Take Care

One thing that still amazes me when buying vintage inventory for my shop is the items in pristine condition. The ones that look like they were never used, worn, washed, or touched.
How can something make it to be 70 years old and look so perfect?
 I also  find items that are in complete shambles and have seen better days. Sometimes these items just need a good bit of TLC with Biz and a needle and thread and they're almost as good as new.

A few weeks ago I won, at auction, a box lot of purses. I mainly wanted the tooled leather purse on the top, and didn't really care what else was in the lot. When I got my box home and sorted through the purses, I was disappointed that most of them were in tatters and almost worthless. There were five vintage leather Etienne Aigner shoulder bags, and only two were in decent condition. The other three are misshapen from being stuffed willy nilly into the box for goodness knows how long, the linings nearly rotted away by moisture. The other purses were hardly better, and the oldest handbag in the box  from the 40s can't be salvaged at all, it is so far gone.

I recently took out my wedding dress and was dismayed when I found faint brown spots down the front of it; like I had spilled a drink on it. I don't recall spilling anything on it during our reception; and it didn't have any marks on it when I stored it away at my Mom's house; but there they were. My Mom asked me if I had had it cleaned after the wedding and of course I had not. She "tisked" at me and said it's always a good idea  to have formals cleaned after every event. Of course, she is right.

 "Back in the day" most people took better care of their items. Clothing was more expensive then, there was less of it, and there was less money to buy it with. So if you were a prudent person, you took care of your clothing and accessories. Careful wearing, washing and storage were part of everyone's daily routine.

Today we have a much more "disposable" mentality. Not much was disposable then; almost everything was re-used or remade into something else. Things were valued more.

Whether your clothing and accessories are vintage or modern, it's a good idea to take care of them. For yourself; because it will last longer; and for the person who may be owning it after you.

(Enjoy this little sneak peek into my inventory room, which is a loft like room above our dining room that we converted into a closet like space where I store my inventory and my vintage home decor stash.)

My vintage shoe inventory. I bought an old record shelf for placing shoes on. 

Cleaning:

Have formals cleaned after being worn at an event, whether they look like they need it or not.

Hand wash old and delicate items and line dry. Machine washing causes so much wear and tear on finely made items.

Don't use the clothes dryer for vintage and finely made items. The clothes dryer breaks down shape so badly.

Have coats dry cleaned after every season and properly store them. (See tips on storage below)

Invest in a good leather care kit for leather handbags and shoes/boots. As an equestrian, I have a wide array of items for leather care in my tack room that I use on my vintage leather items. My instructors always told me that good leather saddles and tack will last a lifetime if properly cared for, and the same goes for leather boots, handbags, shoes and belts. Leather will get dry and brittle if not cleaned and oiled. However, if you clean and oil it too often, you can cause it to rot; so be smart and pay attention to when your leather is thirsty.

Leather handbags on top, standing on their feet. The only downfall to this arrangement is that the handles cannot stand up properly. May need to re-think this. Also note belts, coiled to hold shape.

Hats and shoes, stored in boxes.

Storage:

Don't store or display anything in direct sunlight. Sunlight will cause fading and drying/cracking o materials.

Don't store anything in a moist area, like a basement. Please!

Don't stack handbags on top of each other, especially leather ones.  Leather will get permanent indentations from the hardware of the neighboring bag (this happened to me more than once)

Store hats in hatboxes if at all possible, and use tissue to hold shape if needed.

DO stuff handbags with tissue paper to hold their shape, especially if you're going to be storing them for a long time.

Don't stack shoes on top of each other. Store in boxes if at all possible, and away from direct sunlight

DO invest in plastic totes for storing things like coats and clothing. Fold neatly, using tissue to hold shape if needed, and store in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight. And label the box so you know what is in it at a glance.

 Here is an example of a handbag that needs to be stored with filling to hold it's shape. It was a mashed pancake when I dug it out of a yard sale pile.

Here is it with some newspaper in it. Do use caution when using paper to hold the shape of an item; paper compresses over time. Take it out every now and then and give it a good fluffing. 

Above is a "poor storage" victim. This would be an adorable 1940s handbag for someone if it weren't for the fact that it probably got wet, then dried out, cracked open, and then faded, to boot. This was part of the auction lot.

I stuffed newspaper in the toes of these shoes to keep them from collapsing and getting "mashed".

You can also use these nifty do-dads to hold a shoe's shape. I use them in my leather or reptile skin shoes to keep them in perfect shape.

I don't have a whole lot of fur experience; except with mice chewing the collars on some of my coats last winter (I now store them in plastic totes) but with this "stole" style wrap, I drape it on a hanger like this, and remove it every now and then to make sure it doesn't get stuck in one fold or another.

Don't hang knits on wire hangers. In my personal closet, I never hang sweaters and knits at all. I fold them and put them in drawers. Wire hangers can put a permanent bulging corner on the shoulders of knits. The sweaters shown here are inventory and won't be around long; so I hang them on padded hangers.

Last week, on Tuesday, October 9, at 6 pm, a dear friend passed away after ten months in Duke University Hospital, receiving two lung transplants a few months apart.

My friend's name was William Stephen (Steve) Keel. He was 67 years old.

My parents had been friends with Steve and his wife Nancy since before I was born; and their 7 kids are my age or there abouts. Their family and my family, and many other families in the community, lived near each other, grew together, ate together, learned together, played together, sang together, suffered together, and existed side by side for my whole life, and continue to do so.

In recent years I began working for their family, caring for their adult daughter with a mental handicap. So my life became even more closely entwined with theirs. Their children got married, had kids, life happened. And I was close at hand to witness it.

Some years ago, Steve was diagnosed with IPF - pulmonary fibrosis. For whatever reason, his lungs were slowly beginning to fail him.

I have watched over the past four years or so, as with each passing season, it seemed to worsen and become a heavier and heavier burden... until last fall, when when he was told if he did not get a lung transplant, he would die very soon. I was there the day they returned from a visit to the doctor with this grim prognosis. He needed to get on a transplant list, and sooner rather than later. Usually the transplant process takes several months of physical therapy and waiting "in line" behind other folks also needing transplants.

And yet, being people of great faith and trust in Almighty God and his healing powers, they and the family, along with the whole Christian Community stood and believed in great faith that he would be approved for the transplant and ultimately, healed of this horrible disease.

