MacGuffin

I've been struggling for a week trying to get this post finished.  I knew what I wanted to say, but I didn't think y'all had the extra hours necessary to read it.  Leastwises, not with Thanksgiving this Thursday and all!

I've had a lot going on lately, but then what's new about that.  As women, we all do.  (Sorry guys, but it's a well known fact women can do more in two steps than a man can in half a dozen).

In addition to preparing and setting up at the Junk Hippy Roadshow, I've also had my hands full with my baby girl.  I didn't say anything, but she had to have sorta-kinda emergency gall bladder surgery.  I say sorta-kinda because she actually went into the hospital with Pancreatitis which led to the surgery.  Now before you ask...she's doing great and was released by her doctor last week...just in time for Mama Cat to do the show and our family's Gobble-Gobble tournament.

But the real reason I'm doing this post is to talk about the elephant in the room I've been dusting for several weeks...blogging and whether to continue or stop all together.

It's been laying like a bad street taco in the pit of my stomach.  Talk about heartburn...ohmylanta for real.  It took several recent events to push it first and foremost into my thoughts...starting with being dropped off a couple of sidebars.

Someone pointed this out to me (I won't say how they noticed) and asked if it hurt my feelings.  I ain't gonna lie and say it didn't 'cause it did sting a bit, but truth is I don't blame 'em one bit. I've only myself to blame.  I've quit posting/commenting on a regular basis and I wouldn't waste my time with me either...if I had a choice.  Problem is I'm stuck with me.

When asked if I was going to remove these folks from my side bar as well, my first thought was heck yeah...

BUT...

after stewing a bit, I had to ask myself what purpose would that serve?  All I would be proving is I'm a small minded person with an even bigger ego.  I've survived being de-friended on FB.  Heck...I've survived being blocked!  So I get de-barred to boot...I'll survive this burp as well.  There have...and will be...bigger fish to fry in my life.  Time is way too short to waste precious minutes on a one woman pity party...even when served with whine and cheesy platitudes. 

One of the reasons I started blogging was for the sheer pleasure of seeing my words in print.  I can't begin to describe the thrill when I began to think I could write, but somewhere along the way, I lost my sense of direction.  It became all about the comments and praise...she says with her head hanging down in shame.  When He withheld the words, it also became work...cumbersome with no joy in it.

I found myself worrying.

Would it be funny enough?

Would anybody get what I was saying?

Would I offend anyone?

Fretting when I should have been typing...and praying.

I began to have performance anxiety...stage fright.

I love a spotlight and opening night jitters was not what I signed on for.

A week ago Monday---thankfully---I was reminded of why I began blogging and why I love it.

I had lunch with four of the most remarkable women I've ever known...and except for Jenn...I met every one of them through blogging.

(Right about now is where I'll begin name dropping and tearing up a bit.)

Donna, Lisa Mac, and Rebecca are three of the most talented women out there.  They're smart, funny, generous, and supportive.  I trust them with my thoughts and I respect their opinions.  (Law...do I trust their opinions.) Listening to them, hearing their words of encouragement, knowing it came from their hearts to mine, I felt a burden being lifted off my shoulders.

Having lunch with these women, not only fed the belly...it fed the soul.  Listening to them talk...hearing them speak of their talents...was food for thought and water to quench a parched throat.

~As each of you has received a gift, minister it to one another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God.~1 Peter 4:10

In those four pairs of loving eyes, I realized there is a huge difference in being boastful and in being honest.  It isn't prideful to acknowledge those talents that have been given by God.  Denying them is denying Him the glory.

Thank you ladies for showing me this with your words, faith and love. 

God sat me down at this desk and He and He alone gave me the words to share.  He took control of this keyboard from the get-go and in doing so, gave me a voice colored with the gift of humor. 

These beautiful, wise women reminded me of that.  I'm not here to spout my own platform.  I'm here to glorify Him...even with laughter, where ever and when ever I can.

This morning I had my own private Come to Jesus meeting and I have my answer.  Numbers, sidebars, who does or doesn't like me...all that doesn't matter...not any more.  What matters is talking from my heart and doing it always in my own voice.

So first things first.

