NEW YEARS IN MUSKOKA - 2014 WAS AN INTERESTING YEAR - STILL A MILLION BUCKS SHY OF BEING A MILLIONAIRE THOUGH
WHAT ACCOMPLISHMENTS, AND FOIBLES AWAIT US IN THE NEW YEAR?
Hot turkey sandwiches for dinner tonight. I love the festive season because of that big bird! And Suzanne thought it was ridiculous to get an eighteen pound turkey for Christmas. I'll get one more day of turkey sandwiches for lunch, with cranberry, and then there will be turkey soup into the New Year, as Suzanne doesn't waste any resources; akin to the cookery magic of her Granny Shea on the Ufford homestead.
In yesterday's blog, I opened with a thumbnail reference to a couple of cartoon-like maroons, making the motions and the rounds, as self-appointed art and antiques experts; holding court for whoever will listen, at a number of regional second hand shops. Customer are and antique hunters, who for all intents and purposes, have only a minor idea what they're doing; but talk as if they've got original Group of Seven art panels, or even Masters, hanging in their respective places of residence. They're playing a silly game, in the public eye, and yesterday I got in the middle of one of their art-expert theatrics; better stated, ruses. In the antique trade, veteran dealers hold their cards close. Skin close in fact! Apprentices and some of the younger dealers to join the profession, tend to get a little lippy, and reveal some things they certainly should not. I know what I can write, and can not, in order to keep the security of the industry. If everybody knew exactly how we got our inventories, there wouldn't be any point having antique shops or malls. We could all be in-house dealers. In this case of art dealers without portfolio, or sensibility to knock off the theatrics, the two art experts we encountered yesterday, decided on their own intuition, I was the day's "fresh fish." I love it when this happens. They've done the same to many other customers. In one case, of which I was also front and centre, they actually convinced a person buying a painting, to put it back, after critiquing its finer qualities, and claiming so everyone could hear, and in front of the cashier, that it wasn't worth the asking price. The customer put it back in the pile of other art, where I was standing at the time. I knew what had just happened, and before they could jump on it, for themselves, I already had it passed off to Andrew, to make a second appearance at the cashier's counter within five minutes of the time before. I bought it and made a decent profit when it sold a few weeks later. So on Sunday, I had found an abstract painting in a pile of art work, also at the front of the shop. It's actually the first area I check whenever we visit. I don't find hugely valuable paintings, but occasionally, I do hit the jack-pot. Not a Rembrandt or even a Garfunkel, but some nice work that, for the asking price, are well worth investing-in for a modest but significant return. We sell a lot of art from the shop, and I also collect pieces of Canadiana for investment purposes. I read about art constantly, and I like to think that after my years in the profession, I can discern a decent work of original art from a reprint.
I am suspicious that these untutored antique hunters, may have found the art-work first, before me, and tried to hide it until the end of their shift scouring the shop, for the biggest of the really big antiques. I found it stuffed behind a few other framed graphics, so it's possible it was stashed at the back for future reference. This isn't skullduggery, or even adverse to normal store policy, because it's done by shoppers all the time, and by dealers most frequently. I will even do this if I have to go somewhere to get extra money to make the purchase. I'm not stealing it, just making it less obvious for about fifteen minutes. When Suzanne told me these so called experts were in the store, (because we've seen their antics before), I purposely delayed where I was, because there were also some art pieces in this area of the shop, I knew they would be checking out. As predicted, they showed up as if joined together at the shoulder, and immediately spotted the abstract art panel I was holding face-out for their benefit. I wanted to see their reaction, to find out more about what others had been claiming, in this regard, for the past six months. I heard one mention to the other, to watch me closely, in case I was to place it down on the floor; presumably this, announcing to them, my intention not to follow through with the purchase. I am a former hockey goalie who knows how to protect the crease. There was no way I was going to set it down, or let my hand off the frame. I've been to thousands of sales with hard ass, aggressive dealers, and I've seen all kinds of grab and run incidents, so this was not going to happen on this occasion.