The reality of the situation truly hit home for me personally when we were called in to the home about a year ago, and Steve told my husband what his burial wishes were. He wanted to be buried on a hillside in the woods behind their house, in a plain brown box. He laid out all the specifics for my husband, so that in the event of his death, his wife would not need to make these arrangements. He knew that Kevin had the tools, the know how, and the leadership to take this task upon him if the time came.

In November, a few weeks before Thanksgiving, he was approved for transplant, and put on the top of the transplant waiting list at Duke. He moved to a friend's home in Durham to be a quick few minutes from the Hospital when the word came that lungs were available.

He never returned home.

At the time of his moving to be loser to the hospital, my life really changed a lot. I not only took care of the daughter, now I was sitting at their home with Nancy's 96 year old mother with dementia. There is a staff of about five of us who took shifts around the clock, staying in the home and caring for the invalids there, and undertook the running of the household. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, phone calls, anything and everything, we did. Around the clock.

We got the news that a lung was available on January 31, 2011. It was a match. He received the lung transplant and all went well. He even recovered well from the operation and it seemed like the healing was well on it's way and he would be able to come home.

Then there were setbacks. Problems, issues. It became evident that the second lung would need to be removed, right away. Once again, he had to wait for another lung, while his life was in the balance. A prayer vigil was held when it seemed like all was lost, and the very next day, a lung was flown in and the second surgery performed.

But he never recovered from the second transplant. He spent months in the ICU, connected to a ventilator via a trac in his neck. He was unable to eat, or drink. He was on a feeding tube. He became skeletal, as he lost weight and muscle.
I went to visit Steve around this time; in the ICU. He was frail, and weak. Thin, and aged. But his eyes were still bright, and his countenance was hopeful. His voice was weak as he told me the doctors had told him in 30 days he should be out of ICU and maybe after that, able to come home. 

He recovered somewhat and was released for two weeks, and they stayed in Durham to be close to the hospital in case anything went wrong.
After two weeks, he was back in the hospital, and only went downhill after that.  

Being in the home all these months, practically living there, I got the daily updates; the emails, the calls from Nancy on a daily basis with the medical updates on Steve. I knew how she was feeling; how she was coping  - or not coping. I witnessed her sorrow, her fear, her despair, as well as her faith in God and strength to endure this incredibly hard time. I, and my co workers, were deeply involved with the whole process, and emotionally invested in the whole ordeal.

There had been many close calls with death, many times when I thought it was going to be the end of Steve, and always it seemed he found the strength from somewhere to pull it together and live another day.

I got a call on Monday last week from Nancy that the Doctors had told them that the Vent was prolonging his inevitable death and not preserving his life; and the decision was made to remove him from the vent and let him go to be with the Lord. The family were all on their way. The time was set for Tuesday at 3 pm. Not many people knew what was going on.

Tuesday, 3 pm came, and oh how I felt a heavy weight of sadness and sorrow for the family as I knew what was going on at that time.  It was my day off and yet my heart and mind were right there. I went to a business meeting with Kevin and my Dad, and at 7 PM, my co worker and friend Cara texted me to say that he had passed away.

I felt an immediate relief for him - he was free from the unimaginable pain and suffering; but such a heavy grief for his family who had just lost their Husband and Father so soon, it seemed.

The funeral was held at the home and many people were in attendance. It was the most deeply spiritual celebration of life service I have ever attended.

As the gathering sang the hymn "Fairest Lord Jesus", a butterfly fluttered over the heads of everyone there, sitting in a circle in chairs on the lawn. I watched as the butterfly flew all around, and then soared higher and higher into the air above the trees until I could no longer see it.

The graveside service was extremely emotional. I have only ever been to one other graveside service before.

Steve was buried in the Jewish tradition, with friends and family helping to shovel in the dirt. With each family member who stepped up and shoveled in earth, my tears flowed heavier. My friend John Howell stepped up to shovel in some dirt as he began singing a hymn, and before he was finished, broke down into mournful sobs as friends Jerry and Ruffin enclosed him in their arms in comfort.

Antion, who had lived with them for ten months, and who I had become good friends with during that time, stepped up to shovel in his portion, and after the first one, couldn't stop - sobbing, he shoveled in ten or twelve more shovels full. As each friend stepped up, the shoveling in of the dirt was like a last and final offering.

Through the whole experience of the past year, I have been struck by the great love and deep connection our families have for one another. (The families in our Christian Church community here locally.)
I can go months - sometimes a year or so! - without seeing some of these friends, and when you meet up again, it is as if no time has passed at all. There is no catching up or getting to know one another all over again; you simply pick up where you left off. That is how steady and unified we are as a community and as the Body of Christ. Perfect? Heck no.  But it is the unconditional love for one another that covers the "imperfections". I thank God that I am privileged to be a part of such an awesome group of people. These friends are Brothers and Sisters in Christ, and we are one big family. And this past week we lost a important and dearly loved member of our family; he will be so greatly missed. The loss is painful and deep. But I rejoice that he is with The Father and is no longer suffering with a diseased and broken body.

I will see you again, Mr. Keel. And we will have so much to talk about.

On White & Wearing It After Labor Day

 Just a random old photo I found in some obscure file on my laptop.

Okay, Labor Day has come and gone, so it is officially time to quit wearing white shoes, my dear Southern Belles. Or white anything, really. Unless you're getting married. I think it is acceptable to wear white after Labor Day if you're wearing a white dress to get married in.

Lol. 

I don't know if it's a worldwide fashion law, or if I have just been stuck in the rural Old South for so long that I am just out of touch with the modern world - but I was raised believing that you started wearing white shoes, etc. on Easter and no earlier, and quit wearing white shoes, etc. at Labor day, and no longer.

It says so, in The Southern Belle Handbook.

And that goes for white, or linen, or straw bags, open toed shoes, sundresses, etc. 

I know a lot of people say that it doesn't matter anymore; that the whole "No white after Labor Day" rule is hogwash.

I still adhere to the "law" because I guess I have a deeply ingrained fear, drilled into me from girlhood, of being thought of or said to be "tacky". Nobody who was raised Southern wants to be tacky!

I wish my fear of tacky had been stronger in my teen years; because I was guilty of a lot of tacky in those days, unfortunately. 

 I really don't own many white things, come to think of it. I guess I figure if I just eliminate white from my wardrobe, that lessens my chances of accidentally venturing out the door sporting something white after the official cut off date.

