Oodles and oodles

Not yet December

 
Everything is making me just a little bit crazy this morning.

 
It's that feeling of not knowing what I should do first. Go to work, and then the post office? Should I be geared up for Cyber Monday? Who invented Cyber Monday? Should I go to the post office and then put a few things on Etsy and then go to work? Where did the weekend go? What happened to Sunday?

 
I'm telling myself to just make a list, and take life one day at a time, and go to work and then the post office, and just take a deep breath. It's not yet December. Not yet December.

It's not working for me. How 'bout for you? 
 

 

Holiday traditions

 
Our Thanksgiving celebration began peacefully enough. After marathon cooking on Wednesday, I treated myself to a walk around the village. The day before Thanksgiving, it's all decorated and pretty but the throngs of tourists have not yet descended, so it's the best of all worlds.

 
This is a beautiful store, inside and out.

 
Inspiration for a planter I could make. I have pretty much everything except the boxwood in our yard.

 
A rustic bench for weary shoppers.

With this peaceful beginning to the holiday, I was very much looking forward to Thursday, which we would be celebrating, for the first time in many years, with just the four of us - my best beloveds, as the late and wonderful writer Laurie Colwin would have said.

As we all know, trouble seeks out the most vulnerable and unprepared, and as it drifted through town Thursday morning, looking for a target, it saw me happy in my kitchen, the turkey brined and glorious, the stuffing tucked in a casserole, a little music in the background. It slipped in unannounced, glanced around and, when no one was looking, broke the baking element in the oven. I amazed myself by proceeding at record pace through the many stages of grief:

Denial: "The oven has to work. I baked pie and cheesecake yesterday. There can't be anything wrong with it."

Bargaining: "I'm going to go do something else for 15 minutes, and when I come back, I'm sure the temperature will have risen above 150 degrees."

Anger: Well, I think you can kind of picture this.

 
It took longer than I would have liked to get to the acceptance stage, in which we decided we would roast the turkey on the grill and pray we had enough propane for the two- to three-hour operation. Carson, ever the good sport, volunteered to guard the grill. We had planned to eat late in the day, around 4. The various stages of grief had moved the dinner hour back an hour or so.

 
Darkness fell, and the turkey still was not done. Carson gazed wistfully at the house next door, where his BDF (best dog friend) Ferris probably was happily feasting on leftovers.

At last the turkey was done, and my daughter snatched a piece off the platter before we had a chance to sit down. She fell silent. We waited. "This is the best turkey I have ever had in my life," she announced.

And it was. It was incredible. It was so good we're probably going to cook it on the grill every year.*

 
On Friday we put up the tree and were quickly able to play one of our favorite games: Find the animal.

 
Patch really likes the time when the tree is up but the presents haven't yet arrived. And so do I.

* If you want to grill a turkey, I'd suggest Googling to find a method you're most comfortable with. The option that sounded best to me was thinking of the closed grill as an oven. Put the turkey in a roasting pan, and use an oven thermometer to adjust and maintain the cooking temperature you want. I used a dry salt rub on the turkey the day before, and I think that contributed greatly to its awesomeness.

 

 

 

 

 

Counting my ...

 
Well, look at you ... sneaking away for a little time for yourself, are you? Not cooking? Not cleaning? Not making sure everybody is happy? Excellent!

 
The latest additions to the flock ... three bisque turkeys I found at a junk store Tuesday. They're tiny - maybe two inches tall.

 
You know I love something when I fire up the super-macro lens. They'll probably be packed away this weekend, which is too bad. We're just getting to know each other.

So you might think from the title of this post that I'm counting my blessings. Well, sure. Of course. But since I'm writing this on Thanksgiving Eve and not Thanksgiving itself, I hope I can be forgiven for counting something else.

 
Spun-cotton picks! Also from the junk store!

 
I had sent a personal goal of finding 100 spun-cotton picks this year. After some early success, I quit counting, since it appeared I was nowhere near my goal. But when I found these, I decided to start counting again, which meant that I had to go back through all of my posts the last few months and count the number of spun-cotton picks that appeared in photos. (My great hope is that a web site that offers disturbing examples of obsessive-compulsive behavior links to this post.)

 
So. to keep count - five Santas, six snowmen, six little angels (three of them still in their original package) ...

 
these three ...

 
and these three singers, and it looks to me as if the middle singer is kind of loud and off-key, and the singer on the right is afraid to tell her to pipe down, and anyway that makes 29 in this group, added to the 49 so far this year, which brings us to

78.

Which means I've got about a month to find 22 more. It's not impossible.

Anyway, now that I'm done counting spun-cotton figures I can concentrate on counting my blessings, which are many and certainly include the friends I have made here, and to you I wish a very, very happy Thanksgiving. 

Variations on turkey

 
What's Thanksgiving without a little turkey? I was really worried that my family was about to find out, because I had been uncharacteristically laid back about getting ready for the big meal. I guess it dawned on me this morning that I needed to get busy, and so I raced out the door, went to the grocery store before it got busy, got home, unloaded the car, got back in the car and went to work. It was worth it to avoid the crowd. And now I can show you my various turkeys without guilt. The little collection of Napco turkeys - salt and pepper shakers, a napkin holder and a gravy boat - is living on the dining room table.

