If you read yesterday's post, you'll know about Grams moving to a retirement center.
And Grams likes to keep stuff.
She has a set of old dishes from when I was growing up. I've been telling her for years that I'd take photos and sell them for her. Yes, they are actually collectible to some people these days. They were boxed up in her shed, with 25 years of spiders, webs and other creepy crawlies in the ancient newspaper wrappings and liquor store cardboard boxes.
So I climbed the ladder, pulled them down from the shelf, and loaded them in my trunk to take home and deal with.
Sitting on my living room floor, I carefully unwrapped each piece, sorting the chipped from the good condition. (Miraculously, she has a full set of 8 place settings plus serving dishes with NO CHIPS - I only had three pieces that were chipped and will have to be tossed). The smells wafting from the boxes were overpowering.
"This smell old," I told Hubs.
"It smells like 1960," he replied, wrinkling his nose.
"It smells like my great-grandmother's house used to," I told him.
"It smells like your great-grandmother's house in 1960," he stated.
Alrighty then. Neither one of us were even alive in 1960, but I couldn't argue with that smell.
Confession? Most of it had been re-wrapped back in 1990 when they switched where they were stored, which is when the newspaper was from. 1990 still smells like 1960.