One of the funniest sides of becoming an “adult” is the moment’s shift from dreading any time spent meandering down the aisles of Lowe’s and estate sales to desiring those very same trips any free afternoon I can muster.
As I began decorating tiny corners of home while in college, I built on that shift to adulthood, a developing characteristics my parents might coin “shopaholic,” but I call “accumulating a tasteful home.” Funny enough, my mom began contributing to my metaphorical hope chest: my collection of Pampered Chef stones, stacks of antique embroidered linens, faded ceramic bowls that lived in long-ago kitchen cabinets. She once joked to a boyfriend – who didn’t work out – that it was my modern-day dowry.
So, when I moved away from Arkadelphia, I had the beginnings of a home already, which financially was very helpful. Still, much like my mother – who has probably three china cabinets full of beautiful dishes and serving ware, yet eats on them once a year – I have realized my love for finding old beauties in the back shelves of antique shops and flea markets. Partly because I love the idea of bringing the stories of old items – a treasured butter dish, a sparkly gown, an embroidered pillowcase – into my new home and starting my own. But also because I love to step back and see something so painfully beautiful…for whatever reason, I love to look at my dish cabinet, the colors, the patterns, the old mixed with the new. So pretty it hurts.
This summer and fall, I’ve found a few old items I love so much, I just had to share with the world. I wish I knew the story of each one before my fingers picked them up.
Starting with my biggest reason for a wallet black hole: this little shop called “One of a Find” in Little Rock. Tucked away by the river, I literally stumbled onto it, initially intending to use their parking lot for another shop across the street. When I read the sign and glimpsed a velvet wingback chair in their window, I changed my plans in a heartbeat.
That first time I went in the shop, I was mesmerized. I told my mom that as I padded through the quiet shop, humming along to Johnny Mathis crooning over their radio, I would literally ask out loud “Where am I?” I rummaged through vintage pins, considering how each one might look on the lapel of my winter coat. I tried on costume sapphire rings and searched with no avail for a pair of my long-lost, beloved button pearl earrings.
But then I rounded the corner and entered into the most magnificent room my eyes had ever seen. Matching tweed suits, Chanel slingbacks, velvet gowns, satin swing coats, pill box hats, wicker clutches…for those of you Marvelous Mrs. Maisel watchers, I really pretended I had been granted a moment in her costume department. On that first visit, I clumsily broke an old rack and caused probably 100 pounds of garments to drop a dusty fall. So, I grabbed a blue wool sweater with gold buttons, paid in cash, and left in a hurry.
The second time I went, I found myself there by accident. Really! I didn’t mean to come…but I just felt drawn to. I met the sweetest elderly retired lady who ran the store on the weekends. I went near closing time, so they weren’t busy. As I made my way back to the heavenly room of antique apparel, she followed me, standing in as my very own personal shopper. She pulled a hot pink ballooned sleeve blouse that came with a tied bow at the neck; a long-sleeve, 70’s-style dress with buttons down the entire front made completely out of glittered thread; and a floor-length sparkled dark gold gown, completed with a matching chunky belt and a ruffled bottom. She hooked them on the rack and announced she was going to start closing shop – “Try them on. You need one of them, at least.”
I decided on the sparkled gown with a chunky belt and nowhere to wear it to. But the story behind that kind of dress…who wore it? What life did she live with it on? What stories had this dresses played a part in? I had to have it.
Last weekend, my mom, grandma, and I had an early morning start to Prairie Grove, Arkansas to spend the day at the fall Junk Ranch. Mom had gone a few years back, returning with precious items for my hope chest. This time, the weather was perfect (even with a mask on!) and I left with an armful of sweet treasures.
My first find was evidence of a once English major – I saw a suitcase of books, and the rest was history.
From what I gathered flipping through the stack, these books are compiled stories and literary pieces that should be in everybody’s library, hence the name “Beginner’s Bookshelf.” My favorite one of the two is the Complete Nursery Song Book and Favorite Hymns. Every page is sheet music for a sweet nursery rhyme or hymn. I thought the concept behind a book of collections was too precious to leave behind, especially for only $4.
The next treasure was found on one of those folded church potlock tables with the squishy tops. They reminded me of VBS at my granny and papaw’s church in Prattsville, Arkansas. As I picked over the kitchen appliances on the blue specked table, I felt as if I’d sat at this table before, yet I couldn’t recall anything specific. It’s so funny how life can do that!
I found this beautiful, what looks like hand-painted, loaf pan that was just begging for a wash and then an afternoon in the oven with friendship bread bubbling to the top.
And lastly, a gift to myself that I never knew I needed…embroidered pillowcases. Balled up in the bottom of a baby crib filled with table linens, I found the most perfectly worn, perfectly unique, perfectly stitched home for my pillows. All they need is a wash in some Diva detergent.
Xo. A
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