Antiquing in Northern California is not like antiquing in France, but that does not mean it is less fun, nor that I do not like it. The best part is that I am with my Mom, the second part is that we like different things, and the third part it reminds me of home. My mother has been antiquing for most of my life, from the start we were attracted to different things, though we appreciate each others style.
Today we went here and there, my mom bought four incredible green patina milk cans, that are heavier than sin, how did the dairy men ever lift them when they were full? How did we ever lift them into her pickup? We had help that is how. As we drove home they did not even budge.
Of course I forgot to take a photo!
I saw this 1970s glass pitcher, if only I could carry it home, but there is a limit to what I can bring and what I need. When I saw this pitcher it reminded me of family parties, the 70s and the fun we had with my cousins. We never had a pitcher like this, that doesn't matter, it is how antiques or certain things evoke stories that add flavor and charm to the moment of antiquing.
One thing leads to another, with antiquing it just goes on and on.
Oh those bright colors, I have never even tried to do something like this.
The 70s have been making a come back. A new appreciation for that period is taking over me. Blame it on Cassis, that is what started my head to turn and do a double take and things I would have never paid attention to before. When friends come over and join us on The French Muse Experience I am instantly curious as to what they like and how they see art, antiques, collecting… their taste has an impact on me. That is part of the pleasure of experiencing how someone else sees things, and letting their view widens my perspective.
My mother is drawn to rustic, primitive, handmade items that are brut, rough and yet sweet.
When I was a kid she use to devour Country Home Magazines or something with a name like that, the pages had primitive antiques that made Little House in the Prairie look like a flat in Manhattan. I can remember looking through those magazine pictures, shaking my head, and thinking my mom was mad. My mother's home had, and has this look still, but now I get it and wouldn't want it to change. Though with that said, my Mom changes things, but does so that it seems relevant to what she has, updated without subtracting from what she holds true about her home.
Take the old Schilling spice cans… aren't they the sweetest no matter the spice?
Every time I come home I tell myself I am going to buy one of these to take back to France, and then I feel the weight of it. Choices…
Americana style.
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