“Old” Is Often Best!

Remember those kindergarten worksheets where a group of objects were pictured, and you had to circle the one which didn’t belong with the rest?  Well, if you play that game with the above photo, I certainly hope you circle the broken piece of junk in the upper left corner!  That doozey not only “doesn’t belong” because it’s broken, but also because it is BRAND NEW—whereas the other items are vintage or just downright OLD.  And some of us know that OLD is often best!

The piece of junk is (allegedly) a jar opener, recently purchased at (you guessed it!) WalMart for (would you believe?) $3.98 plus our Wisconsin sales tax.  We bought one a few weeks ago.  That very night I used it and it broke in my hands—without even beginning to open the jar. 

Being nice folks, we gave the silly contraption a proverbial benefit of the doubt, returned it to WalMart (they are good about returns there), and bought another identical alleged jar opener.  That very same night Joe used it, and it broke in his hands without even beginning to open the jar.  So we wrapped #2 non-jar opener in a bag with its sales slip and for all I know the goofy thing is still sitting in our van.  Returning purchases, even to “good” WalMart, gets old.  We may save ourselves a hassle and simply forfeit the $3.98 plus Wisconsin sales tax.

Meanwhile, back to “OLD is often best”!  The other items pictured above have been with me (or someone else) for a long time, and I am still using them. To the right of the silly piece of junk is a genuine jar opener which was in my family ever since I can remember.  But some jar lids are made differently today, and my family treasure no longer works on every new jar of jam or whatever.  Yet I will never part with it.

The other vintage items have been picked up for a song.  (I do a lot of singing during garage sale season!) I dearly love them, and they warm my heart for 2 reasons:  1) they haven’t broken with decades of use and 2) they are drop dead gorgeous.  I am one of those odd individuals who cannot live without ambience and charm.  OLD normally abounds in ambience and charm, and NEW often does not—with the exception of babies, kittens, and puppies.  They have charm, plus!

Most of our kitchen and dining room items are OLD:  my Grandmother’s (1880) dishes plus our wedding china and a plethora of auction and antique mall gems, Victorian era glassware, old sterling and silverplate, practical utensils like those pictured above, charming tins (mostly made in Britain), wonderful old mixing bowls, etc. 

Contemporary brides register for exotic cookware.  I always smile inside when the gifts are opened at showers.  I truly wonder if those “out-of-the-home” career women are really going to do all that much cooking!  As the latest in French cookery is unwrapped at bridal showers, I fondly think of my circa 1953 pots and pans—the classic Revere Ware which never wears out. 

Over the years I’ve tried an occasional non-stick this, and trendy-pretty that, always to return to my beloved first choice of stainless steel with copper bottoms.  Along with the Revere Ware, I treasure my old cast iron frying pans and Dutch oven.  There is nothing in the world like cast iron for creating rich brown gravy on a brown pot roast baked for hours in a slow oven.  Crock pots can’t do that, and I challenge the exotic French stuff to even try!

Conversely, we do have a few new kitchen items of which I am inordinately fond:  my lime green digital scale (the above-pictured scale doesn’t measure to the ounce—a feature I need for making perfect soap), my flaming red Kitchen Aid hand mixer with 5 speeds, and a funky orange collander (would you believe, plastic?).  Also our coffee pot is new, but actually the concept is vintage; it’s a percolator!  Not many are made today, but there are a few out there—accessible on AMAZON. 

Percolators make real (strong!!!) coffee with a mellow flavor.  Since my mother used to say, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”, I won’t even tell you what I think of that other kind of coffee maker—currently ubiquitous. 

Where is all of this Monday morning diatribe going?  Simply here:  it’s only late January, and already I’m chafing, chomping, straining for those garage sales to start.    In lieu of garage sales, Joe and I may take a spin over to St. Vinnie’s this week.  Just like our home, St. Vinnie’s is a charming place where OLD is often best!

Margaret L. Been, ©2012

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My Classic Look: vintage, time-worn, and rich in stories of life!

