What have I done?
Do I post so often that I've run out of vintage things to photograph and post?
(Does a blog have an end? Is this another thing I have started but will never finish? Will I just stop one day and leave it hanging there out in blogland? Is this too deep for my retired carefree mind?
Yes. Move on Amy.)
I have a feeling that blogs start as something and evolve into many other things through their life,
but I'm going to try hard to stay on topic.
I have way too many things and a couple of friends with too many things for me to post about for me to stray.
The truth is since I am actually vintage myself, I am forgetful of what photos have been posted.
If you've seen these, sorry.
I was really, really happy to find this pulley for $6.00 at an antique mall. Usually, they are around $25 in a store or even a flea market around this area. Yes, I could find one in a barn, but I am not Mike and Frank and I do NOT like spiders. And, yes, that is an iron wheel - probably a valve wheel.
Husband: "What are you going to do with it?"
Me: "Look at it."
And, yes, these are on my coffee table.
I am vintage and maybe this exemplifies the "twist"ed aspect.
What can I say . . . I like metal and wood.
These are photos hanging in my computer room. They are of my Father.
He was a photographer in the Army Air Corp in WWII.
He passed away in 1961 from a heart condition when I was nine months old.
My Mother tells people that I take after him since I love photography.
Is there a gene for photography?
Top to bottom: (I should hang them in chronological order)
Army photography class
High School Philomathean Society
High School football team
Army Advanced photography class.
To the right is him in camp during the war (in Tunisia, I think)
Billiard balls, but I don't know what the blue ball with the "J" is.
I'll buy anything for a dollar or two.
Including a bent up tray from an old tool box.
Especially if it is red.
I mostly like C-O-L-O-R but definitely go for vintage yellowed paper too.
Until next time . . . if I can find something vintage . . .