Watching my mother in a second hand shop is like watching a child coming alive in a sweet shop. As I keep a eye on my mother, she walks around a cluttered shop of smelly old fashioned collectibles, from old vintage radios, to cars to antique furniture, to photography from decades ago of strange men and woman, that have since passed.
My mother’s blue eyes come alight, sparkle, with her glasses on of the tip of her nose she gets down and dirty and rummages through all the weird and wonderful things to find the hidden gems. She turns everything around and upside down to read all the stamps, she is filled with knowledge and knows her antiques and can find something in a heap that is worth thousands that she will buy for a few hundred.
She has literally driven miles out of town to every second hand shop I can remember for years, buying old broken furniture and turned them into the most wonderful pieces that people have bought, treasured and loved for years. I am so lucky to be her daughter, as I get the first choice. So my home is filled with eclectic pieces that I have come to love. The experience is undeniably the most memorable moments in my life.
I usually just walk around with her and watch she doesn’t get a fright or bump a old jewelry case leaving us in much debt before we have even left. But she always surprises me as she gently picks up the strangest things and cups it into her hands and then precedes to tell me the history of the jar, plate or table. I smile and listen and fall in love with her passion every time.
I just get out my iPhone and photograph the things that interest me and are part of history. Something rather nostalgic.