I’ve always celebrated vintage, old, torn, tattered, rusted, and falling apart in home furnishings.  To me, the timeworn look represents high end elegance due to that priceless mystique of memories and stories.  In the case of inherited treasures, we sentimentalists frequently think of the people who formerly enjoyed the object in hand.  And when we decorate with stuff culled from a rummage sale, antique shop, or curbside, we fondly remember the occasion of the outing:  whom we were with that day, what the weather was like, and where we had lunch. 

The timeworn look involves putting stuff in a manner that no one else ever will be able to achieve.  Those of use who love to rummage and decorate our homes will always have different and unique material with which to work.  Many found and inherited treasures go into our definition of home elegance. 

I cannot resist a derelict screen.  Two are pictured above on our patio.  I find these for a few cents at garage sales, or waiting for the garbage truck by the side of the road.  They provide slow-lane ambience in an era of sterile aluminum or plastic window treatment with oppressively shiny surfaces. 

Another passion is derelict chairs, like the above patio rocker, decked out in a garage sale basket loaded with pine cones gleaned from beneath a nearby, generous tree.  Of chipped and scruffy chairs we have many—and they are frequently a curbside blessing, as well. 

I also love rust.  At the end of our patio lounge (where I read and watch clouds all summer) sits a cast iron stove—another rummage sale treasure.  The stove stays out in all seasons, getting rustier and more beautiful with each passing year.  A deer skull with antlers, found in our northern acres, tops the stove.  Visiting friends unearthed the skull while we were hiking on our land.  I thought they should take it home with them, but alas (happiness, for us!) a polished white deer skull and antlers simply ”wouldn’t go” with their suburban home decor.

Also, in the above photo, you will see yet another screen, plus some of my vintage coffee pots and favorite rocks.

Indoors our favorite table decor includes fresh flowers, rocks, pinecones, nuts, and shells.  A mirror tray, originally intended for perfume bottles on a dressing table, accents this shell collection along with glassware reminiscent of the sea.  Glass bottles—old and new, clear or clouded by age and stress—are way up on our list of decorative favorites.

If you study the above picture closely, you will see a tear in the upholstery on one of our sofa cushions.  This tear is very precious to us.  Every day, our Dylan gets a doggie cookie after his morning walk.  If we forget to give him the cookie, you can be sure we are quickly and efficiently reminded of our error.  Immediately on receiving his cookie, Dylan goes from place to place—burying his treasure, then digging it up and moving it to another spot. 

The cookie may go to our bed, then to my knitting basket, then to beneath the drapes on the floor, or to our living room sofa—where Dylan sticks it behind a pillow or underneath a cushion, before removing the cookie to still another hiding place.  The scratchie mark denotes Dylan’s great effort, exerted in his primal instinct to bury and preserve his food.  Many days later, the cookie might be unburied and eaten.  Obviously we have doggie cookies hidden all over the place here, continually. 

Although cleanliness and the aesthetics of order are tremendously important to us, Joe and I do not care a hoot about “mint condition” furniture.  Since we love the marks of happy and robust living, we find the look of new furniture perfection to be sterile and sadly bereft of soul.*  The “Dylan scratch” is one of my very favorite decorative features.  If we ever feel a need to replace the sofa for comfort’s sake, that treasured cushion will still have a place of honor somewhere in our home—as Baby Dylan will always have prime time in our hearts!

A well-appointed home is one where family members relax, rejoice, and do those things they love best.  Fiber art is one of those things I love best.  Some condo owners would have used this counter and the space beneath it for a food bar with stools.  I’m fairly sure the designer had that in mind, but what did he (or she) know about living to the hilt?  Not much, in my book!

Our “snack bar” is home to knitting needles, photos, teapots, curing homemade soap, and plants.  The area beneath is part of my fiber arts studio, with my largest spinning wheel tucked in amongst baskets of fluffy unspun wool plus my handspun yarn—overhung by funky garments and more handspun yarn, just a few of the many products from over three decades of a fiber arts’ cottage industry.  Beyond the “snack bar” fiber studio is our kitchen.  But that’s another photo trip, for another day! 