 
The salt and peppers also come in white.

 
Many of my turkeys are wax.

 
Most of them are made by Gurley, but this turkey might be a Tavern candle.

 
Many of the turkeys, wax and otherwise, are roosting in the honeycomb pumpkin field in the living room.

 
That's a candle on the left and a wooden turkey on the right. (He's not old, but he's kind of cute.)

 
The honeycomb turkeys are some of my favorites.

 
Of course there is a lineup of embossed postcard turkeys.

 
This one features an unfortunate turkey.

 
And these are mystery turkeys, living on the little shelf on the Hoosier. They're made of a hard, light plastic. They might be celluloid, but I'm not sure. And today at a store where I hardly ever find anything, I found three other turkeys. I think they might be bisque. It was dark by the time I got home, so maybe there will be photos tomorrow.

I'm enlisting my lovely children in the cooking tomorrow. I find that 16- and 19-year-olds are the most cheerful, willing helpers. ("Why would you want us to help you?" my son asked. "Why would you want to ruin Thanksgiving dinner?") I'm just giving them menial jobs. I'm hoping it will be a fun day. (For me at least. For them, maybe not so much.) 

 

A refreshing change of pace

 
For a change, I thought I wouldn't immediately assault your eyes with an overdose of Christmas. We all know that is coming soon enough. Instead, here are some pretty things that came, in this photo, from Saturday's estate sale.

 
I'm not big on figurines, but I snatched this one up right away.

 
Inside the top of the skirt is a pincushion.

 
And at the bottom of the skirt is a thread caddy. It's just about the cleverest thing ever.

 
The little crocheted bags (which have the most beautiful satin ribbon drawstrings) are endearing.

 
There also was a pile of cross-stitched quilt squares. I haven't had time to count them, but there are a bunch. In perfect shades of pink and green.

 
After going to the estate sale with Linda, I went to a sale she'd read about on Craigslist, but that she wasn't going to be able to get to. I headed into the countryside and got a little nervous when I passed the "Town of XXXX" sign. I don't want to mention the name of the town.

I will say, though, that in my newspaper days, one of my colleagues and I played a rollicking game we called "Guess the Dateline." In the late afternoon, when we didn't feel like writing, one of us would look through the stories that had been filed for particularly interesting police briefs - you know, the ones that involve stray gunshots, alcohol or exotic pets. (Sometimes all three. But almost always alcohol.) One person got to read the story out loud but not reveal its location, and the other person got to Guess the Dateline. It was uncanny how good we were at that. Anyway, Town of XXXX frequently was the winning Guess the Dateline answer.

So as to avoid a lot of unnecessary detail, I'll summarize the sale scene in the Town of XXXX as follows: pit bull, cigarettes, cussing. Undaunted, I ventured into the barn, where there were pretty linens, vintage clothes and Christmas ornaments. It did not fit at all. Anyway, even though I don't buy handkerchiefs any more, I did pick up a few (that photo was a way long time ago) that were too pretty to leave.

 
Or too monogrammed to leave.

 
I bought things I'd usually never buy, because they were quite affordable. Like a child's long cotton gown.

 
A camisole with its original tag.

 
Old bonnets.

 
The tag on the organza bonnet is too cute for words.

 
And a nice selection of skeleton keys, and that about takes care of my weekend adventures. Unless you want to hear about how I spent almost all day Sunday cleaning. But getting not so much as a shopping list together in preparation for Thursday. I did squeeze in some photographing of turkeys, however, which tells you pretty much everything you need to know about my priorities. 

Rodgers, Hammerstein and me

 
Oh, what a beautiful morning!

 
Oh, what a beautiful day!

 
I had a wonderful feel - ing

(from the composer: hold note, and sing the following quickly: "when I woke up at 5:30 to meet Linda at an estate sale)

 
Lots of Christmas stuff ...

(from the composer: again, hold note, and sing the following quickly: "a whole village of putz houses, a Christmas handkerchief in its original gift folder, a spun cotton angel, a chenille candy cane, various ornaments and OMG a tiny putz house with a spun cotton Santa inside...)

 

(still holding that note: "and a forest of bottle brush trees")

(breathe)

would be coming my way!

Things that dangle

 
I showed you this ornament when I first found it a few months ago, but not in all of its dangling glory. I love these ornaments. They're sort of the best of a wreath and a corsage and an ornament all rolled into one. By the way, if you look at the reflection in the mirror,you'll see some white outside - a dusting of snow. It's the kind of snow that comes as a pleasant surprise and causes no trouble and makes me want to make a pumpkin pie. Unlike the snow that falls in, say, April.

Anyway, even with the ornament right in front of me, it took me quite a while to figure out how to make one. This one has all sorts of wires and strings and such poking up through the top, which is kind of cute when it's an original and kind of bad when you're trying to reproduce it.

 
Anyway, after quite a few false starts, I got the hang of it.

 
They turned out to be pretty fun to make. Especially the part where I had to get out everything (bells, tinsel, flowers, garland, ornaments) to look through.

 
I made quite a few.

