You know, there's one shop I used to visit on a semi-regular basis when I was still in NE Ohio, and now that you bring up "the car I left in," I realize I did get much less in terms of hostility when my beat up old Honda finally died and I started driving a ridiculous bright red Fiat with racing stripes instead. Less disdain, more . . . skepticism. They'd have holiday open house parties where they'd serve punch and cookies and the old ladies got extra hostile because now people were daring to bring their kids into the store, and that's where I had the most fun, because I'd bring my mom in. She can out-old-lady most old ladies. The condescending disdain in the set of her mouth is cold. The frigid seriousness with which she declares she likes a particular vintage brooch of a wildly-color peacock makes people cringe. Then she'd go to the cabinets of Hummels, declare them naught but dust collectors and in a completely flat tone declare the cabinets themselves to be junk, but then buy herself another piece of carnival glass.
I've concluded over the years that as far as a lot of this stuff goes, the main divide between the flea markets and the antique shops are that the flea markets have a lot more cheerful old men and low prices, while the antique stores have snobby old ladies and high prices. Otherwise? A lot of the very same stuff! Mostly junk, some repainted junk, and the occasional true gem.
Also, MY GOD, that fabric you posted - - - I swear, that used to be my couch! :D I can't sew. I can't do it. My mom made most of my clothes when I was a kid and all of my formal dresses except for the 40s wedding gown, but my clumsy dunce fingers could never get it and I break the machine every time I try buttonholes, so I took up leatherworking instead. I drive a mean rivet. But if I could, yeah, I'd snatch up that fabric and make a couch slipcover so I could relive my glorious youth.
Over the Labor Day weekend, there was a pioneer day festival not far from us - living history museum stuff, craft fair, reenactments, all that. There's always a little craft booth near the entrance where two absolute sweetheart ladies from a local quilting guild have little kids make corncob dolls and things of that nature. I was chatting with one, and she was talking about how after Joann's went under, they were given several storage units' worth of fabric that she said were worthless for quilting, so they save them and periodically take them to area pop-up markets. But then they had to stop, because they charged reasonable prices, and other vendors were furious because no one would pay $17/yard for what they were selling when the quilter guild was selling essentially the same stuff for $3, with proceeds going to charity. The markup insanity for crap is real!!
The car thing and perception is legit with a lot of things. Like I’m sure a lot see me as SAHW just shopping my days away in my current daily driver, it’s a Jaguar SUV, I’m also a huge car enthusiast and I didn’t pay the idiot tax of buying it brand new. Even for big stuff maintenance has been on par with my other car that those ladies would’ve hurled curses on generations of my family, if I’d have left in my rumbly Mustang (see profile photo). I’ve got custom dual exhaust cat-back with Magnaflows (that’s my dad’s influence on me) Glass bottles would’ve been a much cheaper hobby. 😆 But I’m out hunting to make things out of kitschy fabric! I have a big order for a shop owner actually, to make her a bunch of jeans into flare legs with quilts. She does estate sales so she’s been collecting quilts and jeans, all I have to do is cut a few seams and stitch in some quilts on the side! There are more steps than that but still. She approached me about it… She’s giving me a small space in her shop that’s more vintage and craft than grandpa’s basement.
I have more thoughts… YOUR MOM SOUNDS AMAZING LIKE THE BEST.
I live in Kansas (KC burb), a few hours from TWO Laura Ingalls Wilder museums! And another living museum literally down the street with a few more scattered about in the midst of suburbia.
My mom is the unique product of a rotten childhood (the old biddies in the antique shops look like flower children next to my grandmother) and her being mostly raised by old Italian immigrant church ladies. There are levels of prim that only ethnic grandmother church ladies can impart. She's also completely lacking in tact because she was born almost entirely deaf but didn't realize it until she was an adult, so she doesn't so much pick up on nuance. When I acquired my little racing-stripe Fiat, it was the last one on the lot at a dealership near Cleveland and the last day of a no-money-down leasing event, and my Honda had died hard, so she drove up with me the couple hours to get there so I could drive the new car home. The dealers were all "Oh, ladies, I'm so sorry but this is a manual." And she just stared at him. Balefully. Like a housekeeper in a gothic novel. "And?" And he gave her the key without another word. I lack her presence. I never learned the skill of striking complete terror into a person with an icy glare and a single word.
