By: Barbara Beem "What are you looking for?" This is the Big Question, asked routinely at antique shops, malls, and flea markets. And when it’s directed at me, I am immediately faced with a moral – and emotional – dilemma. Should I be honest? Do they really want to know? And do I really want to tell? Most importantly, do I want to admit that my forays into the land of old things are quite often in search of what could best be described as "junktiques"? And that what I really want is a great bargain? Dare I say that I’m looking for Bakelite jewelry that’s interesting but underpriced? It wasn’t so many years ago that it was possible to pick up a fun bangle bracelet or attention-getting pin for just a few dollars. Then, with the proliferation of price guides and specialty books on the subject, prices began to soar. Add to that the Internet, which has homogenized tastes across the country, and everybody seems to know what everything is. Well, almost. A few weeks ago, I did score a hat-shaped butterscotch pin at an area mall for six dollars less a 10 per cent discount for cash. The fellow at the front desk said the dealer had no idea what she had, but he certainly knew: he offered to buy back my find right there on the spot with a tidy profit for my efforts. No way. I’m looking for Vera napkins from the 1960s. There was always something pleasing about the bright, splashy patterns she designed, and they look great when you mix and match the colors (within reason) and use them at dinner parties. A testimony to my fondness for them is the fact that I’m even willing to starch and iron. Anyway, a lot of other people apparently appreciate their appeal, and consequently, dealers are charging several dollars a pop for them. The truth of the matter is that the bindings aren’t that great so they tend to fray. And chocolate and red wine stains are tough to remove. I’m looking for cheap. I’m taking piano lessons again, and I have my eye out for interesting sheet music, particularly Christmas songs with stylish graphics on the cover. They look great sitting on the piano, and they’re fun to play. And we’re always scouting for off-the-wall 78s for our Victrola. Once again, Christmas carols take a priority (they’re real crowd pleasers when friends come over), but we’re also on the search for records that might charm that new grandbaby of ours. And I’d love to find a complete copy of "Annie Get Your Gun" with Ethel Merman. Trouble is, one dollar per disk is pretty much my limit. Well, I might go a bit higher for "You Can’t Get a Man With a Gun." I do a good bit of knitting and a tiny bit of crocheting. I am also partial to poodles. Wouldn’t it be neat to paw through the old needlework books and find the instructions for those kitschy poodle bottle and tissue covers? I might actually make some, should I have the good fortune to locate the patterns. Mercifully, some of my leisure time pursuits are a bit more intellectual than making pom-pom doggies. I’ve been known to read a book or two, and I’m currently plowing my way through whatever we can get our hands on by E. Phillips Oppenheim. Somehow or other, Ken came across this author, and I find his writing to be literate and suspenseful. But more’s the pity; some other people are going about collecting first editions by this fellow, thereby driving up the price. I’m just looking for a good read. Happy Hour seems to be made even happier when those potent potables are mixed in a vintage shaker. Ken’s got a nifty little collection of these going, and it seems only fair that if I want to reap the joys of those little retro numbers, the least I can do is to be on the look-out while I’m cruising through the shops. We have few hopes of buying the high-end shakers – we’re just looking for something funky and fun, strong enough to withstand the cement floor of our front porch in the summertime and the quarry tile floor of our sunroom in the winter. Not to mention the inquisitive nose of our poodle. Postcards. There’s no sense in beginning to list the fragmented categories of postcards I continue to seek. Probably the best collection I have going at this time is the little album of scenes from Mohonk Mountain House, a Victorian resort in the Hudson Valley. Unfortunately, I can’t remember exactly which views of the lake, gazebos, and gardens I have already purchased. And nothing irritates me more than buying doubles. On the other hand, I’ve been trying for two years to get a collection going of cards from the Enchanted Forest in Ellicott City, Md. So far, the only example I have been able to unearth of this Baltimore-area kiddie park from my youth did not come from a shop: it''''s the one I sent to my grandparents some 50 years ago (evidently, they didn’t throw things out, either). I can’t exactly stomp into a shop and ask where the Enchanted Forest postcard booth would be located. I know better. So what am I looking for? "Oh, nothing special." |