I moved to another aisle, to see if they would follow me, and they reacted on cue, showing up beside me, and talking loud enough between them, that it was obviously for my benefit. I waited patiently for the enquiry, about the painting and who the artist was, signed on the bottom. "Who painted the abstract, you have in your hand," one of the antique hunters asked, while the other got very uncomfortably close to my shoulder, of the arm holding the artwork. Before I could answer, the same person asked if he could see the painting, to examine it closer, to see if he recognized the artist. "No," I responded, "I'm good holding onto it, thanks," as I began walking away with it still tucked firmly under my arm. "I will give it back to you," the agitated customer continued, quite upset I didn't hand over the painting upon request. It's not that the intrusive individual was impolite, in any way, but it's something you don't do in that kind of setting, and for one good reason. And methinks they knew the finder's keepers rule would apply if I handed it over. As soon as another person has possession, even if gained politely with the understanding it would be returned, it can become a serious issue then, for a clerk or store manager to have to resolve, if the individual decided to keep the painting instead or returning it. The accomplice in this case, could have altered the story, such that it would have become the case, "he (me) gave it up voluntarily, because he no longer wanted to buy it." Two against one. The antique dealer "me" has seen tricks like this a thousand times, at sales and at auctions, so there was no way the art panel was going to be passed to another store customer. They were not happy with me, and let it be known with their mumbling after the fact. It wouldn't have mattered if the painting was only worth five bucks more than the asking price. We just don't surrender our items, we intend to purchase, because someone thinks it would look better under their arm than mine, in this instance. As a rule, we don't even show off our purchases until we eventually put them in our shops, or in our collections. It's a rookie mistake of anyone who thinks of themselves as dealers, or antique experts, to not respect buyer's privilege, and especially dealer on dealer courtesy. I know other antique dealers and collectors without having to see their credentials. Running into these people, sometimes twice a week for years, you get to know your competition by immersion. This is entirely necessary, and if these two characters had any track record at all, they would have known I was a dealer, who would not take kindly to such an intervention.
What was all the fuss about? A 1966 original, signed abstract painting on canvas, by artist Rita Cohen, a Montreal based abstract painter, who had studied under Group of Seven artist, Arthur Lismer, while at Ecole des Beaux. There are many of her art panels hanging in public and private collections, across Canada and the United States; specifically at Montreal General Hospital in their Palliative Care Unit Gallery. The estimated value of the panel, the object of the "second hand shop chase" is worth between five hundred and a thousand dollars, and is a prize to collectors of Canadian art. It pays to have goaltender's reflexes, and an antique dealer's experience grit, but events and interactions like this, happen all the time in a wide array of curious forays. These two imposing customers are a long way from rogue status; but they did know a good work of art when they saw it, I'll give them that much credit.
I used to be big on New Years Resolutions. I had a lot of vices including over-eating, drinking too much, sleeping too little, and being badly out of shape. Even when I was playing hockey actively, I wasn't in the best shape for the demands of the game. And neither were most of the lads I was playing with. One New Years, I made one of my most significant resolutions, to lose weight. It came to fruition in January of 1981, and I stuck to my plan for the next three years. I would run at least three kilometres each night, six days a week, and I lowered my weight by close to fifty pounds. I did eventually fall off the wagon in the weight and over-eating department, but I've been clawing my way back in recent years. I'm not going to jog any more, because I hated it, but Suzanne has helped me with a broader diet of vegetables, with less emphasis on meat seven days a week. It's how I grew up in the sixties and seventies. Most of us back then, came from similar backgrounds, of having meat for at least four of seven suppers, and lunches, during the week. Now I'm having a lot more meatless dinners, and lunches, and more fish instead. Well, there's risks associated with too much fish as well; that I might, if I get carried away with consumption, become toxic with chemicals that are embedded in fish flesh. To lose weight I've already cut back enormously on added-sugar, I don't add salt to anything, (although I will sneak the occasional chip no and again at the studio) and my fat consumption is monitored closely by Suzanne, who is doing everything she can, to hold Mr. Reaper at bay. Suzanne's two favorite words these day, are "in moderation." My mother used to say this when I was a kid, especially when I was just heading out to the Norwood Theatre and had money to buy treats at the snackbar. I'd think about her advisory as I was stuffing my face with licorice and hot buttered popcorn. Suzanne will bake a beautiful apple or pumpkin pie, and then tell me to enjoy the tiny sliver she puts on my plate. All that piece will do, is set the stage for aggressive manipulations from that point, as I try to figure out how to sneak past the sentry, to grab another more satisfying slice. The art of the hoodwink, comes during this stand-off, over what I consider a fair and equal portion, to my needs as a rather substantial human being. She will eventually relent but I will have to do a lot of sucking-up first. I'm hoping that for the coming year, we can get past this, and that neither one of us will have to beg for adequate portions, if we can prove, that is, voluntary weight loss is working for us. I am having a very difficult time swearing off meat but I think I can cut my already reduced consumption, down another twenty-five percent this year, and mostly because I'm too cheap to pay twenty bucks for a pork roast full of fat; and one that we used to buy for eight bucks, even in recent memory. So I have to thank the meat marketing folks, and the grocery stores, for helping me improve my heath, and initiate a healthy diet of vegetables as a mainstay. I like noodles, rice and pasta to go with those veggies. There really isn't any great hardship attached to this reduction of meat thing; more like replacing one tradition with another.