In closing, you will see my bedside stand pictured below.  Every evening, this aging stool holds a soy milk chai on ice which Joe mixes for me at bedtime.  (We get bulk mailings of chai powder—in spice, vanilla, and chocolate flavors—ordered online for just a smidge over 1/2 the price of the BIG TRAIN® brand in stores, with FREE DELIVERY!  Try to beat that!)

Margaret L. Been, ©2012

*I frequently find kindred spirited homes in English decorating magazines.  How refreshing to linger over pages of centuries-old dwellings, tastefully furnished with handsome, tattered upholstered sofas and chairs—replete with sleeping dogs!  The Brits featured in these magazine have their priorities straight!  Dogs should always take precedence over the condition of one’s living room sofa, or even one’s bed!

If you look carefully, you’ll see the cookie in Dylan’s mouth!  In this picture, taken two years ago, he hadn’t yet decided where to bury his treasure.  MLB

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Anyone for tea?

As decades fly by, we realize how much customs and traditions change over the years.  Just perusing a Bridal Gift Registry at most any store causes me to reflect!  Today many brides (not all—I’m doing generalities today) select sumptuous and elaborate cookware, outdoor grills, and over the top kitchen gadgets.  Years ago most brides I that I knew (including myself) registered for basic cookware.  (I’m still delighted with my REVERE WARE®.)  I can’t recall getting any small appliances other than a toaster, a SUNBEAM MIXMASTER®, a WEST BEND® shiny aluminum percolator, and perhaps a pressure cooker (the 1950s’ variety that sometimes blew up and spewed roast beef and gravy all over the kitchen ceiling and walls).  It was assumed that most of us would find some little place to rent, replete with a stove—and that would be all we’d need.  On the other hand, we (generally speaking) did register for china—casual or fine, sterling silver tableware—or more economically priced silver plate, and crystal goblets.  These were the “Big 3″ for entertaining.  The dishes and glassware, as well as the silverplate, were available at many cost levels.  We believed (and I still do) that setting a gracious table was a value of the first magnitude. 

And where have all the tea parties gone?  Here is a great gap in our everyday social life.  Yes, “tea parties” are popular at tea shops (“shoppes”) and magazine article type, elegant hotels.  Although the food was fancier, the tea party we attended at the Empress in Victoria, British Columbia, was no lovelier than—in fact, not as gracious as—the typical home tea party on which I was raised, and which I strive to perpetuate in our dying culture! 

A few years ago I got very tired of hearing people say they couldn’t have tea parties because they didn’t have any pretty dishes, etc.  Now please understand, these were not indigent people making up excuses.  They were people who take vacations all over the world and drive the latest models.  But they didn’t have dishes, and seemed to think they’d need to spend the proverbial arm and leg to afford sufficient paraphernalia for the quintessential tea party.

So I wrote an article telling how tea party equipment could be purchased for very little.  In the article, I cited an excursion to the GOODWILL INDUSTRIES store and quoted some prices.  Today I got” spring tea fling fever”, and decided to repeat a semblance of the article and actually SHOW rather than just tell what can be procured for a minimal output.  

So out I went, to St. Vincent’s thrift store.  The above photo displays the result of the trip.  St. Vincent’s supplied all of what you see on the above table—except for the olive oil bottle holding a fake flower, the spoons and forks, the tea pot, and the tea bread on the St. Vinnie’s plate.  The dishes (creamer and sugar bowl included), cloth napkins, and crocheted runner amounted to the staggering sum of $10.95.  ($11.51 with our famous Wisconsin sales tax.)  I love mis-matched dishes, but if one were uptight about things not matching, larger sets are also available.  I could have matched my place settings, but chose instead to be fun and funky.

