I was raised in a family of antiquers. (is that a word?) My maternal and paternal Grandparents both sold, owned, and loved antiques. And the ones who are still here with us today are still loving antiques. I will forever remember my Grandma's basement as it was when I was a child, it was like sunken ship full of treasure. I can still remember the smell of it.
I can also remember the days when I would go antiquing with my Grandmother. She would always be spiffying up her booth while I'd wander and browse all of the fine junk for sale. Each and every item has a story, and I wanted to know them all. I'd let my imagination run free. And, grandma usually would let me pick out a treasure before we'd leave. As a kid I was really into old Life magazines, I have quite a few from the 50's and 60's in storage somewhere.
Even though Grandma's passed, and the Life magazines are tucked in boxes I still love antiquing. The magic is still there. Each item still has a story, and my imagination still runs just a wildly as it always did. I stop at every wooden highchair to oooooh and ahhhh over it and try to think of someway that I could justify purchasing it. (even if I already have two that are really special) My biggest weakness however is vintage quilts. I love each and every one I see, weather it's tattered and torn or stitched perfectly at every seam. Each one has a story. A life of it's own. Each one was handmade. Each piece of fabric was gathered from somewhere for that quilt. Each quilt helped to warm a body. Was it a baby? A child? A mother and father? Grandmother or Grandfather? Who was it that loved and wrapped themselves in the warmth of these quilts? Where did they live. What's their story? Can they see their quilts keeping my littles and I warm on these chilly winter nights?
|Ellie likes quilts too.|
|I feel like the richest woman in the world. Yup, I'm really that high, on quilts.|