Well hello my sweet friends, here I am sitting behind my laptop again and happily typing away my letter to you. And I must say it feels good. I have missed our little interactions, my absence felt like a stunted conversation, like a get-together where one of the participants suddenly falls into one of those awkward silences, me being the awkward one here of course.
But I must say that calling a little time-out really was a good decision. I had been looking forward to my summer of DIY for months and had lists of things to do coming out of my hmmm, you know what. But the combination of holiday relaxing, blogging and DIY was not working out in the first weeks, something had to give. Because no matter what, I wasn’t prepared to go back to work with only a teeny tiny fraction of my list ticked off. At least now a bit less tiny bit of it has been done. More on that later.
Today I want to show you one of my birthday presents. Yep you heard that right this little birdie got a year older during the summer, but let’s not dwell on that.
See this old crate with the dusty old bottles. On one of our trips into the country (in this case actually Dutch country side) we popped into one of those junkyard/ selvage places. I was hoping for things like doors, windows, or inspiring rusty things, but I stumbled onto this.
A crate of what I think is an old beer brand from Belgium. I fell in love with it. They actually had a few to choose from so I spent quite some time going over them and looking to find that ‘perfect’ one with all the right signs of age and previous life on all the right parts.
My Love however went very silent at the look of these crates. His face telling my loud and clear without any words that he was NOT to be asked for advice on the matter of the choosing of the right one. In fact his whole body language told me that he was definitely not getting it. I could see his mind spinning “ she has finally gone of the rocker now” , “ she is not bringing that dusty and moldy thing home into my house” , “ I have thrown beer bottles in the glass container a thousand times, what’s so special about these” .
But I had to have it. Oh the possibilities for vignetting and tablescaping. Maybe with some little flower pots with blooms, or to hold cutlery, condiments and napkins at a garden get-together or just as is, a piece of industrial past to be enjoyed here and now.
I was not leaving without it, no matter how skeptical my Love was looking. The lady running the junkyard was not present but her father (who was of a certain age) was doing the honors for her nicely. He was chatting away about his days of junkyard managing and how old things could still be usefull, blah-die-blah-die blah. I mean the man was very nice and offered us coffee and such, but I wasn’t really listening to his story. I was figuring out how much they might ask for these crates and how much I was willing to pay and how I could try to hide that I really wanted one (well that station had passed clearly).
So I tried to steer the conversation into the direction of the price, without actually asking for it. Asking things like “ are the bottles included?” , and I just saw my Love thinking “ oh NO she is going to pay extra for the dust!!!” . Well yes my love, genuine antique dust and grime is what we vintage thrifting ladies are after and it comes at a price.
And then My love made the deal behind my back. Offered the old man money which he took and we got the bottles too.
My first birthday gift: a dirty, old and very dusty crate with genuine old beer bottles, to be brought into the house and home of man who loves his modern art so much and is a true design aficionado.
Now if that isn’t proof that my Love loves me I don’t know what is.
Sharing this thrifty find (although my Love won’t tell me just how thrifty is was, go figure), with Rhoda’s Thrifty Treasures Monday.
And since my first attempt at vignetting with this old crate is a home decor project, sort off, I am sharing it with Make it for Monday at Cindy’s too (hope she doesn’t delete my entry, keeping my fingers crossed 🙂 ).
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