I know you've heard about the play and movie, "Fiddler on the Roof." Well sir, as left field as this critique may have come from, Suzanne called me "the fiddler who is a goof," yesterday morning, when I told her I had figured out what had caused the big red blotch on my right eye. For two days I'd been trying to figure out, why my right eye was blood-shot on the far right side. I assumed, at first, that it must be my minor allergy to cat fur. I don't cough and wheeze around our cats, but I react to their claws sunk into my flesh, with red welts, and their fur, after patting them, can redden my eyes; if for example, I was to make the mistake of rubbing my eyes without first washing my hands. I'm pretty good these days, about keeping hands away from my eyes when I'm in the house, because even placing hands on the arms of the chair, where the cats frequent, will affect my eyes the same way. I found out I had an allergy to animal fur, when I was wrestling in the yard one afternoon, with our first dog, "Alf." I was wearing a short sleeve shirt, and in only a few minutes, my arms started to itch. I ignored it until I was in the car, driving with Suzanne and the boys to Bracebridge. The underside of my arms were covered in red blotches and bumps where I'd been holding the dog while she jumped up at me in the driveway. I had no idea what was happening to me, until we stopped at a park, and I was able to wash my arms under a public tap. A half hour later, and all the red, except in a few places, which I probably hadn't washed thoroughly, was gone. It was the first time I'd ever had a problem with either cats or our dog. This was also the beginning of the occasions when I initiated serious eye contamination, by rubbing my eyes after playing with either our cat or dog. My eyes were irritated by being too close to the animals, and when I went to scratch them, I more than tripled the contamination. It was logical then, this week, to think that my eye problem, had something to do with similar misadventure.
When I woke up early Friday morning, last week, I just happened to glance in the bathroom mirror, to admire how rugged looking I've become as an elder statesman, and gosh, there was this big red welt on my right eye. I blame it on the cats, when this happens, and then reach for the allergy eye drops, and within a couple of hours, the redness diminishes. I haven't had the problem for quite some time, as I wash my hands frequently because of this. Thus, I had run out of the eye drops. For two days, the redness lingered, which is rare unless I continue self contaminating the same affected spot. I purchased another bottle of eye drops, and within a couple of hours, the redness had lessened by half, but not as fast as it did on other occasions where medication had to be administered.
Three of our cats have been sitting on top of the china cupboard to the immediate right of my living room chair, and I began to think that I was getting some dander or cat fur drifting on my right side, exposing my right eye to feline contamination. I just couldn't figure out why the drops weren't eliminating the red blotch quickly. Now, the sidebar story to Suzanne referring to me as "the fiddler who is a goof," refers to the fact, that while sitting and watching television at nights, I am always fondling something or other; not sexually of course, but for a distraction from watching commercials which I detest. Robert, when he was a toddler, left a small toy beside my chair, that had a succession of neat suction cups, which at that moment, entertained me whenever there was a commercial break. What did I do with those suction cups, you ask? I did what any fool would, and began pushing them onto my face, because it felt pretty cool pulling them off. I pushed and pulled on those suction cups, all over my face, during a two hour movie with a hell of a lot of commercials.
