The past week has been, how you say, crazy, and the coming week is looking like a repeat. But Saturday I took a break and decompressed for a few blessed hours, and I had a lovely time.I spent the day at an antique fair with a new friend. We've hung out a few times and she's always struck me as a fun, up-for-anything kind of spirit. My suspicions were confirmed when we meandered up and down the aisles of this massive warehouse, oohing and aahing at all the antique and vintage wares and comparing notes about our dream houses and possible past lives.
At one booth, I spotted a little bowl/candy dish/thinghimabob and asked how much it was. A mother-daughter duo were sitting calmly, chatting quietly and polishing silver. If the set around them collapsed and a 19th century British row house were erected, and Dicken's voice started narrating from the ether, I would not have blinked. Two women with porcelain skin and long locks, hunched over their goods, polishing away. Amelia Caraway was waiting for Captain Manley, she was. He was out in the Indies. He would come back and take them both to out east, but until then they had to polish, polish away. Would they earn enough that week to pay the ruthless Mr. Branford his rent? And would the elder Mrs. Caraway ever find a way to tell Amelia she was actually the daughter of the Duke of Sussex, a lovechild begotten when he was but 17 and the elder Mrs. Carraway a bonnie lass from the heath?
"$10" replied the older lady.
I was about to see if they could do $7 when the daughter cut in.
"Oh mom, not $10. That's too much. $5."
"Great! I'll take it."
"I've had it for too long. I'm ready to say bye-bye to that piece," the daughter continued.
I handed over the cash and we started talking. They had come down for the antique fair from northern California. Gave me a card. Invited me to stop by for dinner if I'm ever in Bolita.
I believe I will. Thank you, ladies.
[image via mad.lesartsdecoratifs.fr]