So, it's time for me to do my big wardrobe switcheroo, and put away the white and such, and drag out some cardigans and long sleeve shirts and maybe a couple pairs of pjs suitable for chilly evenings.

It's time for me to have a pretty big wardrobe overhaul, too. Many of my long pants are "plumb woe out", (since we're discussing Southern-ness here) and my pjs are ratty and stained on the cuffs from feeding the chickens in them in the mornings because I am too lazy to get dressed till the last minute; my favorite casual flats actually have a hole in the toe; I have a total of two decent cardigans, and I threw out so many tops this past Spring -  I find I now have next to nothing to wear for chilly weather! So, yay for me, I get to do some shopping here very shortly.

But I won't be buying anything white, noooOOOOoooo. I wouldn't want the cashier at the store to think I was fixing to commit a desperate act of tacky. 

Have a lovely day, dears.

:)


PS - I do not think you're tacky if you wear white after Labor day. It is a personal choice; this post is in complete jest. Please take no offense, if you do wear white all year round.

A Regular While

Southern expressions are quaint and sometimes puzzling; especially if you haven't lived here for long. I'm a Southerner born and bred, so I am used to it. I use these expressions myself without even thinking about it.

My talkative, older neighbor came by  the house this afternoon to drop off some squash and zucchini from his garden and we discussed plants and recipes and canning for  awhile.

He was explaining to me how he goes about canning stewed tomatoes.

"I bring them to a bol (with a southern accent, 'boil' is just one consinant, pronounced without the 'i') and I turn down the heat an let em cook down for a regular while, then I hot pack the jars and can'nem."

A Regular While basically means "an appropriate amount of time", varying according to whatever it is you're doing, or where you might be going.

For stewing tomatoes for canning, A Regular While of simmering is about 20 minutes.

For driving distances, A Regular While is open to interpritation.

If you're from someplace else, but have been living in the South for A Regular While, you might be considered an honorary Southerner, like my husband, who has been living in the South for 12 years.

The neighbor and I shot the breeze  about getting the deer out of his tomato patch,  methods of cooking okra, how I like my brand of canner, Kevin's work schedule, hay field yields for the first cutting, and of course, canning stewed tomatoes. Before I knew it, an hour had passed.

Or, I should say, A Regular While.

Stuff... And Nonsense

As I left for work this morning I fondly looked over at my vegetable garden popping up in neat little rows and wished I could just stay at home and forget about all this working and making money and paying bills stuff.

 *sigh*

I've been feeling the need to simplify my life recently. Some things I don't have control over - like my suck-ing work schedule. I'll be glad when this lung transplant episode is finally over and I can get back to my normal schedule - my work from home all day schedule. I decided sitting with the elderly is not what I want to do with the rest of my life.

Some things I do have control over - like managing the times when I am not working to be more productive and not just waste it with Netflix, Hulu, Pinterest, etc. etc. Like staying in control of my spending habits (yesterday's post). Like keeping up with house cleaning and yard work. And I do have control over the stuff in my house.

 I have friends who have packed up and moved long distances, several times over; and their "stuff" didn't hold them down. One friend sold off practically all their worldly possessions before moving; then just started over with new stuff when they got a new house. Their "stuff" didn't have a hold on them the way my "stuff" has a hold on me.

I've never had to move all my "stuff". I've never had to reduce the amount of things in my house to fit a storage unit, or a moving van. I've never been forced to let anything go. And I'm grateful for that. My life, since marriage, has been really deeply rooted.... I left my parents and my childhood home with several boxes of my meager little possessions, and immediately started setting up house on my husband's farm. It's been four years now, and I seriously have a problem with "stuff"! Having a "old stuff" type of business doesn't help. I sell a lot, but for every one item I sell, I bet you I keep two. Or three.

My drive to simplify is helping me let some of my things go. Things I don't wear, don't use, keep packed away and never look at.....I have to let some things go. I've purged before, but not like I have in the past few weeks. I've let go of some things I thought I never would. If I don't do it now, what will my house look like in 10 years? In 20? The thought makes me shudder.

Some of it's going in my Etsy shop - mainly the vintage clothes and purses and antiques and collectibles that are easy to ship.

Plus, this weekend I am having a 2-day blow out yard sale.

It's going to be a good one. There might be crying, and kicking, and screaming, as I let some things go...

But there is one thing I have learned about "stuff":  There is plenty of it in the world. There is more than enough stuff to go around. If I sell off all my stuff today, there will be twice as much stuff tomorrow.

The Original Pinterest

My pin board that hangs over my desk.  

Crazy Stuff I Did As A Kid

When I got to work at 8:30 this morning, it was already 70 degrees out; sunny and pure gorgeous. My place of work is a private home perched on a huge hill out in the country; surrounded by cow pastures and the Dan River beyond. There is a red Radio Flyer wagon on the porch, and when I saw it, I had the sudden urge to get in the wagon and go careening down the hill as fast as it would take me.... like I used to do as a kid. That got me thinking about all the crazy, and sometimes dangerous things I did growing up.

I spent my childhood in a rural, farming community of North Carolina; and we did "country" things to amuse ourselves. This was 20 plus years ago.... so my sisters and brothers and I didn't have cell phones and iPads to play games. There was not Facebook and Twitter, and my parents didn't believe in video games. Or TV. We watched movies (on VHS!) but that was it. My parents were old school; and my Mom was a hippie holdover from the 70s, so they believed in the power of imagination and the health benefits of playing outdoors.

In addition to riding our Radio Flyer wagon (gift from Grandma who believed in old fashioned toys like those Radio Flyers from the good ol' days) down hills at insane speeds, and very often crashing in a heap at the bottom (those Radio Flyers didn't have the best steering), we did things like.....

