Sometimes It Starts With A Hat

On Saturday, Amy was helping with a household auction being held up at the neighbor's buildings. She called me around 11:00 and said:

"Mom, you have to come up here! There's hats! Old hats and you have to see them! Don't walk! Drive so you don't miss them! Click.

I changed my clothes in a matter of seconds (Superman would've been proud), asked Heather is she wanted to go, and off we went in a blur of red Subaru.

With a squeal of a tire as we parked in a field, I then gracefully rolled out of the car, walked, jogged in, got my auction number, and promptly bought two Mason jars of buttons. I love buttons, especially old buttons.

 Then I reminded myself that I was here for hats. Hats. Hats. Hats. Ignore the rest of the treasures. 

And so, heart pounding, I gleefully bid on the hats. 

I got first pick of the lot. 

Amy and Heather helped me pick just a few. . . 

Button jars are for more than holding buttons. 

And my favorite, the PIÈCE DE RÉSISTANCE

And Amy, ma chère, modeling the piece de resistance. 

I thought we were done, but they kept bringing up items to the table that looked intriguing. I decided to hang around a little while longer.  Then before I barely had a chance to blink, my hand was involuntarily going up and bidding on this lovely little number. How could I let this pass me by? As a writer, I could do no less than to bid. 

                                           

I was thrilled with my purchases so far. Now, I really should pack up and go home. 

But then, they were selling books. Old books. My brother-in-law was there and he bought books and he let me pick some that I wanted. How could I resist? I mean, The Bobbsey Twins were calling out to me. I had to respond. It would have been rude otherwise. 

Then, as I flipped through one of the books, I found some old school photos. 

Berlin High School 1938-39. 

No names, just faces from the past, sepia and a little sad. 

Forgotten in a book, but even though I don't know them, I'll cherish them. 

They are people with a story, perhaps untold, but I like that they make me wonder about them. 

This time I really did think I was done. Then my helpful brother-in-law pointed out, clear across the warehouse, another typewriter. (Can you hear the music?) This one would look great in the Steampunk Basement Room Reno. I couldn't leave yet. I thought they'd get to it soon, but instead, in a maddening move, they moved it to the front instead of selling it along with the other things that were right beside it, selling at that very moment. 

So I waited, talking to other eager auction treasure seekers. Two people told me that if I wanted something they would not bid against me. I was impressed. Was I that unselfish or just a woman on a mission? I better watch myself. 

In the meantime, as I waited for the typewriter to come up on the auction block, I bid on a box full of junk (no, really it was junk) just to get these two Currier & Ives plates for my collection. Don't worry, I only paid $1.00. Does anyone want a crocheted potholder doll with a really creepy face? 

 I also paid $1.00 for these two chairs while I waited. I have plans for this pair. The chairs, not the cats.

 Finally, the typewriter, an old Underwood Typewriter, in all its glory. 

I think I'm in love.

 1918.

How cool is that?

 And to think, it all started with a phone call about hats. 

Just hats.

Going once, going twice. . . SOLD!

Love,

Dianne