Random little things from the antique stalls this weekend. The pickings, admittedly, are much slimmer in the high-traffic, and higher-priced summer months. But regardless of how much or how little I come home with, there's nothing like a day spent with dear friends laughing and wandering the aisles full of old, lovely, sometimes bizarre, and beautiful things at the flea market.
Just like nearly every other trip there, I left with a vintage frock (or, um, three, this time). Someday, I realize, there's going to come a day when none of my babies will fit into or agree to wear my finds. It will be a sad day, indeed. And likely, it won't stop be from bringing them home (a little strange, perhaps, but I'm okay with that). For now, I'll keep bringing the treasures home, and cross my fingers that I can squeeze them in, and that they'll think it's as fun as I do. So far, so good.
