A Charmed Life

Recycled Beauty

What a pair! I found this Victorian bureau at a yard sale. The pale greenish-yellow paint was peeling off in some places, scratched in others. It was shabby without the chic. But it was $15 and had those gorgeous curves. Who could resist? Not me.

I planned to sand and repaint it--but three years passed and it was out in the garage, "waiting." My husband, who also saw it's inner beauty, refinished it for Valentine's Day.

No, he didn't saw off one leg--I just decided to play with the camera a bit. My cousin gave me the soft-sculpture heart that sits on top for my birthday last year. Another recycled beauty: it's made from an antique embroidered sampler and a rusted piece of hardware--one of those pointy things they used to stack resturant checks or bills on, I think.

The brass knobs are recycled, too. Nick saved them when we replaced the hardware on our kitchen cabinets in the old house. He had just enough to complete the bureau. Someday I might give this curvaceous lady some fancier "jewelry." But the brass does go with our four-poster bed.

Speaking of jewelry, I found this rack in an antique shop for $2 ("Get it, Mom. It's only $2 and you know you can do something cool with it," said my little flea market diva-in-training, Meredith.) I gilded it a bit, glued some mother-of-pearl buttons on the knobs, and then sorted my necklaces and bracelets. Now I have a pretty wall display and I can find my jewelry ("Hey, I forgot I had that!) in the morning.

Hubbub

Careful readers of this blog may have noticed I've added another blog, that of my Handy Hubby, who has been trying to get his painting/home repair/vintage salvage business off the ground. (Un-careful readers, take notice!). Trouble is, while he's GREAT at that kind of detail work that I have little patience for, he's very bad at self-promotion. Just not that kind of guy. That's where I come in: I'm a Self-promoting, Toot-Your-Horn, Copy-on-Demand kinda gal. So, I have been spending my days off fiddling with copy, images, html, etc. A bit of a busman's holiday, I assure you, but it's worth it because he is so talented and his clients LOVE him. He just needs more of them. So, check him out. If you're in New England, he'll travel.

And the winner is...

Chrysti!

A random drawing found Chrysti to be the winner of the birthday giveaway. (And no, Cheryl, I did not read the name wrong.) Chrysti, your package will be on its way to you shortly.

Thanks to everyone for sharing all of your wishes.

Positive Signs, Celebrations, & a Giveaway

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant:

If we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.

-- Anne Bradstreet

So, there has been some adversity lately. Nothing I want to go into here, but we all have it, from time to time. Still, there have been tears, sleepless nights, and hand-wringing, as well as reaching out, bucking up, hugging, and humor. Black humor, but humor nevertheless. With all my faults, I think one thing I'm known positively for is my sense of humor, and it saves me, again and again. Also, while I'm the kind of person who has a tendency to spend a sunny day wondering when the clouds are going to show up, I'm also the first to glean a positive sign from the tea leaves.

So the fact that the vernal equinox, my birthday, Easter, and a full moon are all aligned this year--a syzygy, if you will, makes me think that things are going to turn around. To follow this line of thinking, it helps to be grandiose enough to think you're the center of the universe, but hey, I admitted I had faults.

So, instead of focusing on the cold wind and crusted snow still making a patchwork on the lawn, I'm chuffed by the points of green poking out between the dessicated leaves. And buoyed by the sounds of the birds who may or may not be using my adorable teapot birdhouse (thanks, Ann!).

I'm also looking forward to celebrating this cosmic birthday, and looking forward to what the next year of my life will bring. To give my karma an extra boost, I'm going give one of YOU a present: leave a comment between now and Monday, telling me what you would wish for as you blow out the candles if it were your birthday. On Tuesday, I'll randomly draw a name from the comments, and that person will win these:

Good luck!

Basket Full of Goodies

Oooh, lookee! Here is my basket full of spring and Easter goodies from Linda, my partner in the Easter basket swap. She tucked in all sorts of fuzzy chicks, nesting birds, cookie cutters, egg-themed vintage-style containers, a lovely embroidered handkerchief, a cross-stitched door hanger, Peter Rabbit paper goods, and some sweet treats, too.

 

Thank you, thank you, Linda, it sure was fun swapping with you, and I hope you like your basket, too.

