Antiquing, Part VI

Once a month, in a neighboring city, there's a flea market set up. I finally got to attend this past December, and I've learned that the rule of thumb in going to the flea is that you can't be on the lookout for anything. Sure, you can have ideas, but don't get your hopes up.

Because people are selling old groceries.

Or, at least, groceries that are dangerously close to their expiration date.

We purchased a crate of green letters that were once part of a marquee. They're about 4 x 2 inches, and we've spelled different words and phrases around the house. As we were digging through the crate, we discovered that we don't have any T's, H's or S's -- you know, some of the most important letters. Like, this sentence couldn't exist.
Before there was TIME magazine, we read things like "Chatterbox." In this issue, The Porcelain Doll Issue, learn how you can have a large collection of dolls but also protect your soul from being stolen by them. 
This may be the first non-weird, uncreepy photo I've posted from my adventures. I haven't read "Lord of the Rings" yet, but whomever owns this set with the amazing font really will rule them all. 
Since healthcare is a mess, why don't we just find all we need at the flea? Who needs to go to CVS to check blood pressure. Just go to the flea market. 

Ring-O looks a bit sociopathic. And he's on roller skates. Each one, by itself, is fine, but put them together...and then you're just asking for trouble. 

Driving home today from my daily work commute, I was just thinking how I needed to start listening to audio books again...but I'll probably pick up some fiction. And not this.  

Just. Look. At. That. Hair.

It's not the Newport ad I'm looking at but the tomahawk. The fur handle felt luxurious in my hand. The glass blade was classy and easy to clean with Windex. When the apocalypse comes, and you need to hunt without a gun, do so like a rich Flintstone.