We were camping last weekend in the Boler.
AKA Twinkle Tows: the vintage travel trailer that I l-o-o-o-ve.
It needs a paint job on the outside but we re-did the inside a few years ago.
Pretty, pretty.
The owner of the mega-apartment-building-sized, it’s got walk-in-closets-kind-of-slide-outs trailer parked next to us last weekend came over for a little chat. He was all “oh, isn’t that just too cute” and “you don’t see many of these anymore”.
In other words, J-E-A-L-OUS.
Even though he has a walk-in closet and on board shower and a/c facilities.
The Boler has that effect on people.
I fall hard for the Boler every time I see it, too.
I love the wind-out windows that you can keep fully open during a hot night’s rain.
Pitter patter, pitter patter.
I love the original avocado green stove.
And range hood.
Very vintage, 70s – tra, la, la!
Practical Man and my dad made the doors from ash trees on our property.
They added the flowers with a minimal amount of sighing.
Before I go to sleep in the Boler, I like to wiggle my toes while lying on the dinette/bed and stare in wonderment around the little marshmallow-shaped interior.
Y’know, just for maybe an hour or so.
Wiggle, wiggle. Giggle, giggle.
Ditto for the mornings.
Wiggle, wiggle. Giggle, giggle.
Practical Man just smiles (and sometimes rolls his eyes the teeniest bit) while I’m doing this.
But, he loves the Boler, too.
I can tell by the way he doesn’t really complain about the (optimistically-named) “double” bed being slightly squishy even though he has to share it with someone who tends towards active dreaming (about buying more Bolers) and snoring and stealing the covers.
I can tell by the way he keeps a running list of “stuff the Boler needs”.
I can tell by the way he agrees to pay for camping, even though he’s a northern Ontario boy who defines camping as “parking on Crown land because why oh why would you ever pay for camping?”
And then, when I twirl happily to the creek side on our (NOT free) campsite, wearing my snazzy new trailer/Boler pants (check out the ankle ruffles!) that my aunt, Heather-the-Feather, gave me:
Okay, there might be a little more eye rolling but that quickly turns into twinkles.
Twinkles are the universal sign for “I love you, even though you’re fairly kooky”.
Tra-la-la.
Copyright Christine Fader, 2015. Did you enjoy this post from A Vintage Life? Share on Facebook Tweet
As I’ve said before, not everyone appreciates a vintage life.
Case in point: Practical Man has been known to shake his head at something I’ve purchased while muttering, “I threw one of those out in 1978” under his breath.
It seems to happen quite frequently during yard/garage sale season. Lots and lots of head shaking and muttering.
But, I ask you:
Who will bring the ugly ducklings of the world home to be loved and cherished, if not I?
Oooh, look at the pretty patterns!
Especially when they’re vintage Lawnware for RVs (whatever that is) and only $1.
This particular vintage Lawnware for RVs needed a plug, but Practical Man is so very handy that a mere plug was no impediment to the purchase.
More muttering.
A look up into the “gubbins” of the lamp, as my dad would say. Isn’t saying “gubbins” fun?
When I lived in England decades ago, I once wired a plug on to my newly-purchased curling iron after arriving home and remembering (when I went to use said curling iron and had only some metal wire sticking out the end of the cord) that small appliances didn’t come with plugs. That way, they could sell them all over Europe and everyone could put their respective plug on or electrocute themselves trying because they couldn’t remember how to do it since it was O level Physics the last time they had tried and there was a really cute teenager distracting them from Ms. Russell’s fascinating lessons on plugs and besides that was so long ago because O level Physics hasn’t existed in a generation.
Anyway.
I haven’t wired a plug since then, but I will assume that Practical Man did it correctly.
Possibly, while muttering.
Even I have to admit, this is kind of an ugly duckling. But, it has a style about its ugly duckling-ness, don’t you think?
Especially once the wasp nest inside and 40 years of gummified dust was cleaned off.
It will work perfectly for a romantic evening under the stars (or Ugliest Lamp in the World) celebration as we hang out on our $1 for the pair, vintage, metal, scald-your-legs lawn chairs (totally impractical but I l-o-v-e them anyway).
Mutter, mutter.
Or, it will look fetching and appropriately “Lawnware for RV-ish” in our ugly duckling, vintage Boler trailer.
