I have a rather intense addiction to all things rusty and random. Peeling paint, decaying barns, old tin, rusted hinges and keys; I love it all. Deeply. Madly. Some of my most prized rusty possessions would have to be a full set of skeleton keys, three pieces of painted tin ceiling tiles nailed to the office wall, and a rather ornate wood stove door; all of which were found at Dad and Janet's farm. I have a window sill in our kitchen devoted almost entirely to random trinkets found on walks and travels. I know this drives Mike nuts, but it compliments his self-proclaimed cheapness well as I rarely pay much, if anything, for our furniture or decor so he tolerates it with patience.
I thought, for the longest time that I was alone in this quiet and rather odd obsession, but was quite pleased to find that my Aunt Cheryl shares it with me. Her collection puts mine to shame and she has some interesting theories regarding a familial history of metal-smiths and it being in our blood.
I have fond memories of traipsing to the dump with the Ellenbergers after a family meal to see what some fool had left behind. Oh can you imagine the joy we felt when we found a pile of rubbish on some land they had just purchased. Broken glass signs, rusted cement mixing balls, shabby peeling doors, the treasures were endless. I remember the realization that this perhaps isn't a normal reaction to a pile of abandoned junk or garbage when my step mom laughed and shook her head good-naturedly as she watched us root through the items. How odd, I thought, that someone wouldn't want to join in on the best type of shopping there ever was!
And so the season of yard, junk, and rummage sales is upon us. I plan to whole-heartedly root for more wabi sabi goods to compliment our garden project which is turning out to be a very large, but (hopefully) rewarding endeavor!
More to come!
e.
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