When Robert came to say goodnight, he pulled at his mother's sweater, to ask, "What's wrong with daddy's face?" When she turned to look at me, I heard her gasp as she responded to the question, "Oh my God, what are these red blotches all over your face Ted?" "What blotches," I responded, with an unspecified amount of fear, I might have contracted some skin disease all of a sudden, watching television. I jumped up and went to the bathroom to check my face in the mirror. Robert and his mother were right. My face was covered in red marks, and it wasn't until I got back to my chair, that Suzanne was holding the toy with the suction cups, suggesting, "you had to know suction cups would do this to your skin, right?" Being slightly embarrassed that I had given myself a temporary skin condition, which would last for about three days, I answered, "of course I knew this would happen; do you think I'm stupid?" She glared at me, with Robert in her arms, and said, "well Ted, if the shoe fits; and by the looks of your face now, yup, you were pretty stupid not to think of the damage you might cause, suctioning your face off."
I was just about to take Andrew and Robert to the shop yesterday morning, when I thought it sensible to take a few more drops in the eyes, to continue mitigating the irritation, which had lessened quite a bit by that point. When I went to put the little package with the bottle, back on a table beside my chair, I knocked something off onto the floor. When I picked it up, and set it back down where it had been situated, I had one of those fleeting moments of reflection and clarity. As part of my Christmas gifts there was a package of beer-soap, that I hadn't put away yet. Like the suction cup, I kept fondling this rectangular bar of soap, with two ends open through the middle wrapper. I really liked the smell of it, and for reasons I can't explain, I was actually rubbing it on my dry hands, and sticking my finger nails into the ends of the bar. I did this for two days watching evening television, and it is very apparent, that I was also transferring the soap residue on my hands, and under my finger nails, inadvertently into the corner of my right eye. I had kept my hands clean from cat dander, so I wasn't worried when I then rubbed my eye, that had begun to itch; in part, because of the hand to eye contamination I was committing, hour by hour, watching the boob tube, while fondling a bar of soap. It certainly explained why the eye drops weren't working very fast, at relieving the irritation. "It's why I clear things away from the table beside you, that you're likely to play with, while watching television. Once, she had warned me about keeping a selection of the boys' marker pens on the table. Robert, a budding artist, used to draw on my face with these markers, which was okay, because I could just wash it off when he was done. Robert, first of all, was hard to entertain, and got bored of his toys and games real fast. So that he didn't drive us nuts, we let him do a lot of creative things, in the way of art, that bought us a little extra time for ourselves. He would face-paint me for upwards of an hour, and that meant we could watch the television or listen to the radio in peace. Otherwise, he would have been hitting Andrew with something, like Dinky Toys or Hot Wheel cars, or breaking his Lego models which were hugely elaborate and large. Robert couldn't build them himself, but he was an expert at demolition.
On one occasion, I had been using a variety of other markers, to make up some store "sale" signs, while sitting in the living room. You know where this is going, don't you. I didn't suspect Robert would confuse his water based markers, with regular markers, which of course, don't erase with a wash-cloth and warm soapy water. I actually fell asleep while he was working on my face, making me look like an African tribal warrior getting ready for battle. Now the reason it went as far as it did, that day, was the fact we had low-odor markers, unlike the big ones I used at school, that a lot of my mates used to sniff for a quick buzz; that and the dittos which had a striking scent of alcohol, we also used to sniff when the teacher gave us lesson hand-outs. When I finally awoke, because Robert kneed me in the groin, while exiting, Suzanne looked over at me, and started to laugh. I mean she was really laughing to the point of starting to cough. She knew by the colors Robert had used on my face, that they were not the safe markers he used in his coloring books. He had thought the colors from the much bigger, "adult" markers, suited his project better than the water soluble kind, also on the table beside my chair. When I looked in the mirror on this occasion, I was astonished at how much surface area the wee lad had covered with bright marker coloring. I had a full-face tattoo. I scrubbed my face for a half hour, and the best I could do, was fade the imprint. I had to wear marker on my face for over a week, simply because I had left my writing tools beside Robert's playtime colors. Sure, almost everyone that week, thought I had some kind of skin disorder, or belonged to a cult.
