Rambling and Reminiscing

Coat? Vintage, thrifted Beanie? Winners (similar in black and beige) Sweater? Gap, thrifted (similar in red)

 Plaid shirt? Maison Scotch Jeans? h&m Boots? Nine West, thrifted Bag? Roots (same colour here)

I wore this on the weekend, when Matt and I drove up to Waterford to bum around and check out the antique market there. It's currently my favourite flea market; it's the perfect balance of mess and organization and the drive to Waterford is full of pretty scenery. We bought a vintage hat, a baby gift and an old register cleverly done up as a piggy bank. We were going to buy the register as a gift but in the end, we got a little attached and kept it for ourselves. That sounds pretty selfish, it probably is but I was just really happy that Matt was so into it.

I grew up going to flea markets and antique stores all the time. That gives me blogger cred right? My vintage aesthetic not being something I picked up when I started blogging but rather it was forced upon me by my parents? I remember being on the fence about our family antiquing trips. On the one hand, it felt so adult to be trusted in a store full of delicate items but on the other hand, I wished we could do the 'normal' stuff my friends and their families were doing. My friends went the water park and got to eat hot dogs and we went to a rural antique market and got to choose a vintage tool. But guess what? I still have that tool. It sits on display on the mini persian rug draped over a cabinet I have permanently borrowed from my parents. Also? That persian rug? Another gift from my parents. I might have been about 6 or 7 when I received that.

(Bottom right is the particular tool I am referring to. I put a filter on this picture just to add to its vintage charm.)

Sometimes I think our childhood was so weird but yet it was stable, loving and normal for us at the time. There is nothing better than sitting around with my brothers and reminiscing. I also love listening in on Matt's siblings when they fondly talk about their experiences growing up. It's just so different. Matt's stories are less about antiques and more about camping trips, dirt bikes, mullets and shooting arrows into the greenhouse across the street. 

There is something about swapping tales with your brothers and/or sisters. Repeating the familiar stories that only siblings can know and completely understand. One tale turns into another and another and hours go by... I've heard a lot of the stories by now but I think they get better and more dramatic every time.

This post took an oddly nostalgic turn. All because I got excited seeing Matt enjoying himself poking around a flea market. Just as excited as Matt will be when I take up archery and share in that childhood pastime of his.
Or I could just cut my hair into a mullet.