Oh the things you'll see

What a day. As those who know me can attest, jewelry, particularly vintage costume jewelry, is my thing. I can spend hours rummaging through old boxes filled with wads of cast-offs and hours more visualizing and reworking old strands of jewelry, pins, and earrings. It's excessive at times. Fortunately, it is one of my least expensive passions.

So the state flea market is well known in the region. Needless to say, it is acres and acres of junk, antiques, kitch, and yes, socks. Most things are lumped together so unless you want to peruse boxes and boxes of ninety-nine cent store junk, you don't have to walk over there. However, the sock booths are the traditional end caps.

This time, it was the three amigas. Each of us had a few things on our minds to look for. I was on the prowl for a Eiffel tower pendant, preferably vintage and about three inches in height, a small suitcase, and of course, the jewelry. Free Spirit had a cast iron kettle or pot on her list. Bama Girl was in it for additions to her own cast iron collection. The mix of stuff is incredible. I lean more to the pop culture ephemera, early 50s housewares, and the like. Free Spirit is more folksy, preferring early American pieces and Bama Girl is pure country {not in the Texas way, more the Alabama way}.

As always, I fall prey to the 'think about it' and suffer remorse for not purchasing things that I see on the first peruse. This time I missed out on the small suitcase--it was the perfect size, but condition was as strong--and Canadian made circa 1983 alpaca fur boots. Yes, there were awesome--a whole lotta awesome. Still, I walked away and have regretted since.

We all scores treasure. Free Spirit found her pot and still walked away with pocket change. Bama Girl found some keen pieces too. My prize? A metal Fallout Shelter sign circa 1960 is good condition, minimal rust with just bit of storage debris attached. The vendor--a brilliant old man (who I'm certain could tell amazing war stories) said 'yeah, it's probably not politically correct to be selling this thing.' When I, in turn, came back with "Well, I've never been accused of being that," he warmed right up. He was certainly a highlight.

Yes, the flea market is a once a month treasure hunt like no other. Just strolling around is fun, but it's the down and dirty digging through old Purity milk cartons that's even cooler. Even funnier, is the distinctly insensitive items available for purchase. Things emblazoned with the Nazi swastikas, vintage signs with pickeninnies and jolly n****** banks {those were creepy}. There were many decidedly ethnically offensive items. What a world.