My Love List

The fabulous and talented Chrysti put a challenge on her blog from She Likes Purple and then sent me an email telling me that she thought I would be good at that challenge. Well, there's nothing like a challenge to do a challenge to, uh, challenge me. So, I'm taking up the challenge:

“*I challenge you to make your own Love List. The only catch? You can’t include a single person you know on your list. No “I love the way my husband laughs” or “I love hearing my little girl call for me.” It’ll be tough, I know. But this particular little exercise is about stripping away everyone who defines you and figuring out what you (not his partner; not their mother/daughter/sister/friend) love.”

So, here goes.

I love my job. There, I get to do all the things I like to do (write, edit, be creative) and very few of the things I don't like to do (paperwork, managing others) with a bunch of the nicest, funniest, most creative people on Earth, to make fabulous, beautiful products. If that sounds like an ad for where I work, then so be it, but that's not why it comes up first; it's because it is truly a blessing to do work you love in an environment you love, and I cherish it. My job doesn't define me; it lets me be who I am.

i love my home. It's a dream come true. After years, and years, of driving past old houses, pointing them out and saying, "Oooh, look at THAT one," or "Ohhhh, I could be happy THERE," (if it was an especially nice, big, and therefore expensive place, my husband would reply, "No, that one's not good enough for you, honey.") it finally happened: we got one. There was just enough done to it that it wasn't falling apart--in fact, it was in great shape--but not so much done that we couldn't make it the way we wanted...and I hope we live long enough and aquire enough money (or stay healthy enough to do most of it ourselves) to do just that. We've already done a lot.

I love vintage textiles and "the hunt." I should have a bumper sticker that reads: I brake for vintage tablecloths. I have close to a hundred (and I know some of you reading this have a lot more!). I love the colors--especially combinations of that pinky-red, blue, and jadite green--and the patterns of fruit, teapots, and cottagy flowers like morning glories. I love how cheerful they are, and how they remind me of times gone by.

I love show tunes. I love the upbeat ones, the poignant ones, the bittersweet ones, and the silly/clever ones. I love Rogers and Hammerstein, Rogers and Hart, Lerner and Lowe, Stephen Sondheim and Steven Schwartz. I've told my husband, children, and best friend that when I die, at the reception after the memorial, I want them to play show tunes. (I had to tell my kids and best friend, too, because my husband hates show tunes.) "I want Ethel Merman singing "Everything's Coming Up Roses" and Irene Ryan singing "Just No Time at All," and Liza singing "Life is a Cabaret," and everyone there singing along with "Oklahoma!", "On the Street Where You Live," "Side by Side," "The Lady is a Tramp," and "I Wanna Be a Producer."

I love the first snow. I love the day when you can smell the warmth in the air that says spring is truly coming. I love the beach on a hot day with a good book, my kids playing in the ocean, and no one around with a radio. I love October when the sky is morning-glory blue and the leaves are yellow and red and there's energy in the air. I love sitting on my front porch with a tall glass of iced tea and a stack of home decor magazines. I love cracking red eggs on Greek Easter, buying or making the perfect Christmas present, getting a surprise gift on my birthday, and really good, fudgy, moist chocolate cake anytime at all.

So, what do you love? If you make a list, leave a link in my "comments."

Eggcellent

My cousin Christine saw my blog entry the other day about making these fabric-decoupaged eggs and emailed me saying she was so stressed out and wished she could do something like that. So, I said, come on over! We made a date for lunch/chat/craft and away we went. We hadn't seen each other in a while what with work and kids and family and life, so it was nice to catch up. We sat in the tea room and snipped fabric, dipped brushes in Mod Podge, and wrapped the eggs in colorful patterns. The trick, I said, was to not give too much thought to what you're doing. We laughed and compared notes on kids (her younger two are boys the same ages as my girls--and each pair, the 15-year-olds and the 11-year-olds, seem to have been separated at birth). We spent about two hours and were terribly pleased at the results: not only are our patchwork eggs fabulous, but our stress level had ebbed, as well.

You Lucky Dog

The Easter Bunny came early to Senghe this year. Last week at Olivia's high school the Animal Friends group, PAWS, held a raffle with themed baskets of donated treats, toys, and goodies for pets. I bought five tickets and put one in the cat toy basket jar and four into the "Squeeky Toy Heaven" jar. Cuz Senghe LOVES his plush squeeky toys. Well, lo and behold, we won! Yesterday Olivia came home with the Squeeky Toy basket (sorry, Cupcake) and was he thrilled.

He chose the blue moon toy first, and he squeeked and played and chewed on it all evening. This afternoon, Meredith gave him the sun, and he liked that, too. But while I was taking these pictures, he noticed the hedgehog. That one not only looks like a real animal, it has a really good squeeker. I didn't want him to have all the toys at once--save some for a rainy day, you know--but when I tried to put the basket up and away from him, he whined for it, so, I figured, what the heck.

