Confessions of a Grandma

Wandering around the antique shops the other day was a major nostalgia trip.  Nostalgia on so many levels. One shop was filled with depression era items--the glassware that my mother amassed by going to the Saturday matinees.  The dishes and tinware that filled her kitchen were a snap of recognition and then memory around every corner. My mother would have been amazed to see the prices on some of those pieces.  She did not consider her things anything but useful items to have in the home. She had a banjo clock with a picture of Mount Vernon on the case hanging on the wall.  I once referred to it as an antique and she actually snapped, "That is not  an antique!  That belonged to my mother!"  Which would have easily made it 150 years old, but to my mother's mind, antique  and junk were synonyms. Seeing the prices on some of that stuff made me think that maybe we should not have been so quick to give it away.  We all took what little we w...

The other day when I was driving through the town of Brandon VT, I noticed all kinds of antique cars parked around the green and up and down the business lane.  I stopped to snap a few pictures. There was a club ride taking place and I guess that Brandon was a good place to stop for lunch. On Sunday morning, I went to the Vermont Quilt Festival (billed as the oldest --37 years--and largest in New England) at the Vermont State Fairgrounds in Essex Junction, VT.  There were sign all over the place warning, "NO TOUCHING THE QUILTS."  Talk about torture.   Photography was allowed, but of course I did not remember to bring my camera and my phone is a stupid one and the battery was dead anyway. There were programs, lectures, demonstrations, vendors, and quilts.  So many quilts, both old and new.  I did find a section that had quilts that looked as though they might be on a par with mine.  Then I noticed that I was in the "Kids W...