O to radšej však hľadám v starých veciach našej rodiny, alebo rodín spriaznených. Jednako nehrozí, že sa v noci prebudím a čierna mátoha sediaca na okraji mojej postele ma pozdraví v nejakom mŕtvom jazyku a druhako - prázdnejšej komore, pivnici či sklepu sa vždy niekto poteší. Takže žiadnych 250 korún za hrnček v socialistickom dizajne, ale „prosím, odvez si to!“. Don`t mind if I do!
Najmilejšie vázičky si na mňa počkali v istom sklepe plnom pokladov v Karlovarsku. Oukej, trochu som ostala smutná, že som sa vďaka ich potencionálnej magickej sile nepremenila na Janku Hraškovú, aby som ladila k ich rozmerom a mohla cestovať po svete v kufroch nič netušiacich ľudí... Ale sú také roztomilé, že im odpúšťam.
I have no idea why, but second-hand stuff never really got to me like it did to other people enjoying flea markets or second-hand clothing. Not only buying the stuff, but especially enjoying the beauty and functionality of used things remain unfelt feelings for me. I really get all the positive things about giving certain items a chance to be used for the purpose they were made for, but somehow I cannot shake the (slightly, just very slightly) irrational thought that the karma of the item or a ghost / demon occupying an old wardrobe or vintage earrings will hunt me down and write its name in a ancient script on my wall. With my blood.
On the other hand, I love searching for unused things under my roof or roofs of other close families. This way, I am quite sure no ancient curse lies on the family and no demon is occupying a piece of furniture or a nice lamp I would like to confiscate. Plus, no one really complains about having less stuff in their attic or storage room.
Such a win-win situation resulted in my new favorite vases standing on my shelves. I still haven`t found equally tiny flowers to put into them and they remain empty so far, but still...
And they are definitely too small for a serious demon to live in them.
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