The teapot is from my stash, but I bought it at a resale shop years ago for far less than it is worth.  The spoons and forks were culled from odd lots at auctions—probably from “A Mystery Bag of Unknowns for $2.00.  I cannot resist a hapless and tarnished lone spoon or fork.  The sweet serving piece on the bread plate belonged to my mother.  And the olive oil bottle came from, you guessed it—the supermarket.  There was olive oil in the bottle when I bought it.  (I often save lovely glass bottles, which are fast becoming anachronisms.  Olive oil bottles are among the most gorgeous.)

Now wasn’t that easy and painless?!  Just for fun, after the photo shoot I packed up the dishes in the napkins and runner, and placed the whole bit in a special picnic basket hand woven by our son, Karl.  I attached a party apron under the lid, and I’m ready to advertise:  “Have tea party, will travel.”  You can use a PYREX® measuring pitcher as a teapot by just heating the water in your microwave.  Not quite as picturesque as the real thing, but it will work.  And you will have to supply edibles, as I didn’t pack the tea bread in the basket.

In closing, here is what I might wear to your tea party: ↓

I confess to paying rather a few bucks for the new vintage style hat.  But the blouse and skirt cost less than my tea party accoutrements at guess where:  St. Vinnie’s!  If the weather turns cold (which it undoubtedly will before actual spring sets in) I’ll just add my pink cardigan sweater and one of the potato chip scarves—and my scuffed suede fashion boots in place of sandals for my feet.  See you soon! 

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Sparkling snow and seasonal ceremonies . . .

At last, winter has dumped its trademark on our Northern land.  The world around our country condo and quiet park is heaped in the quiet beauty of winter.  Our little patio is heaped.  I love the charming top hats on the bird feeder and saxophone-playing frog—leaning against the feeder as if he were a bit inebriated.  Against the patio door you will see a five dollar poinsettia plant (fake of course) wearing a dusting of snow.  Soon the Christmas plant will be replaced by other fake blooms, until next December.

Now our local ski trials are being groomed for the cross country crowd.  ”Downhillers” who long ago exhausted the limited thrills of Midwest runs will throng into airports and board for the high country.  I no longer ski, and I never was intrepid in the high country, although the Colorado Rockies are like a second home and I love to experience their beauty in any season.  While the rest of my family skiied in Colorado, my favorite sport was just sitting outside the lodge in that glorious Western sun and clear, dry air—while savoring a natural Rocky Mountain High.  But there is another winter sport that, in my mind, beats all:  the ceremonial indoor change to spring. 

Here is how it goes around the year.  Late every August I stash my Russel Wright IROQUOIS® dishes, Vaseline Glass pieces, and lemon yellow Depression Glass in a cupboard so that we can adorn our dining table and buffet with Carnival Glass pitchers and bowls, and a harvest-motif set of English china decorated with baskets of luscious autumn produce.  In mid-November, the harvest dishes yield to English Transferware in red and white—paired with ruby red Depression Glass.  Sometimes the red dominance remains in view until after Valentine’s Day, but not this year.  As of today, our village of Nashotah boasts 18 minutes more daylight than we had at the winter solstice.  I’m feeling those minutes.  Extra daylight, winter sun on fresh powder, and the joie de vivre have catapulted me into the new year in celebration of the sparkling season on hand and anticipation of glorious days ahead.

So last evening at dusk we made a seasonal change from red transferware and ruby red Depression Glass—to toothpick holders* and other accent pieces of Vaseline Glass, our lemon yellow Depression Glass sugar and creamer, and (once again) the Russel Wright IROQUOIS® Casual China in soft hues of yellow, green, blue, and pink.  Included in the dining table setting (pictured below), is the Prince Albert MOONLIGHT ROSES® teapot which Joe and I brought home from Cornwall in 1993.  A MOONLIGHT ROSES® cup and saucer accompany the teapot. 

The cliché “What goes around comes around” certainly fits!  Joe and I woke up this morning to sparkling snow outside, and a breath of springtime within—thanks to my passion for, and perennial delight in, seasonal ceremonies.

