I grew up in that era (Fifties) where knick knacks were a necessary element of home decor.
Over the years I've collected my share of these useless dust collectors. And then when my Mother died in 2010, I inherited ALL her knick knacks. My brothers wanted no part of them. "Dump that junk on Ron" they said. And I gladly accepted them. Why not? A lot of fond memories in Mom's "junk." Those tchotchkes all have been placed lovingly around Casa Tipton-Kelly.
Then came a time two years ago. Bill and I took our annual trip to Sussex County redneck country, the Laurel Flea Market (haters comment below). While strolling through the junk filled tables in the hot August heat, something caught my eye. I glanced at the small angel figurine with the broken right hand. I felt an immediate connection like one feels at the animal shelter when a sad eyed dog or cat catches your eye. I backtracked. Dare I purchase this dust collector? Where was Bill? He was at another table. If he knew I was buying another knick knack, I wouldn't hear the end of it.
I looked around for Bill. I saw him at another table loaded down with rusty tools. Now was the time to make my buy. I approached the grizzled Sussex County native (who obviously wasn't an import from a nearby state like me seeking relief from onerous property taxes in my retirement) and asked "How much?" He said "Three dollars". "Sold!" He put this orphaned angel in a bag and handed it to me. I accepted the bag with my new treasure and quickly went to my car to hide it. I would deal with Bill later (check out the video below).
When I got home I searched for a location to place my angel. I found it, on the edge of my desk in my bedroom. I love this angel. Every day I walk by her. Sometimes I move her position every so slightly. This angel is my good luck charm. She makes me feel good. She is the newest and possibly the last addition to our home, but she is now one of my favorite "things."
I love her.