Under. Why, yes, I did try getting under this chair with the camera. There wasn’t room for both of us. This is an actual chair in my kitchen. There is usually a padded cushion where the platter is which prevents most people from falling through — works best if you have a butt of a certain size, no guarantees for small children. It is not the only chair in this condition that is in used ’round my table, but I believe it is the worst. It really couldn’t get any worse in terms of seating. There’s more in the basement, including rocker with caned back and seat which is stripped and ready to go. My dear husband put a moratorium on chairs several years ago, particularly if they were minus a seat.
My favorite place to look when I’m in an antique store or junk shoppe? Under. If a dish or bowl strikes my fancy, I look under. I’ve been known to do it in restaurants and in friends’ homes. Homer Laughlin dinnerware is a particular favorite; my "grandma dishes" are Homer. If a particular press on a chair catches my eye, I look or feel under. Is it caned? What’s the condiiton? Set in or done by hand?
Nothing tempts me quite like chocolate. This is a box that I received for my birthday, custom-filled with my favorites — turtles and meltaways. I’m always given a box of chocolates from a local chocolatier for my birthday, sometimes for Christmas, usually for Valentine’s Day — and that’s enough. I am sometimes quite selfish with my chocolates and unwilling to share. ; ) I love the jordan almonds, too. They used to sell boxes of jordan almonds at the movie theater and they were my favorites because I could make ’em last for nearly an entire movie!
I know how to sew, but I don’t really sew. I can’t imagine not having a sewing machine or a sewing basket in which to corral the needles, a small stack of fabric, thread and pins for the mending. Heh, the mending that I never, ever get to. The girls always outgrew the mending pile — usually by years. Right now, my main sewing basket is set atop the sewing machine case under one of the dining nook windows and atop of that is a pile of stuff with holes or missing buttons or blown out seams or falling-down hems, along with some fabric and patterns.
The accoutrements of sewing are many and they come in all sizes. I have three sewing machines and about a half-dozen sewing baskets. Two of the machines are, at the moment, non-working treadle machines of the heirloom variety — one from my maternal grandmother, the other from my paternal great-grandmother on Grandma’s side. The baskets and stands are a bit of a problem… I am inexplicably drawn to them — wicker, wood, plastic, it doesn’t really matter. All but one are filled with items having nothing to do with sewing — they hold yarn or needlework, and one in my bedroom holds belts.
I’ve sewn skirts, shorts and tops for the girls, dresses for myself, even a bag. My main line, though, has been curtains. I’ve made simple curtains and valances for nearly every place I’ve lived. My neighbor lady even asked me to sew a curtain for her once. I never met a tension rod that I didn’t like. When DH’s surrogate grandparents’ home burned and the family rallied to transform an unused outbuilding into a new living space, I felt helpless. As the mother of a one-year-old who required constant attention, I couldn’t pound nails or pull wire or paint, but I could make the curtains! It isn’t home without the curtains!!
My mother — while she hasn’t sewn in quite a few years — is an amazing seamstress. She used to sew for Sharon and Karen and me — three of everything — even after she had Michael, but the sewing machine was keeping company with the mothballs after Annie’s arrival (though Ann definitely benefitted from the sewing with all those hand-me-downs). Mom sewed cute, ruffly, flannel nightgowns for the girls with matching gowns for their Cabbage Patch dolls a few years ago — she still “sews.” One of my grandmothers always went over the seams of all of her store-bought clothes, not trusting the workmanship. The girls, too, have “sewn” — outfits for all of their dolls, alterations to their own clothing — though I am using the term quite loosely. (Sometimes scotch tape, string, staples or safety pins replaced needle and thread, and sometimes kleenex or paper towels or leaves replaced fabric — can you see why we like Project Runway so much?)
Rodents (specifically, mice). Gathered together for a group shot.
From the time I was a wee, six-pound newborn until I was well into adulthood and had wee babes of my own, my dad called me, "Mouse." Consequently, I have a small collection. Given the number of my years and the occasions within those years, multiplied by many a gift-giver, I think the collection is quite under control — subdued, even.
That one with the pink ears and nose was an art class creation of Madeleine’s some years ago. The "mother and child" one (I know, they’re mice) was a gift from my mom. There are three in the back that are porcelain and made by Grandma.
One of them has had a chip on his ear practically from day one. Some of them have tail issues.
I have not dug out the Christmas decorations — the little "gumdrop" one with the "licorice" tail and "slivered almond" ears was never put away — or any of the Mickey Mouse stuff (there would be that — and why not, he’s a cute little rodent) — or coffee mugs. For the most part, these are just sprinkled throughout the house — one or two tucked in with the depression glass, some on a bookshelf, one in the upstairs bathroom, another on my dresser.
I realized, several years ago, that Dad had not called me "Mouse" in quite some time. I don’t really know when or why he stopped. I was surprised, in our last phone conversation, to hear it.
It’s the time of year for quart jars, isn’t it? I don’t do much canning (and when I say "much," I mean "zero"), but when I see the jars and lids in the stores, I think of grandma and her cellar full of jars.
She canned tomatoes*, cukes, beans, pears, peaches, pickles — always pickles… dill pickles, bread and butter pickles, pickled beets, pickles with onions and garlic.
My dad cans tuna, fresh off the boat, and salmon (sometimes in tomato sauce), fruit… and pickles.
My sister cans her homemade salsa.
I’ve never canned a thing. My quart jars are used to hold marbles or bouquets of Queen Anne’s Lace.
*Katie swears that the total sale at the cute tomato vendors’ on Saturday increased by $3.00 with the addition of the heirloom tomato pictured. I have to admit that I wasn’t really paying attention — I was enchanted by the green-black-purply-ness of the tomatoes. Just in case it was $3.00, it wasn’t thrown into the tomato sauce pot; we savored it in small wedges. Mmmmmm, it was very, very good, though I’m not sure it was three dollars good. ; )