Margaret L. Been, ©2012

Note:  My parents gave me their gorgeous collection of toothpick holders, many of which are very old.  For years at other homes, we kept the entire collection on glass shelves in large windows.  Now I simply rotate these treasures around the seasons, color-coordinating the glassware with the time of year.

I often reflect on the toothpick holders.  Within my memory are many years before TV, cell phones, and Daytimer agenda books—when folks had time to sit around the dining room table, picking their teeth to remove those shreds of leg of lamb or pork tenderloin. 

Along with fostering a leisurely quality of life, toothpick holders and toothpicks were probably a substitute for flossing.  Certainly a Vaseline Glass toothpick holder and toothpick afford a lot more ambience than could ever be found in that yucky floss which dentists and hygienists badger (no, order!) their patients to use!

As I enjoy the toothpick holders and all the other lovely old glass collections in our home, it is also fun to reflect on how American glass manufacturers produced such exquisite wares during the heyday of art glass—due to special sands and soils in places like Ohio and West Virginia, and the amazing skills of the glass-artisans who immigrated from Eastern Europe.  We have a special cultural history, here in the USA!  MB

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Wisconsin Late Autumn

Our patio is no longer our “living room”, unless we bundle snugly and clutch a mug of hot coffee.  The dried leaves are poignant reminders of the sunny green months, now stashed away in memory, like potatoes and carrots in a root cellar—waiting to be unearthed for winter nourishment.

This glimpse of garden glory was captured the day before a killer frost ended the reign of the mums.  Now they have drooped, and they are looking earthward—anticipating their long sleep.

The garage is ready for winter.  Vestiges of warmer days are stored here with the accoutrements of fishing and gardening, outdoor decorations, and our wonderful, weathered vintage croquet set.  The Christmas wreath and funny little fake tree—both gleaned at rummage sales for a few cents—will be pressed into service soon. 

On some of the most bitter winter days, Joe and I sit in the sun in the shelter of our south-facing garage and luxuriate in the sight of summer stashed and waiting for a new season of rejoicing outdoors.

I have never been to Africa, but since I’ll soon have a Nigerian son-in-law the great continent of Africa is close to my heart.  A glimpse of sunrise over our Southern Wisconsin park reminds me of pictures I’ve seen of the Serengeti.  Of course a giraffe or two would have to replace that line of trees in the background of the photo.  And in Wisconsin we do not have any lions lurking behind a bush.  I can’t say I regret that!  The domestic cats I know delight my heart, and satisfy my need for feline wildness in my life!

Here are some reasons our sixteen great-grandchildren should enjoy winter.  I recently completed the last one—the wee baby hat on the bottom right.  This little pink chapeau has been presented to the parents-to-be, and quite possibly Baby Mia will wear it home from the hospital in early December.  The remaining hats will be Christmas gifts.

Hot tea has replaced my beloved iced beverage for a few months.  My consolation lies in the hot tea paraphernalia, which in this instance includes most of my ethnic roots:  a Swiss tea kettle, English teapot/cup/and saucer, and Scottish Breakfast Tea ready to sip.  (The cream in the tea is Wisconsin raised.) 

The gorgeous green in the new kettle could reflect my Irish heritage, but alas—that heritage was Orange not Green, although my political sympathies have always been with the Green!  And I don’t see any Alsatian artifacts in the picture.  But I’m sure I could find a bit of German chocolate to go with the tea.

Now we drink our tea beside the (electric) fireplace, rather than outdoors.  Overseen by my collage art, the fireplace mantel collection of dysfunctional clocks and watches reminds me that time is relative.  Each piece tells but one time, correct only twice in twenty-four hours. 

There’s a lot of mellow living to be had when we realize that the aesthetic beauty of a clock far exceeds its worth in practical terms.  Each season in our Wisconsin homeland beckons us to suspend time, savor the moment, and contemplate that which is eternal!

“For a thousand years in Thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night.”  Psalm 90:4

Margaret L. Been, ©2011

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Vintage Oaks . . . and reflections on vintage living

The maples and sumacs have shed their glory.  That riotous circus of color is over for another year, and the muted shades of the oak leaves remain.  The maples and sumacs catapulted me into action.  Now those subdued autumn oaks quiet my soul, as a prelude to the season of rest.