Ooooooh Aaaaaaah!
It’s like the Lite Brite of lamps!
Who wouldn’t like that?
Practical Man seems to be raising his hand.
And muttering.
Tra-la-la.
Copyright Christine Fader, 2015. Did you enjoy this post from A Vintage Life? Share on Facebook Tweet
I mentioned the other day that our kitchen cupboards are over full. I offer you Exhibit A (with random modern dishes removed, in case you’re wondering why there’s space):
Our cupboards are full with–if you’ve been paying attention–practical things like cheese slicers, scales and oatmeal and stuff.
Not vintage Pyrex and melamine dishes. Nuh unh. As you can see, once you take the boring stuff out, there’s plenty of room.
None of that matters though, because you won’t believe it–I mean I can barely believe it myself–but I did it:
I edited a cupboard.
Not one in the kitchen, but that’s beside the point.
You may recall that we have a 1974 Boler trailer. It is a full 13 feet of vintage delight. I loooove it in a way that is annoying to others, I’m sure.
The diner/bed inside our 1974 Boler
Anyway, I realized suddenly as I was stacking and piling in the kitchen to no avail that no wonder my melamine bowls didn’t fit. Pyrex is for inside. Melamine is perfect for camping in a 1974 trailer. Those dishes belonged in the Boler, of course!
The Boler that I loooove.
With joy in my heart, I trundled out to the Boler, but when I got there, the cupboards were…mysteriously…over full.
I’m sure it’s not my fault. Right, because when we bought it from the previous owners (who had owned it since new), we inherited all its contents, including Maplex and Duraware dishes.
Plus, the Boler “kitchen” is REALLY tiny. I like to call it “bijou”, because I’m slightly addicted to alliteration. A “bijou Boler” sounds great, doesn’t it?
Anyway the kitchen only consists of 4 cupboards and one drawer. Not even cupboards really. They’re more like bread boxes. Yes, four bread boxes and a cookie tin. So bijou.
Our Boler “kitchen”, complete with homemade trays to cover sink and stove top and give us more counter space.
And, the cupboards were chock-a-block with the necessary dishes (we have to eat, don’t we?) as well as things coveted by Practical Man, like flashlights and bungee cords.
So, they were full and I’m pretty sure that, as usual, it was not my fault. Still, I decided I had to edit. Somebody had to go and the dishes outnumbered the flashlights by 20 to 1.
I felt like a judge on The Voice or American/Canadian/Pop Idol. I had to choose between my favourites. It was heart-wrenching.
Before I could do the dastardly deed, I had to psych myself up. First, I had a little nap on the oh-so-stylish Boler couch:
It converts to a bunk bed for people who are not strapping women of 5’9″, like I am:
Then, I pretended I was drinking chicory coffee and had Laurie Partridge hair out of 1974.
Then, I shoop-shooped and sang a few rounds of “C’mon, get happy” (Composed just for the Boler, I’m sure, because who wouldn’t be happy lounging in the 1974 Boler that I looove?!)
Then, I admired the new cups and plates I was about to put in the cupboards, again. All the while, I tried not to think about the pitiful cries from the little brown plates that hid behind the Boler kitchen doors. Little brown plates, you’re so, so sweet but you’re just not my colour. I don’t really loooove you.
Sorry.
But these make me a little giddy:
Not so giddy for the grey and white vintage Tupperware coffee mugs (replaced with more cheerful and vintage-reminiscent harvest gold, orange and avocado green):
Finally, after my napping and chicory coffee and hair and shooping and singing, I was ruthless. I edited. I was the Simon Cowell of cupboards.
Sort of.
In addition to being a terrible haggler, I am also not ruthless…even about inanimate objects. The ones that didn’t make the cut to keep were given away to a good home: I have re-ignited the collecting bug in my friend, Shades.
Her husband loves me even more now.
But never mind because today, all is right in the Boler. And now, there’s even room for Practical Man’s flashlights.
I’ll get to the kitchen cupboards in the house one of these days. Right now, I’m celebrating with another round of “C’mon Get Happy” . Tra-la-la, shoop-shoop.
A flashlight makes a great microphone.
Our Boler – what colour do you think we should paint it? I’m thinking flowers (of course). Practical Man is thinking anything that will allow him to drive without wearing a mask to disguise his identity.
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