Therefore, you see, playing with a bar of soap at table side, was pretty much routine, except the part, where I then rubbed my eyes and burned them as a matter of television happenstance recreation.
This of course, is an addition to the increasing list of New Years resolutions, I will make at the strike of midnight, to launch 2015 as the year of personal reformation. Do not play with bars of soap while watching television. That's number one for 2015.
A few of the other resolutions I plan to make, are pretty mundane, as compared to some of the honking big ones I had to make as a young man, who at one time, had three girlfriends. I knew it would end badly, like rubbing soap in my eyes. Didn't stop me from trying to balance my gal pals for a while anyway. For one thing, I ran out of money first. Two of the ladies preferred me as a big spender. I married the gal who loved me for better, but has mostly had to contend with the worse.
I gave up smoking really big cigars and a pipe a long time ago, and the playboy years ended the year I asked Suzanne to marry me, back in 1983, when I'd finally sowed all the wild oats I had to spare. But every year I find something else to give up, like sugar last year. Coffee tastes bad for me now, without sugar, so it has cut my consumption in half. Thanks to the ridiculous price of meat these days, I'm pretty close to becoming a vegetarian as a result of protest, and you never know, by New Years I might carry it the full distance; instead of a partial withdrawal from my carnivore habits. I'm getting too freaking pure for my own good, I think. I want to shed about fifty pounds, to get down to dancing weight, so Suzanne can swing me over her head when we go out clubbing, or get asked to join "Dancing with the Stars, -The Regional Version." If she reads this, she will choke with laughter, for two reasons. It will take forever for me to drop fifty pounds, and if I use it as an excuse, it means I will never have to go dancing. Not since high school. I'm told I used to dance like Seinfeld's character, Elaine Benes, played by Julia Louis Dreyfus. Wild-robot-like stuff, not suitable for prime time viewing. Secondly, I don't dance. This is the kind of resolution that keeps me safely inside the lines. Suzanne doesn't make New Years resolutions, because she doesn't believe she has any vices to break free of, unlike me, and my long list of life follies.
I remember one New Year's Eve, at the apartment of relatives, of my then girlfriend Gail, drinking most of a bottle of Drambuie. I don't know why I did this, but I do recall making a resolution, that I was going to stop drinking in the New Year, one minute after the crystal ball had fallen in Times Square. Walking back to my apartment on Bracebridge's Manitoba Street, I began bringing-up the liquor which was good, as I would have suffered alcohol poisoning if it had remained in my system. Through that miserable night, riding on this resolution to sober-up, I visited the porcelain telephone (toilet) at least three times before I fell asleep. When I finally woke up, and visited the bathroom, I almost had a heart attack, when I looked at my reflection in the mirror, and saw the face of a very much older and more weathered me. I wasn't seeing the future, as such, and it wasn't a booze-inspired hallucination. By bringing-up all the booze, I had actually broken blood vessels in my face, from all the wretching. My mother wanted me to go to the hospital. I didn't because I refused to admit, I had caused myself this injury, by over consumption of alcohol. The year before I had done pretty much the same thing, and at a house party, and got so wild with booze intake, that I took big bites out of a decorative candle, which the host found hard to explain to her mother the next morning. The year before that, was when I first began swearing off booze, after a bad night of drink mixing. A friend had made me a boiler-maker, being beer and rye whiskey, and I don't remember much after that, except making the declaration, I would never, ever again consume anything alcoholic.
Although I still have a glass of micro brewery beer now and again, I haven't had a hangover for almost twenty years. I have enough memories of some really bad times, to keep me from tipping the scale, resolution or not. As for suction-cupping myself again, or rubbing soap into my eyes inadvertently, I'd like to say I've learned my lesson. The problem however, is that I need to play with some non-dangerous device, or article, during commercial breaks while watching television. Seeing as I can make almost anything dangerous, with use beyond its original intent, I have to satisfy myself these days, with several jars of peanuts the boys gave me for Christmas. You may appreciate this yourself, if you have had vices like drinking and smoking in your past. I have to be doing something with my hands, and my mind, but I have know idea why this is necessary; but just to say it does, so adapt or else. I don't know what I'm going to do when the peanuts run out, (saltless by the way), unless Suzanne will agree to surrender the television remote, that she laid claim to, when I wouldn't stop channel hopping in the middle of programs she happened to like.