Oak leaves are the last to turn, and the last to fall.  Some will cling tenaciously to their branches until the new leaves bud out in the spring.  I rejoice in the mellow oaks as they reflect the hues of many things I love:  rusty iron, tarnished sterling, faded bronze, weathered copper, ancient pewter, muted gold, and my late autumn paint palette—purple magenta, alizarin crimson, burnt sienna, raw umber, Naples yellow, quinacridone gold. 

Yesterday Joe and I set out on country roads for an end-of-the-season visit to an antiques shop in a cozy barn, COUNTRY ECHOES.  The atmosphere of this shop induces euphoria.  Retro music plays softly in the background, and every display sparkles in the sunlight which filters through the barn windows.  There’s a tucked away section for country primitives, an area reminding me of my mother’s kitchen, and a Victorian parlor—replete with English and Bavarian china, and American pressed and patterned glass in jewel tones.  

The shop features cases of vintage brooches, necklaces, earrings (mostly the clip-on variety), rings, and bracelets.  Attempts at reproducing these beauties are rampant, and supposed “look alikes” may be found everywhere—from Walmart, to hospital gift shops and the finest goldsmith establishments.  But none of the new costume jewelry can begin to match the quaint, subdued beauty of the old stuff! 

Barring special pieces containing precious gems, vintage jewelry is still very reasonably priced.  This will continue until a new generation discovers that old can be lovelier than new in many instances.  Meanwhile, since the prices are moderate, I’m buying the vintage treasures—for myself as well as for kindred souls who also enjoy “old”.  If I have a “signature look”, it’s that of vintage jewelry—the kind my mother and grandmothers wore.

Vintage housewares, vintage table settings, vintage costume jewelry—reminiscent of late autumn, when our souls are stilled by the shades of vintage oaks! 

Margaret L. Been, ©2011

I am not alone in my passion for most things old!  Again, I recommend visiting my favorite kindred-spirited author and photographer via her inspiring books—especially FOR THE LOVE OF OLD by Mary Randolph Carter.

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Farewell to Summer . . .

Now we’ve had a light frost in our county so these warm, euphoric October days constitute the beginning of Indian summer—and what is more lovely?  Springtime and summer are as lovely, but what is so poignantly beautiful as Indian summer?  Mums in an array of analogous shades offer color dominance—while lemon thyme, lavender, mint, sage, garlic chives, sweet basil, and last year’s tomato plants fool us into thinking we still live in a green world.

Indian summer is a time to pause and luxuriate in the sun, but it’s also a time to say our last farewell to summer.  Today I gathered my “garden art”, to be stored in the garage until spring.  I have four garden areas.  This project took over an hour as so many funky treasures either tower over or hover beneath our perennials and bushes.  The items had to be hosed off and transported to the sanctuary of our garage.

Farewell to summer!  Farewell to those derelict chairs (1 cardinal red, 1 hippie era orange, 1 saffron) which sat in various gardens for months—holding bounty such as a blue granite pail, a broken English porcelain teapot, and a tarnished silverplated pitcher.  Farewell to the vintage croquet set.  Farewell to the clay warty toad with a baby toadie on its back—so ugly, it’s cute!  Farewell to other stone and ceramic critters:  the chipmunk, froggie, hedgehog, and rabbit. 

Farewell to the fairy house and the diminutive horses that fairies might ride when no one is looking.  Farewell to those wavy, stick-in the-ground thingies on (now delightfully rusted) metal poles:  ducks, road-runners, gnomes, sparkly plastic balls, weird insects, and whiligigs.  Farewell to the cobalt blue bottles which I insert on bare branches and poles into gardens every spring.  Farewell to the brown bottle, and the green bottle as well. 

Farewell to the fake flowers which filled spaces where real flowers forgot to bloom.  Farewell to the copper coffee pot, the stainless steel perc, and the enameled dippers and pitchers.  Some of these will take refuge in our home over the months ahead. 