- Roll down the hill over and over until we were dizzy and puked, plus covered in grass and dirt
- Roll down the hill in a rusty metal barrel we dug up in the woods someplace (tetanus, anyone?)
- Ride our bikes across the river to the cornfield and play hide and seek in it's 20 + acres. Plus, we ate the corn, and if you've ever eaten corn meant to be cow feed, you know that it can make you sick sick sick. yeah.
- Ride our horses out in a thunderstorm on purpose; while Mom thought we were at the barn cleaning tack or mucking stalls or something
- Race our horses in John Scott's hayfield, helmet-less
- Swim in the farm pond (The memory makes me cringe. It was like a glorified mud puddle. Both my sister and I got ear infections afterwords. Eeeeeeewww!)
- Swam in the creek while it was flooded and barely made it out. We removed our clothes and tied them together, then tied them to a branch, to give us something to hold onto to get back across to the "home" side. (We swam in the creek fully clothed.) I lost my shorts and walked home in a towel
- Walked up the creek a mile and a half to the huge rock cliff in the creek bend, climbed up 15 or so feet, and leapt off into the murky waters
- Jumped off our friends' boat house roof and  into the lake
 - I snuck up and rode the neighbor's horse bareback, and he bolted for the barn. I fell off and one of his hooves clipped my arm - I made my sister swear not to tell our Mom and Dad and never did it again
- Rode horses on the highway and even raced traffic sometimes
- At the park we'd get on the "big swings", pump as high as we could, and then jump off. Man, when your pockets got stuck on the seats, it was a bad fall. I am surprised none of us broke our necks
- Went sledding late at night after the snow had melted slightly and re-froze, making a slicker surface... for hours we would do crazy sledding stunts with the neighbor kids, very often crashing into things and whacking out heads on solid ice. One night I fell off my sled and hit my head so hard I saw stars. I never told my Mom, and chances are I had a concussion from it. Later in my life, when I had  several serious concussions from horseback riding accidents, I remembered that after hitting my head on the ice, my head felt the exact same way as when I hit my head falling off horses over jumps.

My parents aren't to blame! They didn't know what was going on behind their back. I know that If they knew half of the crazy stuff we were doing out there, they would have stepped in with a "How about let's not do that, ok?"
 
I also did normal things like play with dolls and decorate doll houses. Plus, my Mom made me learn embroidery and I spent a lot of time doing that; even as a kid. I loved it. And I read books all the time. So I enjoyed craziness - and normalcy. I guess I have been this way my whole life... the best of both worlds.

It was the best way to grow up - I wouldn't trade it for all the electronic stuff kids do today for the world! There is a lot to be said for a good, old fashioned, country raisin'.  

Happy February!

I've stated before that I am not a fan of Valentine's day; in the "traditional gift" aspect. That is, I don't like the typical dozen long stemmed red roses, cheesy box of cheap candy, stuffed animals, tacky lingerie, and the like. In fact, my husband and I usually ignore the day entirely. I prefer spontaneous romantic gestures, gifts, dinners out, cards, flowers, etc. - any old day of the year, and truthfully, my man was glad to be "off the hook" form rushing out and buying me something on Valentines Day, that usually doesn't require much personal thought, because the stores have it all set out for the grabbing.
(That's just us! I have nothing against people who do love it, and get into the spirit on Valentine's Day. That's great.)   

That does not mean, however, that I am not a fan of romance, and celebrating love and romantic attachments! I just don't like the obligatory, run-of-the-mill way of celebrating and gift giving.

 So to prove that I DO love romance, and the idea of Valentine's Day, I am going to highlight some cute Valentine's themed things - and food -  this month.

 Starting with these burlap banners I made. (Have I mentioned that burlap is my new favorite textile for decor and crafts?)

 




To buy:

Mini hearts burlap bunting

"Love" burlap bunting

Random Moments Of Abundant Joy

 Do you ever see or hear something that just fills your heart with so much joy you think you're going to burst?

 I confess I have more moments of irritation, stress and even anger that make me think I am going to burst. Ha.

The other day I was driving home from someplace and I got behind a slow moving school bus.

Instant vexation.

I followed behind for several stops, irritated.

Then it stopped in front of a picturesque house on the 2-lane road deep in the rural farming community; and an adorable little girl jumped off, in her pink coat and princess backpack.
 Her older brother followed, with his blue coat and some super hero backpack.

 As they approached their driveway, a black lab puppy, maybe three months old, came from behind their house and bounded towards them with all the energy and enthusiastic affection of a puppy and the little girl ran to meet her puppy and then there was this priceless moment of puppy hugs and little girl kisses...

 And I practically burst into tears right then and there as my heart joined in their Moment Of Abundant Joy. It was like I was watching a scene from some Hallmark movie or something.

 In the dreary winter time, and the nasty political climate weighing on American's minds right now; plus the pathetic economy and turmoil elsewhere in the world, occasional bright moments of pure joy and carefree, childlike love and affection really mean a lot.

If you keep your eyes and your heart open you never know when you will be blessed with a Random Moment Of Abundant Joy!



(The photo above is from last Spring with my puppy Dodge and nice Alana.)

Don't forget to enter the Cameo Necklace Giveaway; it ends Friday.

Getting - and staying - organized.

Getting organized is probably one of the top ten New Year's resolutions in this country, right up there with loosing weight and eating healthy and all that.

Getting organized is not my problem; it's staying that way I have an issue with.

I know just how to get organized, and I do it. But then as the days and weeks go by, the stuff takes over again, and I have the piles of mail, magazines and mess on my desk. I have the freezer burned steak shoved in the back of the freezer behind the bag of frozen broccoli and ice cream. The clothes start piling up on chairs and shoved into drawers. My crafts stuff just stays in a jumble on my dining room table where I do in and dig around till I find what I need for whatever project. If Kevin smashes a digit and needs a bandage, I have to dig through three or four baskets of stuff in the bathroom just to find the box of band aids.

The problem extends even to my barn, where my feed room is piled with dirty horse blankets and empty Purina feed sacks and those annoying plastic bags the stall shavings come in; with baling twine strung everywhere; saddles and pads all jumbled together in the tack room with bridles a tangled mess and peppermint candy wrappers on the floor crunching everywhere I step on the floor in there.

I have come to the conclusion that staying organized does not come naturally to me; so I am going to have to make a special effort to do so.

Which is really hard right now with my complicated work schedule. I am not as home as much so when I get home at night, all I have time to do is make dinner for us, tend to the pets and livestock, and crash in an exhausted, frumpy, irritated heap on the couch for a few hours with Kevin, then go to bed, and get up in the morning and rush right back out the door.
My few hours of time away from work during the week are taken up with family responsibilities, farm responsibilities, errands, shopping for groceries and such, and taking care of business things like getting orders from my website shipped out in a timely manner.

So staying organized is going to be a huge chore for me this year. But I am determined to do it.

Here is what I decided to do so far:

For one thing, I am bringing less stuff into the house. I am simply buying less. I have gotten strict with myself about what I can buy as shop inventory, too - so less storage space is being used.

