Under the freeway - Part two

There seem to be lots of surprises under the freeway.

But on this Sunday, the first Sunday of every month to be exact, "special things" were everywhere, but not in the form of perishables this time.

The antique flea market was the event, under the freeway, the venue.

We like to call days like this "work", since my Mama has a space in an antique shop, but really it's just F.U.N.

Buttons, watches, stamps, pretty glassware, vintage clothing, furniture, gorgeous fabric, jewelry, silver, pottery...it is endless. Eye candy awaits at every turn.

My Mama and Grandma traveled up this way for the occasion.

Check out my Mama's cart - isn't she just the cutest? Most of the time I think that she is so cute I could just dip her in chocolate and take a bite.

But I would never try that in real life.


I remember when I was young, my mom would often pull over the car for a garage sale or a quick stop at the antique store. I THOUGHT IT WAS SUCH A BORE. I used to think, "why are we here", "what could be so appealing about all this junk"? I was such a miserable child at times.

I wonder if my mom knew that one day her girls would enjoy the very activity we used to equate with torture. I now see the appeal: there is so much mystery in vintage treasures, so much joy in finding something special among the funky and aside from that, there is so much style and charm in the old. And it's "green"!

As we weave through the rows, I like to wonder about the woman who once wore that apron while sipping mint juleps, or who got married to the love of her life wearing that hat, or who baked cakes using that bowl, or who once admired that silver mirror on her dressing table, or who fed her babies in that high chair, decades, upon decades ago. Her name is always Eleanor in my head and she looks a lot like June Cleaver. Except she is a brunette. There are secrets behind her polite smile and feminine posture. She isn't as perfect, or as good as she seems. But she is always a true "lady". She has mastered angel food cake, loves her Mister fiercely and she refuses to wear stockings.

Don't mind me and my wicked imagination. We are pretty close.

My dear Grandmother. Sometimes we all need to take a load off...



Mama brought egg salad sandwiches for lunch. One of our favorites. This is what my mom ate after she spent hours laboring and birthing me, without the use of drugs I am compelled to mention. She said she was starving (it seems so wrong to deny a laboring woman food) and the sandwiches she packed tasted so gooooood. I can only imagine how very good they tasted.

I like to think that long after the umbilical cord was cut, my mom and I are still connected through egg salad sandwiches. Every time we eat them together, I ask my mom to tell the story of my birth day and her picnic lunch and I listen and smile like its the first time I have ever heard the tale. Dramatic? Maybe. But I think its just good nostalgia.

Who knew so much fun could be found on a sunny morning, under the freeway...