To start with, and in case you haven't noticed, I've removed the comment section from my blog.  I did this for several reasons starting with I had become a slave to it.  I don't want that anymore.  Nor do I want the worry of what y'all might think of a post...or me...to hinder my writing honestly.  When the words start coming so fast I trip over my own fingers, I don't always have time to stop and wonder if it's funny or dull.  I just have to type and pray the grammar is correct.

Lastly...I've become lax about commenting and the guilt has been gnawing at me.  I don't want any of y'all to ever feel that way about visiting here.  It isn't good for the digestion.

So-o-o...henceforth and from this point on...

consider this blog is pressure free...except for the part about me being a big ol' wind bag.  Sorry y'all.  That'll never change. I y'am what I y'am...and that's all that I y'am.

Just.one.long.sentence!

Not that I don't want to ever hear from y'all.  I do.  But it should be when and if you have the time.  I'm just an e-mail away or you can visit me on my Talking Trash FaceBook page.  My page is where I'm going to be putting up show dates, merchandise, and me just raising my dress over my head.  You know...just the usual, normal stuff.  If you're fascinated by the sight of white grand-mama panties...feel free to stop on over.

My roadmap for this blog is being rerouted as I type.  I know there is road construction waiting just around the bend, but for now I'm content to idle a spell and wait on my God-PS to get me there.

So for now...

If my writing comes out making sense...color me happy.

If reading me speaking my mind colors you happy...even better.

And if in reading my thoughts, you find what you came looking for...

I've done my job.

Shameless-The Junker Formerly Known As Trash

She:  Oh mylanta...not another annoying, shameless commercial.

Her:  Law...I know right?

She:  What on earth does this woman hope to accomplish with all this unabashed self-promotion anyways?

Her:   Ssshh!  The walls have ears.  Now...I'm not saying this for a fact...but I've heard tell the goal is to become a gazillionaire before the age of 70 and retire to an island in Lake Texoma.

She:  Someone needs to tell this obviously-throwed-off-woman that if it ain't happened yet...it ain't gonna...leastways not selling junk!

Her:  Hey...you know it and I know it...but if this crazy woman really wants to believe the road to riches is paved with rust...who are we to burst that bubble?

Me:  Will you two please hush up.  You're breaking my concentration here.  Can't y'all hear me trying to count my imaginary chickens before they hatch!

She and Her:  Well I never!  What gall!  Have you no shame?

Me:  None whatsoever!  You two can be such a drag. 

C'mon now. You really think I'd be sportin' braids a la Willie if I did?  Yeah...that's right.  I'm loud...I'm proud...so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

And just so's y'all know...Baby's got a brand new bag and they'll be at The Junk Hippy Roadshow too.

To all y'all in the DFW area and all points in between...howsa 'bout you droppin' by Saturday to the Junk Hippy Roadshow?  Between me and thee...we can prove these two wrong and silence 'em forever!

Almost time for me to split the scene so...

PEACE OUT...

FAR OUT...

AND CLEAN OUTTA SIGHT!

You dig what I'm sayin'?

 

Cold Hard Facts

I don't know what it is, but at the first little cold snap I instantly get ravenous.

I want to eat everything warm...or cold...in the house.

So...what's a girl to do to stave off hunger pains?

Why she heads straight to Pinterest and starts pinning recipes for casseroles, soups and desserts...of course!

Ordinarily, in and of itself, this isn't a bad thing.  It keeps me from lifting the fridge off the floor and dumping the entire contents into my waiting tummy,

BUT...

seeing as how I've got a new show this weekend to get ready for...I should be packing instead drooling.

Photo of our booth courtesy of Red.Neck Chic

Whoa Nelly!   Back it up!

Beep, beep, beep!

 Have I even mentioned to y'all we'll be vendors at a new show to our area this weekend?

Silly me...of course I haven't.

That would require posting on a regular basis...now wouldn't it?

And since you know and I know I've only managed to crank out 2 or 3 posts since we got back from the Marburger Farm Antique Show...I'm also pretty certain I haven't said a word about the Junk Hippy Roadshow in Arlington this Saturday, November 10.

You want to know how I know?

Cat Daddy told me so last night...in his best growl...over and over!

