"Let's stop at some of the antique shops!" I suggested to my husband as we passed through a picturesque, historic small town on the way to our son's house in Houston. We were ahead of schedule with a couple of hours to spare, and this seemed like a good way to pass one of them. The western-flavored atmosphere of rustic enterprises beckoned us, even though on closer inspection we found many were closed or out of business.
"This one looks open," I said, as I tried the door of one establishment and we went inside. "Hell-o," I called when I didn't see anyone. Just then a woman stuck her head out of an interior doorway and unlatched a small gate that she came through. "Are you open?" I asked, and she said they were. I could see into the area she had come from, which was decorated with antiques, wall hangings and other relics of the old west and times past.
"Can we go in there?" I asked, but she said that was her home. She told us it used to be a part of the store, but when business dwindled they had had to move into the store building.
"I used to have a bed and breakfast here," the proprietor said. I could see she had an eye for decorating, but there was nothing I had to have in the small, crowded store front. I did admire a metal, spiral staircase leading to nowhere in the corner of the room. "We just got that," she explained, "I just use it as part of the decor." Flowers wound through the stair spindles and beads dripped from the railings.
Howard seemed to have a fascinating conversation with the lady as I browsed. They were soon discussing different places of the country where they had lived, and of course, the talk eventually included the goodness of God and his oversight in our lives.
One never knows what lies beyond the next door. The next shop was neat and lavishly furnished and supplied with vintage glassware, antiques, and objects d'art. While I was giving it a cursory once over, I heard my husband complimenting the proprietor on her tastefully decorated business. With that, she told him she was not really an antiques dealer, but an artist. An artist who carved gourds. She took us to a display cabinet with what I thought was Indian pottery inside, but when she removed some of the pots to show us, I could see they were beautifully carved vases, bowls and containers of brilliant colors.
"I also do pressed flower art," the thin, grey-haired lady said, pointing to framed pictures under glass on the wall. "See," she said of a fairy subject, "her wings are made of lettuce leaves!" It is amazing how many art forms there are and the way people use their talents!
We stopped at an attractive, rustic place next door with a huge, painted sign heralding "Kolaches." There were kolaches, a Czech pastry that is a Texas tradition, but I was amazed when I saw an adjoining room. It was a fairy land of gauzy netting, a gazebo outlined in white lights, glass-topped tea tables and dozens of small, white, slip-covered dining chairs arranged around the huge space. When I exited, I noticed a carrousel horse on a post with a sign on his neck announcing, "Kolache Christmas Tea." Evidently, it was a thriving business, though it was open only Thursday-Sunday.
Other than sample tastes of the delicious kolaches, the only thing we took away from our excursion was a taste for Texas! We plan to stop on our way home and explore the other side of the street!
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