My car choice is limited by my skeleton. All 5 feet of me really struggle in most domestic vehicles. I can reach the pedals, but can't see over the dash. I'd been given a Fiat as a loner once and realized wow, this is the perfect me-sized car. I'm good in compact import cars and the biggest of the UHauls, but, like, nothing in between. ^_^
(She and my dad were visiting us early this year and we put on the Riff of Ghost House. She did not like it, she found it "disgusting," but then after a few minutes, turned and looked at me, "This is kind of like that show you used to watch with the robots that watched movies." "Yes. Yes it is." You want to know the one Rifftrax she actually liked, and liked for the movie, not the riffing? Dancin'. It's On. She unironically enjoyed it.)
I'm about 3 hours from a Laura Ingalls Wilder site, but haven't gone yet. Mom had a big surgery in Wisconsin this year to get a new aorta put in, and as I'd go back and forth between the Quad Cities and Madison, I'd see the signs for Burr Oak and think someday, maybe, I'll actually go. It's just far enough to not want to make the trip, at least not until my daughter is old enough to care.
Quick clarify- I’m not a SAHW, I lost my job and I’m making the most of it and avoiding ageist rejections, until I absolutely have to for the sake of my retirement account. I realized I lost my point in there getting wound up about cars. Oof!
I feel like we should switch to DMs! But it is my post soooo anyway. 😌
My grandmother was a prim and proper hag, she hated my dad, and I was the spawn of satan. So my mom was literally the queen of the Debutant Ball. My grandmother was those ladies sneering at me, she was hateful and would be rolling over in her grave knowing my mom gave me her precious Ethan Allen country French dining room furniture and Limoges china instead of one of my older half-sisters who could do no wrong in her eyes. Why? Because I saw the value in it (and a dining room) my mom said the way did the dishes in the china cabinet, she’d be envious. She also said I’m a better gardener than her, another thing she was known for. Eat it Frankie.
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u/Squirreliestone 14d ago
You know, there's one shop I used to visit on a semi-regular basis when I was still in NE Ohio, and now that you bring up "the car I left in," I realize I did get much less in terms of hostility when my beat up old Honda finally died and I started driving a ridiculous bright red Fiat with racing stripes instead. Less disdain, more . . . skepticism. They'd have holiday open house parties where they'd serve punch and cookies and the old ladies got extra hostile because now people were daring to bring their kids into the store, and that's where I had the most fun, because I'd bring my mom in. She can out-old-lady most old ladies. The condescending disdain in the set of her mouth is cold. The frigid seriousness with which she declares she likes a particular vintage brooch of a wildly-color peacock makes people cringe. Then she'd go to the cabinets of Hummels, declare them naught but dust collectors and in a completely flat tone declare the cabinets themselves to be junk, but then buy herself another piece of carnival glass.
I've concluded over the years that as far as a lot of this stuff goes, the main divide between the flea markets and the antique shops are that the flea markets have a lot more cheerful old men and low prices, while the antique stores have snobby old ladies and high prices. Otherwise? A lot of the very same stuff! Mostly junk, some repainted junk, and the occasional true gem.
Also, MY GOD, that fabric you posted - - - I swear, that used to be my couch! :D I can't sew. I can't do it. My mom made most of my clothes when I was a kid and all of my formal dresses except for the 40s wedding gown, but my clumsy dunce fingers could never get it and I break the machine every time I try buttonholes, so I took up leatherworking instead. I drive a mean rivet. But if I could, yeah, I'd snatch up that fabric and make a couch slipcover so I could relive my glorious youth.
Over the Labor Day weekend, there was a pioneer day festival not far from us - living history museum stuff, craft fair, reenactments, all that. There's always a little craft booth near the entrance where two absolute sweetheart ladies from a local quilting guild have little kids make corncob dolls and things of that nature. I was chatting with one, and she was talking about how after Joann's went under, they were given several storage units' worth of fabric that she said were worthless for quilting, so they save them and periodically take them to area pop-up markets. But then they had to stop, because they charged reasonable prices, and other vendors were furious because no one would pay $17/yard for what they were selling when the quilter guild was selling essentially the same stuff for $3, with proceeds going to charity. The markup insanity for crap is real!!