I went through each room in my house and tossed everything that could be tossed. Even in the fridge and freezers; pantry, and bathroom. If I can keep the stuff down to a manageable amount of things I use and need, then I won't feel buried and overwhelmed by it so much.

I am also trying to de-clutter and put things away daily or at least every other day when I can - when I am at home to do it.

I've realized that it is less about what you do to organize, or how you do it; it is more about taking the time to do it; making the time to do it. That is where my difficulty lies. I can't even make the time; because I don't have the time. It is frustrating but I am trying.

What do you do to get organized and stay that way? I need inspiration.

Thanksgiving Reflections - And The "Flaming Cheesecake" Episode

I really. really! despise how our Thanksgiving holiday has been overshadowed by "Black Friday" and even by Christmas itself. It seems like poor Thanksgiving just kind of gets shoved into the shadow of great deals on flat screen TVs, laptops for $200, and the like.

Thanksgiving is a uniquely American holiday; and it's a holiday specifically designated for reflecting on the blessings in our lives and for giving thanks for all the good things we enjoy.

Instead, many people just thing of it as a shopping holiday. And this makes me very sad.

I really do reflect on our blessing at Thanksgiving (and other days of the year too of course). I really treasure my husband, families, home, provision, freedom, and the peace and satisfaction I have with my life.

Plan A for Kevin and I this year was going to his hometown in Michigan to help his mom move into her newly renovated home; but the plan was nixed when she didn't get her occupancy permit in time for us to make the trip up. Ironically enough, she got it the Wednesday before.

Plan B was Thanksgiving with my Mom and Dad, who live locally. My sister Noelle was in from University for the weekend, and we got together on Wednesday to bake.



For me, Thanksgiving baking seems to always entail some disaster, accident, and general failure for some reason. I can bake successfully any other day or Holiday in the year with ease and success, but Thanksgiving has really started to be an issue for me. (You can read about my Pumpkin Pie failures here.)

This year was no different.

My sister came over for the baking: two pumpkin pies, a chocolate pecan pie, and a pumpkin cheesecake.

I made my pie crusts (I always make my own; they taste better) and filled my pies; and the darned pumpkin pies came out with black spots on the top. Drat.
So then we whipped up the pumpkin cheesecake, and that went in last. 10 minutes into the baking time, I went in to the kitchen to get some tea, when I noticed smoke billowing out of the burners on the stove. I opened the oven door and saw more smoke and FLAMES!

I yelled to Noelle that the oven was on fire, while I grabbed my oven mitts to rescue my cheesecake from the fire. I suppose I didn't even think about the fact that the flames could have caught the mitts on fire and burned me when I reached into the oven inferno to grab that pumpkin cheesecake. I snatched it out and plopped it on the counter.

Noelle had run out into the yard to get some dirt - but there was no shovel or bucket within reach so that wasn't going to work. Meanwhile somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered reading that you can use baking soda to put out grease fires so I grabbed the baking soda from the pantry and started tossing it into the oven. The flames went right out; and Noelle and I were standing there coughing and sputtering in disbelief.

She took the cheesecake home and finished baking it in Mom's oven, while I cleaned up the mess in mine.

Kevin got home and took one look at the whole mess, and me in it, and immediately said we were going to dinner and oven shopping. Which was really nice.

The cheesecake turned out fine, despite the filling slopping out all over the box I had sent it home in with Noelle. She and Mom scooped the slopped filling back into the crust to finish baking it. It certainly didn't look like Paula Deen's version on the Food Network. But it tasted heavenly - a new favorite!

Despite the fact that I hate the way Black Friday gobbles up Thanksgiving's attention, I was bored and lonely the day after Thanksgiving (Kevin had to work) so Noelle and I decided to go to town mid afternoon and see the damage....and believe it or not, it was like any other day of the week.
There was no heavy traffic; and there was no debris in the stores from the fighting masses of shoppers thundering through to get x-boxes and Wiis; there were no angry throngs of people shoving and pushing their way through the isles. We went to Sam's club and looked at books, and didn't buy anything. All we did was buy ice cream in the snack bar.
Then we went to The Gingerbread House (a favorite of mine - a small local shop full of floral decor, gifts, gourmet food, and general loveliness)and sniffed the Yankee candles, and ogled over their new accessories department, and I was greatly inspired by the Christmas decor! I fell in love with some cable knit sweater Christmas stockings.... so we went to the Goodwill nearby where I bought a couple of funky old sweaters to try my hand at making some myself. I did leave there with a few Yankee votives to try, and a few other little things from their cooking and baking gadget section. Maybe if I buy more cooking and baking gadgets, my Thanksgiving baking failures will stop. Heh heh. Not likely...

We rented a movie from the Red Box, and we went right back home to Mom and Dad's for leftover turkey dinners. And that was the extent of my participation in "Black Friday".

A Place At The Table

(So, back before I started blogging, I used to write random "essays". I have a whole portfolio of them. I used to also write opinion "letters"/articles for the local paper, but that is another subject. The following is one of my "essays" I dug out the other day and figured I'd share.)


October 10, 2008

My family had the same kitchen table since before I was born. It was large enough to seat everyone; at one time being nine people all together. Through the years, the numbers have dwindled down as family members got married or moved away.

It was a heavy brown thing, and mom collected various vintage ladder back kitchen chairs to place around it, with cushions Grandma sewed for them. When the varnish started to soften and peel, mom just bought table cloths for it.

It was very important to my parents, who were trying to blend two families together, that meals be eaten all together. So, just about every day for breakfast and supper, we all sat around the table and truly did come together and bonded as a family.

The table was more than just a place to eat meals. It was, perhaps, the most important fixture in our home. Each person had an assigned "place" at the table, where we sat day after day. When Mom folded the laundry, she placed each person's stack of clothing at their "place", along with other items she found lying around that needed putting away; or little things she had bought for that person.

Before we had our schoolroom (we were homes schooled) complete with desks, dry erase board, bookshelves, and filing cabinets, we did our assignments at the table.

When Mom sewed clothing, she spread her fabrics and patterns out on the table; and we did numerous crafts projects there as well. I watched Mom create wonders around the table... play costumes, ball gowns, bridesmaid's dresses, or curtains, mom made them on that table.

