One Woman's Trash is Another Woman's Measure . . .

. . . of what's valuable. Which is, I realize, a roundabout and perhaps self-important way of saying that one man's trash is another man's treasure.  But it's especially fitting today because the husband and I went to an antiques shop.  Maybe antiques shop is too ambitious a term.  Thrift store isn't really right either because they didn't have clothes.  It was more like a junkyard on the outside overflowing with bric-a-brac (including armies of creepy dolls) on the inside.  Anyway, it's not far from where we live, and the husband, who loves such things, had wanted to check it out ever since we moved in last fall.  Now, historically, I'm not a huge fan of these places.  I'd been in them before, of course, with the husband and sometimes my sister, who also hearts old stuff.  But I always felt on my guard, leery of the smell and grateful that I was up to date on my tetanus shot.  Today I decided to be more open-minded.  Actually, I was the one who suggested we go in.  (Okay, the husband was hinting, and I didn't say, why don't we turn around and pop back into Target for some faux vintage farmhouse decor?  I think I saw a metal windmill that looks like it could have been uprooted during a tornado.)  Partly because being married means sometimes doing things you don't want to do to make the other person happy.  Partly because there might be something I wanted to take home, and if my eyes weren't open, then I would miss it. 

That said, there were more than a few unsettling sights.  The aforementioned dolls, for one, and also, all the way in the back, a row of very suspect  -- and I can hardly believe I'm typing this -- mattresses.  But there were also jewel-toned vases, kitschy-colorful knickknacks, and trays piled with costume jewelry.  Were these things dusty?  For sure.  A little worse for wear?  Almost always.  Did I drown my hands in strawberry-lemonade antibacterial gel as soon as I got back in the car?  You better believe it.  And yet.  As Springsteen's "Atlantic City" played plaintively on an old radio, I couldn't help but think that there was also something special about this place, that all these things had stories, had once had happy homes and would hopefully someday have them again.  It was all about possibility and seeing promise in something that someone else had discarded.    

I picked out a trio of ceramic wall hangings -- a strawberry, apple (or maybe peach?), and bunch of chili peppers -- for my dining room, and a dainty ceramic floral circle pin with AVON etched on the back.  Right away I knew that I wanted to embellish the pin with delicate Swarovski crystals.  Something about it was kind of familiar, and I realized that the demure, pastel aesthetic was similar to that of a wristlet I'd just gotten from Kohl's.  It's nice when new finds come together.

So, I ended up doing something I thought I wouldn't and writing this post instead of the one I'd planned about Crazy Rich Asians.  (In all honesty, I hadn't gotten around to making the necklace for that one anyway.)  But sometimes it's good to go off-script.  

The Asians can wait until next week.