In fact...his exact words were How can the ladies come see me if you don't let 'em know where I'll be?

See...it doesn't matter what we take to display and sell.  Obviously the most important thing is HE.WILL.BE.THERE...on display!  Leastwise...that's his viewpoint.  One of these days y'all, I'm gonna stick a price tag on him and see if there are any takers...just for the heckuvit!

Picture it.

Photo and caption of The Man courtesy of Red.Neck Chic

A big ol' tag pinned on his back stating:

Free to good home.

Declawed, housebroken, and neutered.

All sales final.

No returns or exchanges.

Reckon I'd get any takers...or should I just try and sell him by the pound?

I'm willing to bet a dollar to a donut that big ol' swollen head of his'n would fetch me a pretty penny all by it's lonesome!

Photo and caption of our booth courtesy of Red.Neck Chic

Bottom line...whether you're looking for cool, crusty old junk or an even cooler, crustier old junker...I hope you can work it into your schedule to come on out to Arlington this Saturday to the Junk Hippy Roadshow.  Kristen has rounded up a bevy of unique dealers to tempt you and I personally think it's gonna be more fun than a barrel of Cat Daddys.

One last enticement...

Did I happen to mention Evelyn Robelyn of Red.Neck Chic fame is gonna be my next door litter-mate?

Oh yeah baby-cakes.  It's on...so on.

Can you say...

ME-OWWW?

On a personal note...sending out prayers to Craig and TOT that all goes well with his surgery this morning. Love you guys.

To Be Served With S'mores And Hot Dr Pepper

INVASION OF THE PILES

By

Magenta Lame'

~A short body of work to be read on All Hallows' Eve preferably by the glare of a glowing computer screen.~

It always begins innocently enough doesn't it?

Having been busy the past few months, my intent was to bring a feeling of clean and organized back to my home.  Everything in it's place and a place for everything.  This was my plan.

Beginning in the front of the house and working my way back, I found myself placing things in the office that didn't have a designated spot.  My office would be put off for last. This was my haven where few dared to trespass.  It could be straighted out later when everything else was complete.  This was my blueprint, but like with all good intentions, the fickle finger of fate had another idea in mind for me. 

And so it began.

Mail tossed on the desk to be opened later, a few bills waiting to be paid, a folder of invoices and an unfinished project or two gathering dust in the corner...just waiting to be properly handled.  Innocuous enough and certainly nothing to send up warning bells of the hidden danger awaiting to befall me.

Had I been paying closer attention to my desk, I might have noticed something was afoul beginning with a slight tilt the folders were beginning to take on.  A listing somewhat like the Tower of Pisa, but so benumbed was I in the fumes of Pine Sol,  I  failed to sniff out the cauldron of chaos brewing just beneath the surface.  A boil of unfathomable menace growing and growing, threatening to explode with an unnatural force.

Days passed, then weeks until the day I awoke with a jolt...one burning question coursing through my mind.

Did I pay the electric bill?

As the lights flickered on and off, I ran into the office and frantically tried to unearth the bill from the towering stacks.  Leafing through pile after pile of papers, haphazardly tugging out this bill and that bill, I paused only long enough to give a cursory glance to mail waiting to be read.

Is this a baby shower invitation?  When did Aunt Nora send me these photos?  No time to wonder now.  Time is running out. I must find my light bill before I'm left in the dark.

Searching---searching.

Continuing to ponderously dig in the unending mountains of white, I felt my throat tighten in the harsh reality of my situation.  In an effort to calm my shaking hands, I reached for my cup of coffee as my elbow errantly grazed the stacks stewn around me.  Without warning, envelopes began wildly cascading onto the floor.  Unable to stem the landslide, brown folders toppled as well, their copious contents spilling out, scattering to the four corners of the room.  Dust filled my nostrils as blood oozed from a myriad of paper cuts.

Feeling faint from the sight of my own blood, I hastily powered up my PC, the fear of losing power...and consciousness...threatening to extinguish my contact with the outside world.

Hearing it's hum, seeing the welcoming blue logo, I felt my heart stop racing as calm was restored with these normal familiarities, when suddenly...

clicking onto my e-mail icon...