My brothers spread newspapers over it, and cleaned their guns and other hunting gear. It was also a medical center, from time to time, when someone had a splinter, a cut, sores, or other maladies. Mom would get out her EMT gear and go to work under the bright light of the chandelier.

At Christmas, it was a decorating and present wrapping station, a cookie baking center, and Christmas card writing desk, as well as everyone's favorite place on Christmas day when mom served home made doughnuts for breakfast, and succulent turkey for dinner.

It was Dad's desk when he went back to college, where he paid bills, and where he did a lot of his writing.

Everyone celebrated their birthday around the table; the ceiling above the table festooned with crepe paper and balloons, Mom's home made Birthday Banners, and colorful table cloths. Mom made the birthday person's favorite cake, and bought their favorite ice cream. The family gathered around to sing, enjoy cake, and watch the gift opening. It was the place where countless important family pow-wows took place; decisions were made, tears were shed, opinions voiced, and politics passionately discussed.

As the years went by, there were less people around it for daily meals; but for the Holidays, once again, the family gathered around it. With the addition of spouses, it got tighter and tighter. After the Holiday dinners, its still the family "catching up" spot, where, just like in the beginning, the family bond is preserved.

Some want to hear the stories walls would tell if they could speak; but I'd want to listen to my family's table.


PS - Please take a moment to enter the giveaway. Thank you!

The Help

I see a LOT of movies but don't always "review" them here.

But I have to say something about "The Help".



My sister and I saw it last evening and we both adored it! I have not read the book yet; that's on my books to buy and read list for very soon.

I highly; highly recommend seeing this movie; and seeing it now and not waiting for the DVD, if at all possible. It's just that epic.

I was expecting to enjoy it; but I was not expecting to be so moved by it. I laughed so hard my sides hurt, I cried, I was angry, ashamed, I identified, I laughed a lot more, I was shocked, surprised, annoyed, I wanted to punch some of the characters in the face a few times, I laughed some more, cried some more, and when it was over I just wanted it to start all over again....

It is not often that every emotion and feeling are stirred by a movie; but this movie completely touched every corner of my heart and mind.

Yes, the costumes are amazing. The sets were perfect. Sissy Spacek was incredible. Bryce Dallas Howard blows me away every time I see her in a movie (even though she needed a good spanking in this one).

If you can, spring for a babysitter, take an afternoon off from work, or whatever you have to do and go see this movie with someone you love.

I promise you won't regret it.

(I plan on taking my parents and husband to go see it again soon.)

What's In A Name

My Mom gave all of my siblings and I very interesting names - mostly Biblical/Hebrew.  She told us from the time we were all little of how she prayed about all of our names, and the meanings of our names.

 But I think, more than all of them, I have the weirdest name of them all.

 You have no idea how my name - "Hosanna" - has been butchered over the years.

 Just yesterday I was called "Havana"at the Post Office and then the computer repair guy wrote it down as "Joseanna" - like some kind of feminine form of "Jose". I get that a lot - along with people assuming that I am Spanish. It has to be the tan - or my dark eyes? I don't know, but much of the time I get asked if I am Spanish. Which isn't surprising, as my Mom was always presumed to be Cuban when we lived in Florida because of her olive skin and dark hair/eyes. 

 There  is a neighbor that has always called me "Hannah" forever and I just play along with it. As long as there is not another Hannah in the room to be confused with.

 I remember being a part of a summer reading program at the local library when I was in grade school and when someone asked me for my name to write out on a certificate for reading a bunch of books, they didn't believe my name was "Hosanna" and wrote, instead, "Roseanna" even after I spelled my name out for them.
I've been called Roseanna on many other  occasions and I just smile and nod. Smile and nod.......

 And growing up in Church was really awful, as you can imagine; I was constantly greeted by people singing some song or another with "hosanna" in the chorus or verse. It made me want to seriously stab my eye with a fork.

 When I was showing horses frequently in my teens and early 20s, the show announcers almost always botched my name. If they got the first part right, they'd botch my last name - which was Pennell at the time. I was a different name at every show. I'd be sitting there, on my horse, baking in my black hunt jacket, velvet hunt cap, and tall black boots, and groan as they called me in for my prize.
"And in second place.... Hos.... Jose..... Hus-anna............Penel." OR, "Hose-ann Peeeenayle".
Finally I started using my middle name and was just plain "Joy" at horse shows.  At least, I figured, they could get that part right.

 When my brothers started having kids, and they started talking, they'd always stumble over the mouthful of "Aunt Hosanna" so eventually my official name for the kids in my life (7 that I see frequently) became "Zanna". This worked out great for all of the kids, except my niece Emilie, who is now 4. She would not - or could not - say "Zanna" or anything like "Zanna" so when she started talking, she simply called me "Kevin" - my husband's name. She'd come over to my house and say something like "Hey, Aunt Kebin? Kin I pet that kitty?"
I would explain: "Yes, you may. But, my name is 'Zanna'. Can you say  'Zanna'?"
Emilie, mumbling: "Aunt Zanna".
"Yep! That's my name."
 "Hey, Aunt Kebin........................?"

Sometimes the kids will try my whole name on for size. Then it's something like "HOSE-anna" or "Hoseyanna".

My close friends call me "Hos" (like "hose"), or "Hosie".

 In addition to the strange pronunciations of my name, I get strange looks and blank stares when I introduce myself to someone I have never met before. The head tilts of inquiry.

 So while I do like having an unusual name, it does come with certain "issues".

 That is why, should I ever produce offspring, I think I will go with names like..... "Mary". And "Ed". Or names with easier to pronounce nicknames.

Yeah. Plan carefully when choosing names for your children, parents.

My Endorsements.

I got this swell idea from a fellow vintage wearer/lover's blog "Miss Tallulah Porkchop".You can read her answers here. I copied the whole questionerre onto my blog and filled in my own answers. Play along and do the same on your blog; I love getting to know fellow bloggers and their faves!

 

Note: you will find, from my answers, just what a simple woman I am..... I don't get attached to many brands. I simply buy and use what suits my fancy at the time. Except for the make up - I am kinda devoted to Mary Kay since they started mineral make up. :) 

 

 

UNDERWEAR: Whatever I find that is cute and comfortable, sexy and romantic, and above all - whatever fits well - on the undies rack at Ross or Marshalls.

JEANS: Old Navy; or whatever I find that I like at - you guessed it - Ross or Marshalls.

T-SHIRTS: Seriously... for t-shirts, I buy whatever it is they're selling at Wally World.

