Oodles and oodles

Note to self: Go to more sales

It's been so long (months!) since I've been to a sale that when I went to one over the weekend, I kind of forgot what to do. I saw this little notepad holder, for example, and thought it was sweet. It took a few moments before I realized that I could pick it up, see if it was priced reasonably, and, if it was, purchase it. I never realized that vintage shopping skills could become rusty. Let my close call be a lesson for us all.

I rallied somewhat after that and found a Pyrex casserole in the Friendship pattern. My friend who collects this (you know who you are!) gets first dibs.

Cute little salt and pepper set.

I love these ones - Lefton pine cones. I'd like a whole set of pinecone dishes to go with them.

And a stack of crocheted aprons, but I'm embarrassed at how terrible the photo is, so it's little.

Also, there's a Wilendur rose tablecloth in the dryer. And several strands of glass bead garland, but I'm pretty much done with looking at anything Christmas related for a while, so I put it away, unphotographed.

For the first outing of the year, after a long drought, it was an OK sale. And having discovered how rusty my shopping skills have become, I've resolved to really work on them in the new year. 

 

 

Things that are hard to part with

I've been cleaning out ruthlessly. Clothes I don't like that much - gone. Christmas decorations that haven't been out of storage for years - gone. Sewing patterns I will never, ever use again - gone, gone, gone. A deeper cleaning than I've done in years. Storage areas that have been unexplored for some time, organized and neat. It feels good. But I realized there is one category of items that I can't part with easily.

And that is toys.

I have some of my toys (Barbie dolls, a bride doll, toy dishes), and I miss some of the toys I didn't keep (my stuffed white cat, Frosty, and my Nancy Drew books). I have some of my mother's toys. I have my dad's all-time favorite toy, his sled. I have some of my grandmother's toys. I think I even have some of my great-grandmother's toys.

And, of course, I have toys that once belonged to people I'll never know. Apparently I collect doll-size roller skates (all of these from just the past few months ... isn't it amazing what you can accomplish even when you aren't trying?)

(Black velveteen cat, original owner unknown.) I went to a friend's yard sale this summer, and she was selling her son's Lego collection. I was amazed. You can do that kind of thing? Sell toys your children have outgrown? It was a foreign concept to me. And when it came time this week to decide - do I want storage space, or my children's toys? - I couldn't do it. I could not give away those toys. And boy, are they taking up space - storage tubs of wooden trains, Lego blocks, Playmobil figures, American Girl dolls. I would bet that two-thirds of the storage area in my attic is home to toys. They're all neat and organized and out of sight, but still - this is a small house. I could use that space.

But at least most of the toys that somehow come into my possession now are tiny.

Easily confined to a single drawer.

It's hard to imagine a kid being excited about getting a tiny paint roller and tray, but I think it's great.

This, however, might be my favorite toy of all: a tiny wall pocket, shaped like a cup. It's about the size of a half-dollar. I think it wants to be in a kitchen with red-checked wallpaper and a farmhouse sink.

This box of ice cream cones is maybe 2 inches long.

The cones inside are even smaller.

And if you think the ice cream cones are small ...

you should see the emery boards, which might be an inch.

Reading glasses?

Just the thing for perusing the latest issue of "Weekly News."

Having confessed my inability to turn my back on any toy, I have to ask ... is there anything you just can't part with?

 

Getting back to work

Our buddy next door really wants us to come out and play. He can be very insistent. First he comes to the side door and cries pitifully. Then he goes to the back door and barks. Finally he comes up on the porch and stares through the living room window. A chocolate lab can be very hard to ignore. There are those big, sad, brown eyes. Not to mention the snow-covered face.

We're resisting his charms, however, because it's time to get busy around here. I've got a car load of stuff to take to the thrift store - I so want to have a pretty, well-organized work space. And I've got a lot of stuff I said I'd sell after the holidays. I'm looking forward to updating my Etsy shop. Doing eBay listings, not so much, but that's what I need to do today. I'm easing into it with apron patterns.

I've seen a lot of feedsack in my day, but none that I recall liking as much as this. I think I need to keep it at least a little longer.

I've seen a lot of apron patterns, too, but there's something on this one that I don't remember seeing before.

A note about the size of feedsack required to make the apron. That one line is enough to get me thinking about farmhouse kitchens and chickens and the scent of homemade bread. About my great-grandparents and how Nanny sent Pap-pap to the feed store with a list of what feedsack prints she needed for her sewing projects. Did she wake up in the morning, thinking how great it was that she lived on a beautiful farm with fresh eggs waiting to be gathered and fabric ready to be stitched into aprons and housedresses?

Well, probably not. That was her everyday life. But I think for the most part she  appreciated it. And really, given the fact that my work sometimes involves old apron patterns and pretty fabric, I should be pretty happy, too.

A vintage tea towel for the year ahead

There are two kinds of people in this world:
Those who like New Year's Eve.
And those who like New Year's Day.
I think you probably know which kind I am.
If you don't, here's a clue: It's 10 a.m., I've been up for several hours, and the laundry and meal plans are well enough under way for me to spend some time taking photos and reading.

I like New Year's Day. I like the idea of fresh starts and lofty goals, of a clean house and organized rooms. Most of the Christmas decorations stay out until the twelfth day of Christmas, which is January 6, unless I get very restless and take them down before then. I'm moderately restless now, which is why I'm quietly removing Christmas decorations here and there in a way that my tradition-bound family won't notice.

Which is how I discovered this tea towel, because I was taking the Christmas tablecloths out of the Hoosier to store them away. These reds and greens blend right in with the remaining holiday items,

while reminding me of some of my goals for the New Year. In addition to liking these lovely colors and graphics, I'm also embracing the numbers. The fact that cream and lobster have the same number of calories as a bunch of grapes makes me feel so much better about my splendid dinner last night at Moro's Table (a restaurant that is worth driving to from no matter where you live, even if that's across the country). It began virtuously enough with cauliflower soup and roasted beet salad, then ventured decadently into red wine, beef and an amazing bittersweet chocolate bread pudding. (Lest that sound dangerously like an actual New Year's Eve observance, let me point out I was home reading a good book by 10 p.m.)

So my tea towel is a friendly reminder of goals for the year. Here's to fresh starts, new projects, fruits, vegetables and hope in 2012.