GASP...

I found my mailbox overflowing as well!

Panic overcame me once again as I glanced around this 10x10 sea of paper I was entrapped in.  I was completely engulfed in manila and pulp.  The flood of paper choking me, I struggled to catch my breath as half-finished projects stared balefully at me from their corners o'shame mocking my tears o'shame.

Cobwebs yanked at my hair as I sat helpless in the floor, powerless to move lest something else fall on me.  Dust bunnies danced wildly across the floor, daring me to try and catch them.  A lost Yellow Box hidden beneath the desk winked sardonically at me. Unearthed shards of Oreos and Fritos encircled my chair providing no sustenance, only remembrances of past guilty secrets.

I was trapped...stripped of direction, covered in deception, and buried alive in a tomb of paper work.

Who could have been so callous as to do this to me?

What had I done to deserve such a fate?

Glancing to my left, I catch a glimpse of my dirty face in the mirror I had so precariously propped against the bookcase only a week before.  As the last scrap of paper slowly fluttered down into my lap, a sense of hopelessness over took me. 

For there my friends---in that dusty mirror---through tears of horror---I saw my Grimy Reaper.

I...

and I alone...

red-handed and red-faced...

held the shovel.

THE END

HAPPY HALLOWEEN and BOO Y'ALL!!!

  

Cow Cow Boogie

M-o-o-o-chos Grassy-oats!!!

To all our old customers and friends who dropped in to see us...thank you.

To all the brand new ones who found us in our pasture cow palace...the pleasure was all ours.

To everyone who encouraged and supported us in this mo-o-ove...our heart felt thanks.

We think every one of y'all is udderly delightful.

To Al and Sue, for allowing us to stay in their charming cabin in the woods and share their bucolic mornings of wildflowers, deer and grazing cows and for nights spent gazing at the Milky Way in a big Texas sky, thank you so much.

Who knew a traffic jam in the country consists of cows in the middle of the drive or that the Big Dipper was filled to the brim?

What a perfect way to begin each day and come home to at night.

If it's true happy cows are contented cows...

just call us Elsie and Beauregard.

To Robelyn for being my very own Red.Neck aide-de-camp and for knowing that even if I brought my camera, I'd never have the time to take it out of the case.  You were there to ensure photos were taken and to try and keep me linear.  You kept things...and Cat Daddy...snappy-happy and churning.  For keeping me focused and for sharing your incredible talent for capturing beautiful images, I am forever indebted. 

To Liz and Fran for taking time off to help corral the chaos that was space 9 and for enduring the herds of fire ants...thank you.  Y'all went above and beyond the call of duty.

Y'all three milked it for all it was worth...and I was the happy recipient of your amazing tail swishin'.

Over the moon and back Chickie Baby and Girls...that's how much I love y'all.

To Ashley and  Marburger Farm Antique Show for allowing us to be part of such a beautiful, well ran show...thank you, thank you, thank you.

Marburger Farm truly is the land of milk and honey for antiques.

And finally to my Cat Daddy...my very own bull in the china closet.

My good right-hand cow-hand...ain't no flies on you!

Thank you for patiently waiting each morning while I rounded up my bling and braided my locks.  You put up with a lot of chewing the cud from a bevy of bovine femaleness of which most men would stampede from, but not you.  You're no cow-ard.

For refraining from cow tipping when I was sleeping standing up and for keeping the bull corn to a minimum...thank you.  I know it was a stretch.

You saw to it I was fed on a daily basis...and thanks to you...I returned home the fatted calf.

For Blue Bell drumsticks in the freezer, BBQ served up under the tent, and coffee with extra cream every morning...you know what I like.

And mostly...I like love you...and will 'til the cows come home!

(All photos are the sole property of Red.Neck Chic. She worked her little rump roast off shooting 'em and I'd appreciate it if you'd let her know how much you love 'em too!)

Success isn't always measured in the makin' or countin' of milk money.

Sometimes it's measured in gallons of laughter, buckets of love and the warm, endless flow from the milk of human kindness.

I am a rich woman...albeit a tad dirty and tired one.

I do believe I'm gonna go take a milk bath now and reflect in the wonder at the blue ribbon winners who are the butter on my biscuit.

