Vintage market day in Oxford

Thursday is Vintage Market day in Oxford.
It takes place between 9am and 4pm on the Gloucester Green, which isn’t actually a green in the normal green in the middle of town sort of way, it’s more like a Gloucester Pavement…lol.
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But it’s become a bit of an institution in the middle of Oxford, and every time I’m in town on a Thursday, I love to stop by.

The selection of “stuff” is just amazing, all laid out on tables for people to browse thru.

I remember one year finding an old and giant castle key and bringing it back for Chloe.

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Today, the big old copper things took my fancy. Wouldn’t it be fantastic to have one of those French country kitchens with old copper things hanging around? I’d love it.

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Every seller seems to specialise in something, whether it be jewellery, door handles, old wood working tools or blue and white china. Almost everything is represented somehow.

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This I found intriguing; a whole table of vintage coins. I loved running my hands thru them. There was an awful lot of interest in them.

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But then I saw the one thing I really wanted. This old coffee mill. I have photos as a very little girl playing with my grandmother’s coffee mill in the Czech Republic. I’d love to own a representation of my very early, and happy memories, but the £45 price tag meant that it got to stay there.

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Now, if I’m very, very lucky, I might find one at a car boot sale for £5. Fingers crossed. :)

I did come away with two maps I can paint on, a handful of lovely vintage postcards to send to friends, an old Poe book, and these photos to share with all of you. :)

A Random Friday

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It’s been in the damps here. One of those damps which crusts over the sugar in the sugar bowl and feels sticky on the skin. It’s not just the rain, and the damps are different than the dumps. The damps are when everything you own, everything you touch, everything you are is sticky and moist and uncomfortable and leave you feeling miserable and the slightest change in a situation can render you completely at wits end, depressed and life’s-not-worth-living-shoot-me-now-ish. Know what I mean?

For some bizarre reason, one of the antique brass beds in the house has dyed green stripes on the white pillow covers.

I’m running out of time. That is to say the restoration company is running out of time to get the floor finished, get things painted and cleaned up and replace my furniture before I leave for England and don’t return for a good two months. This means I will not sign off on the project until I’m absolutely and completely sure that nothing has been missed, forgotten about or not done if promised. This means that my insurance agency will not release the last bulk of the funds till September when I get back. I’ve decided that none of this is my problem as I’m still sticking to the agreed on time schedule.

When I walked into the hall this morning and saw the sun shining on the guardian chair, my happiness factor increased exponentially. YAY SUN!

I really should be living in Arizona or Barcelona or Santorini or some other sunny situation instead of flitting between rain in Vancouver and rain in Oxford.

Linking with Nancy at A Rural Journal for the random five Friday. :)

C calls them “selfies”

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Do you take self portraits with your phone/camera? Chloe does it all the time. Thank goodness she doesn’t do the trout lip pout most of her friends tend to do when they post their selfies.
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We tend to goof around a lot. No trout pouts here! Except when we’re serious.
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But we do have a lot of “epic fail” shots too! Lol :)
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A fleeting moment and random five.

This morning my favorite Blue Ridge Gal reminded me that over at Nancy’s Rural Journal it’s time for a random five post and I’ve been thinking about the WordPress weekly photo challenge which is “fleeting”.

So I give you three dead Cedar Waxwings and say to you, “Life is fleeting. One minute you’re flying along and the next you hit a great, big window.”

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The huge wall of double story windows have claimed their fair share of birds over the years…including a Canada goose who broke the glass. I do feel really bad about this though, but I guess it’s all fair. I mean, the poor little bodies do provide food for the other creatures and, in the wild, not much goes to waste.

The random things I’d like to tell you are:

1. I love the work of Robert Bateman. Love it, love it to pieces. Each time I find a dead bird I want to freeze it like he does and take it out frozen, pose it and use it as a model for painting. He talks about the sad little creatures which, after seven or so thaws and freezes, really do have to be discarded. Guess I’d learn to work really fast.

2. I only heard a single thud against the window and I guess the whole little flock flew into it at almost the same time. When little tragedies happen I go into complete shock and disbelief each time. That sort of unacceptance even though I know in my heart it’s the situation. Wish I had a time machine. True enough.

3. I held the birds in turn, feeling their warmth, feeling their softness. I felt all teary. Couldn’t put them down. They are so unbelievable soft and real and felt so…alive. I always have this need to remember, to feel, to take in everything, not to leave out any sensory detail. Is that my artistic soul? Or is it what everyone does? Couldn’t stop photographing them. Is that morbid?

4. I questioned whether or not I should have the little flock stuffed. I’ve had a pheasant, a seagull and a kamikaze quail, who ran into my car wheel, stuffed. But then I remembered the incredible hassle of trying to get a permit for the gull – a migratory bird – to have him stuffed, and also remembered that I don’t have electricity at the cabin and cannot freeze their little bodies and so gave up on that idea.

5. I walked around the cabin trying to find the perfect place to bury them. The real story is I couldn’t bring myself to put three such exquisite creatures into the ground. If you must know, I still have my late aunt’s ashes in my home. My grandmother kept grandfather’s ashes in her china cabinet until her death, and then I interned them both in the family crypt in Prague. I hate having them there. I wish I had them here with me. For the past several years I’ve said I must take Aunt Vera to the alpines and sprinkle her ashes there, but having her here gives me some strange comfort and, even though I hike into alpines each September, I’ve never brought her ashes with me. Maybe this year.

Whew, this is what comes from taking photos.