 
Then I made some bells with dangles.

 
I like how they fill in the gaps between branches.

 
It's probably just as well I had only five pink bells, because otherwise I'd probably still be upstairs making them. I'm going to be listing some on Etsy this weekend.

 
Maybe with a few things from under the tree, too. Along with all that pumpkin-pie making, it should be a busy weekend. It's a good time of year, isn't it?

 

 


 

Thrift store Tuesday

 
Tuesday's thrifting was productive because it resulted in a new collection.

 
I already had this.

 
And this.

 
I found these.

 
Resulting in this!

 
The first time I found one of these, I thought it was a cover for a compact of face powder.

 
The ones I found later, though, had a little flannel pincushion on the underside of lid, and usually a spool of thread and a few needles - mending kits. My thought was to tuck a few vintage notions inside them and list them on Etsy for stocking stuffers.

 
Right now, though, I'm feeling a little attached to them. As you might be able to tell from the multiple photos.

 
On the same trip I found a bag of ornaments. Sarah did the math for me and calculated that I found something like 42 dozen vintage ornaments last year. Which seemed preposterous. But there's more than a dozen here, and so that's how these things happen. They creep up on you, one by one, and suddenly you have no room for the couch and refrigerator.

 
Actually what caught my eye in the bag were these: Sputnik ornaments from the 1960s. They're made of hard plastic and finished with shiny metallic paint. Although they're not my style, I can see why people collect them. They'd look pretty fabulous in quantity on an aluminum tree.

 
I'll hold onto these until I find a few more, and then sell them by the lot. I just mailed out a set of eight of them this week, in fact. But it took me a couple of years to accumulate that many. There's not much chance I'll get attached to them while I look for more.

 
But these? That's an altogether different story.

By the numbers

  
Number of ornaments I have sorted, photographed and listed in the last six days: 505.

 
Number of ornaments broken in surprise visit by exuberant dog: three. (But not these.)

 
Number of giant rolls of bubble wrap purchased and used: two.

 
Number of boxes taken to post office since Friday: 20.

 
Number of days I have to convert what is now called the ornament room back into my son's bedroom: Seven. Maybe eight. (Is Thanksgiving really next week? Seriously?)

 
Number of thanks I'm sending to anyone who bought ornaments or oogled over them appropriately: 100,000,000,000,000.

 
Number of dogs who found the excitement of ornament-sorting more than they could bear: just one.
 

 
 
 

Recently acquired

 
It takes a lot to get my heart thumping in an antique store, because for the most part I don't find a lot of what I like (bright, colorful, vintage) in stores (dark, heavy, wood). So when a friend back home in Pennsylvania told me about the store her friend was opening, I was not all that excited. Been there, done that. But I could hardly drive right past its front door without at least stopping to check it out, and when I did, all I could hear were harps and celestial choirs and my heart thumping. I had died and gone to vintage heaven. The front section of the store - it's a multi-dealer shop - looked as if I had decorated it. But with stuff I didn't own. And at prices I could afford! 

 
The first thing I spied were these canisters. I've never seen any like them. And while I'm guessing that's actually a dahlia or something on the front, it looks close enough to a poinsettia for me. Don't even ask if I'm keeping or selling them. I love them so much I might take them with me in the car when I have to go places. I could never part with them.

 
After filling two baskets with Christmas ornaments (these ones), I spied a grove of Gurley trees. I also saw the most gorgeous lamps I've ever seen: a pair of tall candlestick lamps with a green metal "candlestick" and a Jadite base. I longed for them. I thought about whether I could buy myself an early birthday present, or an early Christmas present. They cost actual money, as opposed to pocket change. So I decided to think about it and come back in a day or two, and if they were still there, I was meant to have them. But they were gone, and it's just as well. I would, though, like to pause for a moment and think about how very, very lovely they were.

(silence)

OK, I'm ready to move on.

 
Another Putz waiting for an extreme makeover.

 
This one, too. All of those Putz villages must have come with Putz-sized kids throwing rocks through the windows.

I also went to an estate sale while I was home, and I was pretty excited when I got to the basement and saw a hand-lettered sign that said "Craft Room. Fill a bag for $5." It was a room the size of my living room, its walls lined floor to ceiling with plastic bins of craft supplies. It was amazing! But you know how when you go to a craft store and you see some really awful, plastic-y cheap stuff and you wonder who would buy it? Well, I found one person who did. In quantity. I didn't know what most of the stuff even was, other than terrible. There was one bin labeled "damn dolls." There was another bin labeled, and I blush to use the phrase, "reindeer nipples." I didn't look. I didn't want to know. I'm not even going to ask. You certainly aren't the kind of people who would know about that kind of thing.

Anyway, having entered Crafting Hell, I thought I'd better figure out a way to justify the gas I used driving to it. So I filled up a bag with paint brushes and unopened glue and little organizers and such. You probably don't need photos.

 
On the ornament front: I am pleased to report that everything is sorted, and the stuff you see here is listed on either eBay (the box in the back) or Etsy. I think I'm putting more on Etsy this year. Anyway, there will be more appearing there over the next couple of days, so if you're inclined to check in on my progress, have at it.