What puppy wants, puppy gets. OK. gotta go play fetch now.

I Confess

I met Donny Osmond. In his hotel room. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he was wearing a plush bathrobe and had a towel around his neck. The bathrobe was baby blue. We were both about 16. He kissed me.

There, I've said it.

OK, so there were a few other people around. Like most of his family, including Marie, looking ever-petulant. Plus, his "people," a couple of my cousins, and my great-uncle, a DJ and radio producer in Detroit who got us the tickets to the concert and the meet-and-greet afterwards in the hotel room.

The kiss was on the cheek. He was tall and incredibly gracious. I was a blithering idiot, even though "officially" I was not into the Osmonds. I got an autograph and heaven only knows where it is now--I haven't seen it for at least 30 years. But at the time, I was both embarrassed and thrilled to get it.

If I was about 16, then this was in the early '70s, at the height of the Osmonds' popularity. "Puppy Love" was topping the pop charts. All I remember from the concert was that the Osmonds put on an incredible show, it was incredibly loud, and when Donny sang "Puppy Love" and got to the part where he pleaded, "Somebody help me! Help me ple-ee-eeze," the place erupted with the screams of teenage girls quite willing to help him, whether he said please or not.

I think about this now because I just got back from teaching my Greek cooking class (part II) where we made moussaka (with an accent on the "ka", please). I tell my students that "moussaka" is Greek for "use up every pan and utensil in the kitchen," and by the time it goes into the oven, they believe me. So, I came home exhausted (we made tzaziki and tiropites, too), sprawled on the couch with a cold Diet Coke, and flipped on the tube to discover Donny singing "Puppy Love" on The Osmonds 50th anniversary concert on PBS. And, I confess, I watched the rest of it. And, no, he can't hit as many high notes as when he was 16, and he sings the song not like an anguished teenager, but like a mature man serenading his true love--the woman he fell in love with long ago, the one he's still with, the one who, to him, still looks like that pretty teenage girl he had all that passion for. And you know, that's probably MORE sexy than a plaintive teenager belting out a pop tune.

So, sue me. I know the Osmonds aren't cool. I know liking them isn't cool. But I was never cool. I was, however, young once. And Donny Osmond kissed me in his bathrobe.

Eggs, bunnies, etc.

It looks like spring outside: the sun is shining, we can see the grass, the irises have started to shoot through the earth. But oooh, that cold lion of a March wind! Fierce. And I'm not talking Project Runway here. Still, the calendar says it's coming, with Western Easter right on it's heels (and my birthday sandwiched in between like so much egg salad), so I took some time today to put out a few more things.

First are some of my mother's miniatures. I just love that Hendredon duck and all the little bunnies. The German girl in the back is something I bought my mother ohhh, nearly 30 years ago at this tiny, wonderful shop in Harvard Square that's now probably a McDonald's or something. I'm cheating with her a bit--she's representative of May, the month my mother was born.

Here's my egg tree. I used to force forsythia around this time and put the eggs on that, but our forsythia bush mysteriously stopped blooming for several years, so I bought this. Now that we've moved and have a new, bloomin' bush, I'd forgotten about that tradition, but I think I'll try to bring it back. The blue and green egg up front was a birthday gift many, many years ago from my dear friend Jeanne. It is a handpainted scene of bunnies bringing colored eggs out from a burrow under a tree, ostensibly to begin hiding them. I have no idea in my wildest imagination how such as tiny, detailed painting is accomplished, except that whoever did it had more patience than I could muster in a lifetime. The other eggs are from a trip about 15 years ago to visit my friend Ann in Illinois. Her husband watched our very small children while we escaped to a tea/gift shoppe where we had tea and found these eggs marked down. We each grabbed about a dozen. Some of mine got damaged in a flood a while back, but these survived to celebrate another year.

That's Nibble, a gerbil, and our latest critter. He joined the family Friday, to the cat's consternation. Nibble is a little camera shy, but he is pretty adorable--which is saying something since I am not a big fan of rodents. Meredith, however, is over the moon with happiness at her new pet; she calls herself his "mommy." Of course I fret that the cat will get it, or that it will die anyway, or somehow, some other tragedy will occur. But I guess you can't prevent your children from experiencing disappointment or heartache, so we're enjoying Nibble while he's here (I made my husband ensure that the cage is completely secure and cat-proof). Welcome, Nibble!