Ahhhhh, it’s been a while since I had a good flea market crawl, so it was a quick yes when I got a call from my friend Elizabeth of Style Blueprint, a blog that is rapidly becoming Nashville’s latest and most potent source of shopping crack.
She muttered that she needed some stuff (need being a broad term when it comes to Elizabeth and shopping), and I was all “Hell yeah. I’ve been low on 8-track tapes ever since my AMC Pacer got broken into.”
Really, there’s no better place on earth to warp time and space than the Nashville Flea Market. You can go as far back as you like, even to historical periods that aren’t really all that historic.
The chutzpah required to offer this partly used bottle of Tabu Spray Cologne is totally admirable. Anybody out there suddenly jonesing for a half-used bottle of your own, there’s more where that came from.
In fact, you can stock up on bottles of all kinds of stuff at the flea market.
Expiration dates are kind of a “guideline,” really. No need to be so literal about stuff.
Elizabeth shops like a commando: she was making deals before the poor vendors even knew what had hit them.
Here she is, on the right, relieving this nice vendor of two party purses. Surgical strike. These came from an estate that included a suitcase stuffed with perfectly ordered lingerie, and pasted to the inside of the suitcase was this:
Morty’s clothing list for Surprise Lake Camp, in Cold Spring, New York. 1950. Looks to me like not everything came back. Any Surprise Lake Camp alums know whether Morty brought home his housecoat?
There were things of great beauty to be found in the Creative Arts Building, where I had a Vietnam-style flashback to my knitting competition experience at the Tennessee State Fair a few years ago.
Elizabeth’s best silver dealer also deals in automotive tools.
Something about this swan-necked gamine really spoke to me. Sort of Annie Lennox? Or maybe I was just buzzing off the peach potpourri fumes.
Of course, we all know that it is impossible to attend an event composed of a thousand attics put on display without encountering at least a few Dole banana boxes crammed with yarn.
I was overwhelmed by these two sleeves and a back. Where is the front? Such incompleteness! With the interlocking zigzaggy color changes and everything! Think on all the misunderstood, half-finished knitting that ends up underneath folding tables of booths at flea markets across the land. We need to address this issue. Where is the love, y’all?
Beauty was everywhere, but you know me . . .
It’s always the $35 New TruByte tooth-color-matching wheel that really sets me on fire.
The Nashville Flea Market seems to be in jeopardy; the city owns the state fair property where this monthly miracle takes place, and apparently there may be a massive health care conglomerate that seems interested in turning the acreage into some kind of Development.
A crying shame, I tell you! What Nashville needs is more flea market, not less. As we scoured the jewelry tables, I had the great chance to hear the smooth keyboard stylings of Sonny Helmer, everybody’s favorite used telephone vendor and author of Everything Happens to Me! The “Almost Famous” Sonny Helmer Story.
I loved the guy, and the way he was selling Bakelite telephones, everybody else did, too.