I watched two Antique Roadshows last night, appropriate, I know, given my own age. I was antsy. I didn't want to read my book, I had called everyone already, my husband was at his old lab finishing up something. The beauty of it is, no commercials. Thus the dogs and I were able to prevail. As usual, stuff that looked like junk was valuable, gorgeous vases were practically worthless, there was a Confederate Flag and a Winchester rifle. I guess there will never be an end to war memorabilia, but I fail to see the allure. Rugs and furniture seem to not be valuable, no matter how old. I think that's the category I'm in. However, often Native American crafts are super valuable. The guy with the Winchester rifle which he had been told was in a battle with Custer, was not the right kind of rifle, but a beaded pony bag, was the real treasure, more than thirty times so. It was soft deerskin, with beaded plants in black, white and pumpkin colors, not all over beaded, just enough to be elegant and evocative of the plains. I was rooting for art over artillery, and for once, it prevailed.
A couple of more hours before my granddaughter arrives. I'm excited. I slept very poorly last night. I have her dress up box all set: firefighter, fairy, chef, doctor, scarves, pearls, picture hats. Let the games begin!
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