That's Rubbish!

I am one step closer to confirming the origin of my metal basket garage sale find from my previous post, thanks to a comment I received when I requested information about it. It just may be an old wire burn barrel used for burning trash back in the 50's and 60's. (Sorry I can't thank you personally, but I really do thank you!)

I have been scouring the internet ever since to find photos and more information about these burn baskets. Unfortunately I'll need to dedicate a little more time to it.

The funniest part about being enlightened is that I thought to use it on my deck as a cool garbage can even before getting any responses. Ha! Looks like I'll be taking it back to it's roots people, and will post about it at a later date.

But for today, I removed wallpaper from my mudroom this morning and am spending the rest of the afternoon out back and at the pool with my girls. I hope everyone is enjoying their summer and thank you to those that responded about my junk! It is very appreciated!

Name That Wire Basket

Hi all! I have been away quite awhile, haven't I? Sheesh! Well, we returned from Disney, I participated in a community garage sale and I am currently getting my house together (and life since I'm approaching 40). So a lot has been going on. Let me start off by telling you how grateful I am to have you in my life! After reading the comments from yesterday's post, it gave me an even better sense of how caring and loyal you all are. You do not know how much it really meant to me. You couldn't possibly know.

I'm going to get right back in the swing of things by reaching out to all you savvy junking folks out there...the thrift store shoppers...the garage salers...the flea marketers and the antique dealers. You know who you are.

You see, I had the opportunity to shop our community garage sale recently, and came upon this cute little wire number below. Well, maybe she's not so little at 28", but she sure is cute!

What exactly is it? The woman who sold it to me had the word French? written on the price tag. (Complete with the question mark.) She was once told it was a baguette bread basket from a French market but admitted she didn't know if that were really true.

I am loving the little s-hook hinges. Aren't you? And look closely at the photo below. I had to share the bottom portion of the basket with you to show the required corrosion on an item that is necessary for me to make a purchase. :)

So fire away with your answers or even guesses! And trust me...I won't be hurt by any comments that claim this is a repro or a knock-off that could be purchased at any local department store. That's what I love about junking. You buy what you love and if it ends up being worth something, that's simply a bonus!

Take care,

-- Taking junk to another level --

June 16, 1990

It was nearing the end of the day that Friday when I received her call at work. I picked up the phone and knew immediately who it was. “Hey! I have great news!” she said. It was my high school best friend and college roommate, Carey, and she had a real excitement in her voice. She started off by telling me that the financial decisions she made recently were finally squared away. She was beyond happy and it seemed as if a big weight had been lifted off her. I was very happy for her too.

After chatting about it a few minutes, she mentioned that she, our roommate, and a few other friends were heading to a neighboring college that evening to attend a party. Knowing it was my turn to make the trip to my boyfriend’s family’s home that weekend, she asked “Why not call Mark and tell him to come here instead? That way we can all go to the party together!” I must admit I seriously gave it some thought those few moments, but knew Mark and his parents were expecting me to arrive at their home within the next few hours. The change would have been very last minute and it probably wouldn’t have gone over well. “I wish I could, but I better just stick with going to his place.", I told her. "Don’t have too much fun without me though!”

After spending a whirlwind day and a half with Mark, I cozied up on his family's fold-out couch in the den. He went off to his bedroom to get some sleep. I was exhausted, but eager to spend Father's Day with him and his family the next day.

The sunlight peeked through the windows in the early morning hours, attempting to wake my body...but I would have nothing to do with it. I rolled away from the sheer-covered window to avoid having to actually get out of bed. In my haziness, I could hear someone in the adjoining family room mention the words "Carey" and "her car was so small"...I thought it was part of a dream I was having.

Mark opened the door to my room and I knew it must be time for my butt to finally wake up. I rolled back around to see that he was carrying a newspaper and had a look on his face I'd never seen before. "I don't know how to tell you this..." his voice cracked, as he handed me the paper. I looked at the front page and saw Carey's name immediately, even before reading the headline. "What?! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" I wailed. "That's not right! It can't be real!"

The headline read, Three Die in Wrong Way Accident .

I continued to read in confusion and disbelief to see that Carey, along with our good friend Jeff, and my roommate's boyfriend, Frank, had all been killed by a drunk driver in the early Saturday morning hours as they headed home from the party. Two others, my good friend Kathy and roommate Carm, were left in critical condition. The drunk driver had unknowingly entered an exit ramp of the highway and headed westbound into oncoming eastbound traffic. My friends were one of those heading east.

I found out later that day, I wasn't contacted sooner with the news because those that knew where I was that weekend, were all in the car.
It took nearly three years for me to be able to tell Carey's story, or to even bring up her name for that matter, without getting a huge lump in my throat - without having tears well up in my eyes. It was very similar to what I am feeling now as I write this. We were inseparable.

So to Carey, Jeff, and Frank - We recognize greatly twenty-one-years-old is way too young to be taken away from us.

Twenty years later you are all still loved and very missed.