I might even resort to writing blog entries during program interruptions for commercials. Continuity might suffer a bit, but at least I wouldn't get suction cup marks on my face, or red eye from sticking my fingers in my eyes, and spreading assorted contaminates.
FROM THE ARCHIVES
FROM GRAVENHURST WE TRAVEL-
ANTIQUE HUNTING IN SPRING WEATHER, BUT BY GOLLY, IT'S STILL JANUARY. WE COULD GET USED TO THIS
SUZANNE, MUSICIAN SON ROB, AND I HAD AN INTERESTING ANTIQUE HUNT THIS MORNING, AND IT WAS, WELL, A NICE, SAFE, NON-WHITE-OUT KIND OF JANUARY MORNING. I ONLY HAD WHITE KNUCKLES ONCE, WHEN WE MET A LARGE TRUCK ON MUSKOKA BEACH ROAD…..AND THERE WAS A SHARING ISSUE. THE TREES TROUGH THE CATHEDRAL AREA OF BEACH ROAD, ARE STILL ADORNED WITH ICE AND SNOW, AND IT IS WORTH THE DRIVE JUST TO SEE THIS DAZZLING WINTER LANDSCAPE HERE IN SOUTH MUSKOKA. THIS MORNING, IT WAS SO NICE AND BRIGHT, AND THE DRIVE WAS PEACEFUL AND BEAUTIFUL AT THE SAME TIME. I REFUSE TO BE SO MISSION-DRIVEN THAT WE WOULD PASS BY THIS NATURAL WONDER, IN OUR HOME REGION, AND NOT PAY ATTENTION TO ALL OF ITS ATTRIBUTES, WHETHER WATCHING AN OWL PERCHED ON A FENCE-POST, THE DEER STANDING ON A HILLSIDE, THE CROWS FLITTING FROM SNOWY BOUGH TO STUMP, AND THE MOVING VEIL OF SNOW CAUSED BY THE WIND CHURNING BRISKLY OVER THE FARM PASTURE. THERE WERE HORSES IN THE FIELD THE OTHER MORNING, AND WHAT AN ALLURING SCENE IT OFFERED THE FOLKS TRAVELLING THE ADJACENT ROAD.
FOR MANY REASONS, DATING BACK TO HOW I GOT STARTED IN THE ANTIQUE BUSINESS, IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE BACKDROP OF THIS REGION, THAT HAS INSPIRED MY COLLECTING. MY FIRST FORAYS WERE DEEP INTO THE HINTERLAND, LOOKING FOR PIONEER HOMESTEADS. I BEGAN A LIFETIME'S INTEREST IN OLD STUFF, DIGGING UP LONG GROWN-OVER, HOMESTEAD DUMPSITES, LOOKING FOR NEAT VINTAGE MEDICINE, FOOD AND SODA BOTTLES. I DIDN'T HAVE A LOT OF MONEY BACK IN MY LATE TEENS, BUT I POSSESSED A KEEN INTEREST, TO INVEST THE SWEAT EQUITY, PUTTING IN THE SHOVEL WORK MYSELF…..INSTEAD OF BUYING THE OLD GLASS FROM ANTIQUE SHOPS. IT WAS AMAZING. THE ISOLATION, PEACE AND QUIET, WINDSONG AND INSECT BUZZING TO ENTERTAIN ME. GROWLING BEARS AND BEE STINGS TO GET ME MOVING ALONG, PACK-SACK FULL TO OVERFLOWING, WITH THE FINDS OF THE DAY. I WILL GO INTO MORE DETAIL ABOUT BOTTLE DIGGING, IN A FUTURE BLOG. AT THE SAME TIME, AS A MATTER OF SOME IRONY, SUZANNE, MY FUTURE WIFE, WAS ALSO DOING ROUGHLY THE SAME THING, BUT MOSTLY FROM THE STERN OF A CANOE. WE KNEW EACH OTHER FROM SCHOOL, BUT NEVER COMPARED NOTES ABOUT OUR ANTIQUING HOBBIES. WHILE SHE DID GO OUT TO DUMPSITES IN THE ROSSEAU AREA TO DIG, SHE FOUND A LOT OF OLD BOTTLES AND JARS, PADDLING HER WHITE CANOE, IN THE SHALLOWS OF LAKE ROSSEAU, NEAR THE FAMILY COTTAGE IN WINDERMERE. IT WAS ACCEPTABLE, WAY BACK, TO DUMP REFUSE IN THE LAKE. LOTS OF IT. FROM MAJOR APPLIANCES TO IRON WORKS, CAR PARTS, CROCKS AND JUST ABOUT ANYTHING THAT WOULD SINK OUT OF SIGHT. THAT WAS THE CRITICAL ASPECT. YOU DIDN'T WANT YOUR GARBAGE FLOATING AWAY, TOWARD SOMEONE ELSE'S DOCK OR BEACH. I'VE HEARD REPORTS FROM DIVERS, WHO FOUND SOME LOCAL LAKES CLUTTERED WITH STOVES AND FRIDGES, LIKE A SUBMERGED APPLIANCE STORE, DISCARDED OVER MORE THAN A CENTURY OF LOCAL SHORELINE RESIDENCY. NOT SO NICE.
