for Christmas, buying or retrieving the Christmas tree from the garage or basement, digging through boxes to find ornaments, and having to string the lights to look the best on the tree. These things seem like quite a bit of work and may induce exasperated sighs, but I absolutely love all of it.
Since I moved to my own place over four years ago, the itch to decorate starts early in the holiday season. I, unlike others, do wait until December actually arrives though. My own home, to decorate how I please, with ornaments and festiveness of my choosing. I didn’t think it could get any better until the year I was given my Grandparents’ old ornaments.
Foggy train station platforms swarmed with scampering travelers and misty-eyed loved ones saying goodbye dressed in hats and traveling gloves, toting sturdy, hard-shelled luggage and trunks. . .
There are certain sounds that are like nectar from the gods. The clicking of a typewriter is one of those. (For me, at least.) When I was younger, my parents had an electric typewriter. At the time, I loved clicking away on it, writing my stories, pretending and making up “documents.” I would also, occasionally, get a finger shaken at me for wasting paper and the ribbon. My Mom clearly did not understand how important the paperwork was for my pretend world. There was always something about the feel of the paper, the click of the keys, the whir of taking the paper out, and having that freshly stacked paper just waiting to be sifted through.