How blessed am I?

My cup o'chocolate milk runneth over.

 

Tin Stars, Tent Cities and Ten Gallon Hats

The countdown is on.

Almost, but not quite, time to send in the clowns.

 

Cue the circus music.

 

Ladies and gentlemen...

 

Hurry, Hurry, Hurry!

 

Come one...Come all!

Now appearing at Marburger Farm, Tent H9 for a limited 5 day engagement, October 2-6...

Talking Trash with her one and only Cat Daddy!

Watch in amazement as the Cat-in-the-hat pulls Trash's foot outta her mouth!

As my friend Liz pointed out this past weekend...there's nothin' left in the barn to beat the dirt out of.  Everything that can be crammed into that 40 footer is crammed and any part of me that can be covered in dirt is covered!

Y'all...I'm feelin' ugly as an ol' pair of worn out work boots.

Grocery store feet?

I WISH!

Law...the bottoms of my feet are beyond Wally World dirty and I think my nails are permanently stained Special Walnut...or maybe that's Johnson's Paste Wax I'm sportin'.  I forget which and at this point...doesn't really matter.  Ugly is ugly and my feet and hands are uhh-gly!  It's a cryin' shame no one is re-making the movie Deliverance...'cause I'd shore nuff be a shoe-in (if I wore shoes) playing an extra.  Hark...do I hear banjo music playing in the soundtrack of my mind?

My hair?  Oh mylanta...my poor head o' hair is in dire need of a shearing trim.  I wonder if Evelyn Chickie Baby RobUhLyn can lop about an inch off with a pair of wire cutters...while she's swingin' from the top of our space hangin' lights of course. (One must be able to multi-task when hangin' with me...ba- dump-bump!)  I sure as shootin' hope so 'cause somewhere in the past few weeks, I've morphed from Crystal Gayle-land straight to resembling Cousin Itt's twin.  Someone hand me a coupla zip ties...then stand back and give me room.  Scooch on over Pippi Longstocking...there's some new braids in Tent City!

(Hmmm...just thinkin' of all those beautiful tents sittin' in the middle of cow pastures puts me in the mind for a good ol' fashion revival. I got me a hunch there's gonna be a whole lotta hallelujahs when that bell is rung and those gates thrown wide open!)

We've both been flat out like a lizards gettin' everything ready and man alive...it shows.  We look like we've been rode hard and put up wet.  We've got bruises on top of our bruises and we're totin' bags under our eyes big enough to hold enough britches for two weeks, but don't y'all worry none about us.  It only hurts when we laugh and boy howdy...are we ever planning on doing a whole lotta ouchin' startin'  next week!

For better or worse, the Catman and I are ready to make like a bread truck and haul...ahem...buns.

SQUIRREL ALERT!!!

Talkin' 'bout Cat Daddy, he's chompin' at the bit to get rollin' and strut his stuff, but I gotta stop and wonder.  Y'all know the man's exudes pure animal magnetism...right?  You've all witnessed how he's catnip to the ladies.  Tell me...do y'all think Marburger Farm is ready for my hunka-hunka burnin' love?

  If I know him...and oh I how do...he'll be on the prowl lookin' for new kittens to add to the litter box in his cat house. Do y'all think I should send up a warning flare...or just wait and let 'em be surprised?  He's tired, but if I know him...and again, I do...he won't let a little stagger in his swagger slow him down!

Fact is, when I mentioned the VIB party at Marburger's being held in SweetT's building, the Gulf Warehouse, on opening day at 3pm, I opined one of us should stay in our booth and work.  He was quick to reply it was a shame I wouldn't get to go.  Really?  The man is a legend in his own mind!

Ten gallon hat?

Pshaw!

Watchin' him grin like the cat who ate the canary...I'm wonderin' if cowboy hats come in ten barrel size!

But back to me...'cause I am the star of this dog and pony act...even if he doesn't realize it!  Do y'all reckon I need to come with a warning label too?  Y'all know I can be just a bit much every now and then...'specially if you feed me. I practically ooze muchfulness and if you make the mistake of feedin' me pimento cheese...I foam over...and at the mouth...with muchiness!  Maybe a sign sayin' something like the Mouth that Roars or just simply Mighty Mouth pinned to my back would be in order?