WHEN SUZANNE AND I MARRIED, WE BROUGHT OUR COLLECTIONS TOGETHER, AND IT WAS PRETTY IMPRESSIVE. MOST WERE SOLD OFF OVER TIME, THROUGH OUR FORMER MAIN STREET SHOP, ON UPPER MANITOBA STREET IN BRACEBRIDGE….CIRCA 1989-1995.
This morning's venture turned up a neat little 1960's "Kent" acoustic guitar, that our boys will repair, upgrade (add an electric pick-up), and then put up for sale….or use for recording purposes, at our current main street music shop, here in Gravenhurst (opposite the Opera House). Suzanne got a nice white pottery mixing bowl, and some round knitting needles, for a fraction of the retail price, that she uses to knit toques for the boy's store. Good value for shopping second hand. She arrived at the check-out counter of the second hand shop, with a four pound bag of old buttons, which she re-uses on some of her knitwear. Inside there was a nice vintage button, off a uniform, from the Toronto Transit Commission, that will pay for the bag of buttons, and buy us a small, nutritious lunch. It could sell for about $20 to $25, in an online auction. So what did the antique guy get? Well I got two vintage prints, both signed, nicely matted and framed, a very nice 1960's or so, vintage oil on paper-composite board, depicting an old mill, with a minor amount of damage along the top from being placed, still a little wet, in a former frame. The frame was the second in the paintings existence. It is a Canadian art piece. (I will be putting an image of this, and future finds on this blog-site, so you can have a look at what's out there on the antique hustings.) I also picked up a nice little folk art carving, of an old-timer, on a pine panel, and a really neat folk art piece, of two Cardinals, facing each other, done completely with seeds…..and I mean a lot of seeds, hand colored. A remarkable little piece, but no one really appreciated its folk art value. Or how much time it took to create. It is signed…..you guessed it……with colored seeds. I will post an image of this unusual piece, at the top of this editorial copy.
It was a good outing, and I'm already looking forward to tomorrow, our traditional antique hunting day. One of my best finds of the season was a neat rectangular pine, maple candy mold, with moveable partitions, found in a local second hand shop. No one knew what it was. As a maple syrup, and candy lover, I couldn't believe my good fortune. I will also provide a glimpse of this at a later date, when I blog about my favorite time of hinterland retreats……maple sap collecting days. I've written a lot about the spring collection of sap, in the Muskoka sugar bush, published in numerous papers over the past thirty years. What a magnificent experience to get back to the sugar shack. I'll tell you about two special trips, one courtesy of two fine fellows, who worked as outdoor educators, here in Muskoka; John Duncan and George Anderson, and a memorable trip back into the thick maples with Jim Hillman, and gang, off of Golden Beach Road, in Bracebridge. This is upcoming. I think you'll enjoy the trip back.
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