SHOES: Vintage ones, of any brand, when I can find them.

WATCHES:  Pulsar. I inherited it from my Great Aunt. Speaking of which - I need a battery in it.

SUNGLASSES: I destroy them so often, I get cheap ones at department stores and they're sat on and broken in a week. For special occasions, I have a pair of vintage cat-eye sunnys from France with rhinestones. :)

SWIMWEAR: Esther Williams... in my dreams. I have not gotten an Esther Williams yet. In the meantime, I have a vintage-y swim dress, two bikinis from Wal Mart, and a 1950s swimsuit I have never worn in the pool.

DRESSES: Vintage ones.

BAGS: Vintage ones.

LABEL: Right now? Charlotte Russe; or things from the Ruche website.

ACCESSORIES: Forever 21; or the thrift.

BEAUTY

PERFUME: I can't wear it.... I get headaches. But once in awhile, I can get away with a body mist; the one in my bathroom right now is Bath and Body Works Cotton Blossom - or something like that.

MASCARA: Mary Kay

LIPS: Mary Kay tinted lip balms - for the SPF (for my surgery scars.) I have "Rose" and "Blush". Also, Mary Kay lip gloss in "Gold Rush".

SHAMPOO: Aussie

BODY WASH: In the shower right now: Softsoap Coconut Scrub.

HAIR PRODUCT: Aussie taming milk

MOISTURISER: Williams and Spence Almond Blossom lotion

BRONZER: Mary Kay, "Sandstone"

NAIL POLISH SHADE: TeeHee...right at the moment, an $.88 BonBon I grabbed at the checkout.

 

LIFESTYLE

SHEETS: Spring Maid; 100% cotton

CANDLES: Yankee

STATIONERY: Vintage; and whatever I find at Marshalls - or the Dollar Store!

LUGGAGE: Samsonite

GADGET: I hate gadgets and don't use them...

CAR: Car?! How 'bout 4x4 farm truck! Ford F250 Super Duty. I LOVE my truck. :)

ONLINE STORE: Etsy, Sense of Fashion, Ruche, Charlotte Russe, or eBay

BOOK: Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte.

CD:
In my CD player at the moment: Imelda May's "Mayhem". That, or the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack - for the piano music. :)

DRINK: Southern Sweet Iced Tea. For all time.

Things That Make Me Smile

So I took my camera out and started to catalog some things that make me smile this morning.....

 The first thing that made me smile was this post at Jean Jean vintage. She collects and sells the most amazing antique jewelry at her Etsy shop that I drool over ... sometimes daily....

My cat's vet makes me smile. I know some of you moms are particular about your kid's pediatrician, and I am that way about my vets. Look at the nifty reminder cards my cat's vet sends me; all personalized and everything!



Speaking of Phileppe - he makes me smile, too. Here is my camera, getting kitty kisses.



 Not to be left out - Dodge also makes me smile, and also gives sweet puppy kisses.

 

 Imelda May makes me smile! And makes me want to dance, and sing, and dress up in my 1950's duds and wear red lipstick. And her latest album makes me smile. I've been listening to it as I do my painting. And this song makes me smile!



 Tulips. Tulips make me smile. These are my "Mother's Day" tulips. They were ordered for my mother-in-law, but mistakenly sent here - which did not make me smile - since Kevin's mother got no flowers from us on Mother's Day. She's getting her tulips late; but when these were delivered to the house yesterday, I still smiled.

 

 The window flower boxes I installed on my garden shed....
 

 Winning dinner tickets....
 

 My herb/flower garden...


 Cherries - and the fact that I have a cherry tree in my yard....


 
 And Peonies! I love peonies!
 

 Peonies on bushes in the garden...
 

 Peonies in old blue canning jars....



 Peonies in old blue jars next to vases of tulips on hall tables....
 

Peonies make me smile wherever they are.

 The list was getting really long, so I had to quit. For now. What makes YOU smile?

 Seriously, give the song a listen. I think you might enjoy it.

A Labor Of Love.

I am writing this as therapy.... I had to break away from my remodeling project for a moment and re-focus on the goal....

 I was in the process of scraping and priming and painting a room in This Old House when I spilled a can of Killz primer/sealer all over the back porch floor and I felt I was going to loose it and tell Kevin I wanted to move to an apartment in town - until I took a break and thought it through.

 Looking at inspiring photos helps me keep my eye on our goal of a lovely old cottage farmhouse.

 

 

 
(We decided we needed a fountain in our herb garden and as I searched around the 'net for ideas on using salvage for a fountain, I came across this piano fountain. I loved it. Kevin said "no". Oh well. So now, I am looking for old hand pumps and barrels and things of that nature four our fountain.)

 I wish I could have just moved in, decided on colors, paid someone to paint my rooms, and been done with it. I wish all I had to do was shop for vintage and antique furnishings and textiles and place them where I want them. I wish I could have just enjoyed myself purchasing little accessories and spent my time arranging things in pretty vignettes and buying towels and a shower curtain to match; and that was it.

 But instead, we opted for an Old House with special needs. Instead of picking paint colors and bidding on antique hall trees and arranging things just so and buying towels and a matching shower curtain, we're doing things like gutting and removing walls. Replacing walls and re-wiring everything. Ripping out and replacing plumbing, indoors and out. Which means digging up the yard and ripping out things in the house, both.
We're ripping out floors. Sanding. Scraping. Refinishing. Painting and re-painting when the first paint isn't right. We're trying to fix water damage. We're re-doing fireplaces and mantlepieces and molding. We're replacing light fixtures. We're installing heating units.  We're insulating and deck building and porch patching and cement gluing.

 Meanwhile, we're barn fixing, soil-ammending, hay farming, vegetable gardening, tree-removing, and earth moving.

 And working full time. And trying to have a life.
 

I'm not complaining...........I'm just saying. I want to get to the fun part. I have, here and there - I've shown the few spots in the house that are "done" enough to show; that have been decorated and arranged. And I love This Old House. I am so grateful for it. It is an adorable little lady with a lot of appeal. It's just that on days like today - the paint-spilling, having-to-rip-out-the-carpet moments; the scraping off the lead paint inch by inch moments; the waiting for the 1st coat of paint to dry  moments; the guests locked in the bathroom because the old fashioned door handle broke moments; the rescue the guest from the bathroom with a pair of screwdrivers and a good hefty yank moments; the "Are we ever going to be done with this?!" moments........that I have to take several moments to remind myself that it's going to be so worth it.