I'm tellin' y'all...I'm excited, nervous, giddy and I cannot.wait.to.get.there to see the all the folks and get my hug on!

The only thing left to do is finish packing.  I'm off to pack plenty of clean drawers, shine my rhinestones and polish up my witty repartees...'cause like Pammie's FIL always said...

If you can't dazzle 'em with brilliance...baffle 'em with bull----!

Catch y'all after the bull ridin'!



(On a serious note, would y'all please go here and lift Lezlee and her partners up. They were in the process of getting a new shoppe, Elsie Mae On Market, ready when it caught fire yesterday. No one was hurt and the wonderful Mabank firemen worked quickly putting out the flames, but I know the girls are feeling a little disheartened and could use some prayers. Thank you.)

~Curiouser and Curiouser~Lewis Carroll

Goodness kiddos, but from the looks of the red X's on my calendar...we are two weeks out from hitting the dirt running.  The Marburger Farm Antique Show officially opens October 2nd, but we'll be throwing up gravel next Friday morning.

~Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!~Lewis Carroll

The trailer is filling up quickly and I've just about finished all my...ahem...projects. If I don't mention my oh mylanta-almost-not quite-give me a couple of days-good grief-law-what so soon-I'm not ready for prime time-may not make it to the show projects, y'all will never know the difference...right?  Believe you me...when it comes down to a coupla piddly projects that won't make or break our show or picking out the right accessories to help me shine like new money...y'all get two guesses each on which I'll tackle first!

~Why this watch is exactly two days slow.~Lewis Carroll


(Remember...Tent H, Space 9.  I'll be waitin'!)

You know, when I talk about Antique Week, Marburger Farm and Round Top, I just assume everyone knows all about it.  Well you know what they say about assuming and what it makes outta U and ME?  Yeppers...seems I'm guilty as charged of being the rear end of a rented mule.  I get so caught up in my world that I forget junk/antiques aren't the center of everyone's universe.  Fact is, I was recently asked on FB about our business and what the big deal is with Round Top and Marburger Farm.

I'll be honest.  I assumed it would be a piece of cake to explain the shows and the love of antiques, both selling and buying, but after 5 tries at this post...seems I'm now the front end of that rented mule too!

How do I describe trying to catch white lightning in a bottle or carrying moonshine home in a mason jar?

Well y'all...here goes nothin'!

~Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop.~Lewis Carroll

Twice a year, in the little town of Round Top (pop. 80+) and the surrounding areas, people from near and far flood tiny Hwy. 237 in search of antiques and a good time.  They come to pick and choose from hand selected, fine antiques and to dig in piles of rusty, crusty treasures.

I can't even begin to guesstimate the number of vendors there are at all the venues.  Merchandise is squirrelled away just to be brought to the shows...and it's always the best of the best.  I guarantee you one thing...you can't see it all in one day...nor should you want to.

There are circus tents in the middle of pastures where a few weeks before cows had been grazing.  There are charming buildings and dance halls reinvented into shows.  Marburger Farm itself is a collection of old buildings and football sized tents, crammed jammed full of treasures to rival the Comstock lode.

Front yards, store fronts, anywhere a tent can be pitched...it's pitched.  These are all individual shows and they don't always start on the same date.  Some of these folks are down there two weeks before us.



via


The Zapp Hall Show always starts the last weekend in September and March.  Marburger Farm starts the Tuesday after that.  Like I said...it's a lot of shows, dealers, and great stuff.  The Show Daily is a great resource for show dates, times, etc. and is available at all the show locations. The Howdy is the official Marburger guide. Both are excellent at guiding you through the shows.

But it's not just the antiques and junk that lures folks in...although there is plenty of both.  Seldom does anyone go home empty handed.

~So come with me, where dreams are born and time is never planned.  Just think of happy thoughts and your heart will fly on wings, forever, in Never Never Land.~Sir J.M. Barrie

No...it's more than the antiques.  It's a feeling that sneaks up on you as you exit off I-35 in Waco and make your way down the backroads leading to the fields of dreams.  As the hustle of the city slips away in your rear view mirror, it's the realization that your neck suddenly doesn't feel as stiff as it did on the interstate or that stressful situation in your office doesn't matter quite as much.  It's a peace...and a giddy excitement...that fills your whole being, making the hair on the back of your arms spring to attention.

