Sunday’s seem to have become my day for blogging. I am boycotting anything related to football at the moment, at least until the NFL can make some strides in educating themselves and their leadership on domestic violence.
The daughter and I went antiquing yesterday, even though I don’t have antiques in my home. We enjoy wandering though, and looking. I enjoy contemplating why people place some things up for sale and on the flip side, why on earth some people desire to buy some of those things.
As I watched other folks buying items at both a rural flea market/antique event as well as a local shop just minutes from my home, I speculated on what they may be planning to do with the odd wire thingamajig that might have once been a lamp shade, or the gaudy piece of jewelry grabbed and clutched to their chest as if it had real rubies and not just glass bangles.
I also like to ponder on where all the stuff came from. Did the vendors (aka hoarders) pull pile after pile out of their attics and garages and sheds and spare bedrooms to sell for profit, (although I don’t think hoarders would be about selling) or maybe they are those clever folk who shop garage sales regularly then resell the wonders they thought they couldn’t live without.
I think back to the time that my house was decorated in the country, farm style. It was good for some time, then the homespun and lace, and knick-knacks began to seem like dust collectors that I just didn’t want to deal with. I look now at generic Home Beautiful types of magazines, try to convince myself that I need to put a picture here, a shelf there, some cabinets and art over by that window, toss more pillows in contrasting prints and strategically place more candles on holders of varied level, size and shape, and then shrug my shoulders and walk away.
My home is a house in transition and really the last thing I need is to fill it with stuff. Besides, I really think that I’m much more of a minimalist, although that might be because I will not dust anything until the casual observer walking through my house would believe that everything I own is whitish-gray.
I used to think that I had some sort of style or theme that I wanted in my home decor. You know, that look that all the designers say I should have if I want my home to be on the cover of a glossy magazine some day. Which I don’t. They tell me that I should want that, and work to achieve it. I have what is necessary to live. For now, that’s my idea of style.
The daughter did find some old albums to add to her growing record collection. I love to listen to her debate with herself when she goes out to browse for such items. She is very thrifty by nature anyway, and she makes me laugh when she struggles with an appropriate amount to spend on an album, especially when it’s one she has wanted for quite some time. Her practical side usually wins.
We ended up taking a rather fortuitous route home from the rural farm stop and came across a used book store. She checked herself and only bought one book, while I found a few on feminism that may show up in a Feminist Friday post in some way or other.
I hope everyone’s weekend was full of fun adventures, and perhaps some interesting purchases, just as ours was.