 Right?

 Of course, right.

 Now that I've had my little pep talk, I have to get back to that scraping and sanding and priming.

 *Sigh*

Vintage Victorias and Other Random Stuff

Yesterday I came home to find a package from my Grandpa on my back steps. I opened it and found this lovely Breyer model:

 

He's always been so supportive of my equestrian endeavors and of my teaching career, when I was still teaching. He called me and cried with me when one of my horses was hit in the highway and killed, and rejoiced with me upon all my wins and near wins during my trips to the show ring. He's also sent lots of books over the years. He's the best Grandfather ever. :)

 

 I don't eat cereals often, and even when I do, I never eat them with milk - soggy! But recently I discovered how I love almond granola with low-fat yogurt; and this morning I had it with some very decent hot house strawberries I got for $1.00 a qt. Usually I cannot stand store bought, hot house strawberries, but these were surprisingly juicy and actually tasted like strawberries are supposed to taste. Mmmm. I was so impressed, I took a photo, and decided to mention it here. Silly me.

 

 I bought this awesome book case at the Salvation Army thrift shop yesterday. For $8.00. It is solid, heavy wood, weighs a ton, and very sturdy. I despise flimsy particle board Wal-Mary variety shelving - they always look saggy after a while. I have been looking for solid wood book cases and this was perfect. So was the price.  I am going to paint it, of course; after I do I will show you the finished product.

I recently started looking for 1980's issues of Victoria, because they're getting rarer and rarer, and more and more expensive. I found these 6 copies on Etsy and bought them from this seller. They're all early issues; including the 2nd issue of the first run! She said she was going to get her hands on the first one and let me know so I could buy it, also.

 

 
This is the second published issue of Victoria Magazine.

 

 

 I love Victoria and started reading it in the mid 90's; all the way up until they quit publishing it around 2002 or '03 or something like that. They're publishing it again; but I haven't subscribed yet.
 Very little changed in the 80's - 90's; except for the hairstyles of the models and some of the fashions they show are decidedly 1980s (aHEM); but I forgive them.
 The loveliness is timeless, and the style is forever. When I need inspiration I turn to Victoria and she never fails to deliver!

 



 

PS - Valentines Day

I became a Valentines Day Grinch when I was single, and remain a Valentines Day Grinch now as a married person.

Kevin and I simply do not see the point; so we don't celebrate the holiday at all.

Don't get me wrong - were all in favor of love and romance and showing one's regard and affection for one another. We just don't do it on Valentines Day with the rest of the huddled masses, frantically scrambling for a lame gift (stuffed animals?!)to give their SO, just because the calendar says it' a holiday.

I'm all for others doing it and getting a special warm and fuzzy feeling from it; but I'll pass.

My Valentine's Day "chocolate" could be any random day of the year, when I open the fridge and find a quart of chocolate milk there that I didn't buy.... because Kevin did. He knows I have a soft spot for "chocolate cow" and he surprises me with it now and then when he's gone to the store without me. Or, when he brings me a chilly glass of it while I am lounging on the sofa on a Sunday morning watching "Meet The Press" and wanting to strangle David Gregory so bad. That's my Valentine chocolate.

My Valentine flowers could be any random spring evening..... as the sun is going down and Kevin returns from plowing the back fields, carrying a pile of delicate pink blooms in his hat from the rose bushes that grow wild on the back of our property. Or daffodils. Or iris. Or lilacs. Or any of the wild flowers that grow on our farm.

I prefer to celebrate "Valentine's Day" with more spontaneity. It's Valentine's day when I'm not expecting it to be Valentine's day. For us, it's Valentine's Day when an ordinary day turns into something special because of a small random gift or act of love and affection.

And I just find that so much more romantic than those predictable, boring gifts that get pushed on the public every year in February.

Just a Little Bit Odd

It occurred to me the other day just how odd I really am....

This probably comes as no surprise to some people who know me really well.

One minute I am sloshing around in the mud, in dirty jeans and Carhart coat, feeding horses and mucking stalls... and an hour later I am dressed in vintage clothes, with hair and makeup done, going to dinner with my man.

Sometimes, I cook and bake in the kitchen, singing along to some Opera aria, or choral masterpiece I used to perform with choirs and singing groups; and then get in my truck and drive to town, rocking out to heavy rock bands like Avenged Sevenfold, Five Finger Death Punch, Sick Puppies, or Disturbed. (There. The secret is out.)

I love to watch romantic, English period movies (think Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, and all those glorious BBC Masterpiece Theater costume dramas); and then turn around and go to the movies to watch some action adventure flick with speeding trains, lots of shooting, car chases, bombs, terrorists, torture, international espionage, cussing, and Daniel Craig. (Wait - did I actually just say that?!)

I like to drink tea from lovely old china cups and then gear up, grab my rifle, and climb into a tree stand to hunt deer with my man and brothers.

I drive to my antique shop work, dressed in a cute vintage outfit and shoes - in my big, often dirty, 4 wheel drive pick up truck.

I also have been known to go to the mail box, bring in firewood, and lock up the chickens in their coop - all while wearing frilly pjs and velvet Laura Ashley slippers that my Mom gave me.

I can sit and do delicate, intricate embroidery for hours, and then get bored and switch to another project involving saws, screwdrivers, shovels, backhoes, hammers, chisels, and lots of paint.

I can drive a big ol' tractor baling hay with my husband on a hot, hot summer day - then pick up and stack the hay - all while wearing some frilly little top, a hat, and lip gloss (for the spf; of course).

I love my shabby chic farm cottage; with lace curtains and painted furniture and floral prints; and yet I have my husband's trophy buck head (mounted by a taxidermist, naturally) hanging on the wall in our den. And I like it there.

So..... yes, I am a bit of a contradiction, and strange also; and I am fine with it because it's who I am and I am happy. I attribute it in large part to my mom, who always made me dress "girly"; and walk like a girl; and talk like a girl, even after I insisted on loving horses and being in a barn more than the house, growing up.
"Just because you are strong and can ride well and do hard work at the barn doesn't mean you need to dress like, or carry yourself - like a man," she insisted.

Now excuse me, while I watch the next episode of that BBC Masterpiece Theater mini series with the incredible Edwardian costumes before it's time to go outside and split up a bunch of firewood for the wood stove.