It's something akin to the wonder Dorothy felt as she stepped out of her black and white Kansas and rubbed her eyes at the glorious technicolor world of Munchkin Land.  Sitting on a bench, listening to a live band with a Shiner in your hand, the hurried world melts away like the ice crystals on your longneck.

It's Lone Star Beer, Lucchese's, and long prom dresses. 

It's laughing out loud for no reason other than you want to.

It's dancing in the moonlight (all by yourself if you got the notion to) and feeling like a tumbleweed.

It's handsome Texas sheriffs mounted on horseback and shoppers jaywalking like crazy, dodging vans, trucks and bikes.

~There is a place like no place on earth. A land full of wonder, mystery and danger. Some say to survive it, you need to be mad as a hatter.
Which luckily, I am.~Lewis Carroll

It's wearing petticoats on the outside of your skirt, turquoise bracelets up to your shoulders, cowboy hats, raggedy jeans with silk shirts, and believing you're beautiful.  'Cause at the shows...everybody is somebody and everybody is beautiful!

You find yourself strutting 'stead of stumbling.

Dancing 'stead of sitting.

Smiling 'stead of sulking.

It's eatin' slices of Royer's pie with your fingers 'stead of a fork with a big ol' glass of sweet, iced tea. It's lickin' your fingers to catch every crumb while grinnin' like a possum, knowing everything tastes better when you're sittin' on the back of a tail gate.

It's decadent, homemade ding dongs guaranteed ring even Quasimodo's bell.  It's cinnamon rolls the size of a catcher's mitt.  Cheesecake fresh from a kitchen, so perfect you'd slap somebody up the side of the head if they tried to get between you and your fork.

It's tangy BBQ the likes of which you can only find in Central Texas.  It's bitin' into a Jethro-sized pimento cheese sandwich and hollerin' Yee Haw...with your mouth full!

It's bluebonnets in the spring, hay mazes in the fall...and Blue Bell all year long.

It's a week long costume party, elegance in the dirt, and people watching at its best!

It's antiques, ancestry, and accents...Southern, Texan, and all points in between.

It's looking for an excuse to say y'all and down yonder ways in your best drawl...even if you're from Ohio.

It's getting dusty dirty one moment...bathing in the rain the next...and loving every minute of it.

It's stomping through the pastures during the day, amazed at all the vintage goodness to be found and relaxing at night, blanketed under an endless Texas sky, amazed at all the stars the heavens hold.

It's big skies, big hair, big jewelry...and bigger dreams.

It's a meeting up place for old friends and the opportunity for finding new ones.

It's Never Never Land, Wonderland and Oz all rolled up into one big ol' playground folks 'round here call Antique Week.

It's over the rainbow and...

it's Texas at her finest.

To get here, the directions are simple.

~Read the directions and directly you will be directed in the right direction.~Lewis Carroll

Just step through the looking glass, follow the Yellow Brick Road down through the Rabbit Hole to the second star on the right and straight on till morning.

You can't miss it.

Just listen for the sound of laughter.

That'll be us and about a gazillion others having the time of our lives. I hope I've enticed you to join us...if not this time...next.

~All you need is trust and a little bit of pixie dust.~Sir J.M. Barrie

From Warrenton to Fayetteville to Round Top and all stops in between, folks this ain't no flea market.  It's friendly business by day and an office party every night.

Tucked away like a well loved diary, this my friends, is where one goes to get lost from reality...and find their way to back to what makes 'em happy...a well lived, joy filled life. 

~Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.~Frank Baum

Any other questions...Y'all?


(For those of you who are Texas history buffs like me, here is a link to a wonderful interview in the Round Top Register with Miss Emma Lee Turney who created this remarkable gathering over 44 years ago.  Not to drop names, but Miss Ima Hogg was also instrumental in the creation of this Texas legend.  Round Top...a legend that continues to grow in the fertile pastures of Central Texas.)