Even as I bask in the euphoric Indian summer sun, winter whispers icy insinuations to the periphery of my mind.  Winter will come.  Winter always comes to Wisconsin.  Winter with its pristine beauty and recreational delights.  Winter, with its time of testing.  Winter, the proving ground for true grit. 

Farewell to summer and the funky garden accoutrements.  Spring will return, and another summer will follow.  God willing, I’ll be here in 2012—to put summer back together, garden art and all! 

Meanwhle as I surveyed my gardens, now devoid of manmade “art” yet still abounding in live growth, I saw an exquisite piece of real art:  a delicately patterned monarch resting on a flowering hydrangea. 

The garden stuff is fun, and I’ll probably always enjoy “planting” it.  But God’s art is best of all, and it’s with us in one form or another—no matter what season we are experiencing! 

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Friendship

I frequently meet for lunch with friends from high school; now we are talking about friendships of 60 plus years!  Old friends are comforting and comfortable.  One never needs explain oneself to old friends.  They know who you are.  They know who your parents were.  They recall your youthful endeavors and dreams.  If you’ve kept in touch with old friends as I have, they’ve tracked with you over the years.  They still know who you are today!

New friends are delightful as well.  Often they come from different locales and family backgrounds. New friends share our interests while widening our perspective and understanding of other places and traditions.

My wise mother once said, “Throughout the years you will have a variety of friends.  Each one will be unique in a special way.”

How true!  I have a friend who shares my love for gardens, rummaging, and English cottage decor—and another friend with whom I could literally spend a long day into the evening, discussing books and films:  not only the plots or subjects of books and films but the characterization, character development, character changes, psychological overtones and undercurrents, humor and pathos, irony and subtle innuendoes, historical significance, literary allusions, and metaphorical content.

I have friends who share my love for God’s Word, friends who are fellow fans of dogs and cats, friends who identify with my passion for nature and the out-of-doors, kindred poet-friends who savor gathering for a morning of reading aloud, friends who entertain me with tales of their travels, knitting friends, spinning friends, music-loving friends, friends who relish meeting for a day of making art, friends who share my passion for Israel and Ireland, friends with whom I can laugh, and friends with whom I can cry. 

A friend is one who knows your heart, and encourages you in those creative pursuits which mean the most to you.  A friend is never sarcastic.  A friend desires what is best for you, and responds accordingly in actions and speech.   

Daily I pray that I can always be a friend! 

©2011, Margaret L. Been

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Serendipity!

The gift of finding unexpected treasure in unexpected places—that’s serendipity.  Since I customarily do find some treasure on most every rummaging foray, I tend to think of garage sales not as serendipity but rather simply pleasant business as usual.  But yesterday’s excursion yielded far more than the considerable haul pictured above.  I’ll remember that day as truly serendipitous!

The garage sale sign indicated an uphill driveway through woods.  I parked and began the hike, wondering if whatever was nestled beyond the trees was worth the climb!  Many garage sales feature clothing and games.  I forage mainly for antiques, furniture, books, vintage jewelry, collectible kitchen junk, and art.  I hoped my huffing and puffing up the hill like “The Little Engine That Could” would result in something interesting.

Yes, the ascent was definitely worthwhile!  My eyes could scarcely take in the wonder of a driveway full of gorgeous wares!  Kathleen, the woman who hosted the sale, is a fiber artist, mosaic tile artist, and painter.  She spins, weaves, sews, and creates art papers out of rustic materials.  Everywhere I looked, I saw evidence of Kathleen’s creativity which stretched beyond her handcrafted art to encompass an enchanting yard full of cottage gardens celebrating a relaxed quality of life. 

I asked if I could take pictures around Kathleen’s yard, and she graciously granted permission.  Here are some samples:

Then, as if I were not already reeling from the serendipity of just walking around outdoors, Kathleen invited into her home to view her handmade paper art on her walls and take more photos:

So what did I come home with, after this heady experience?  From Kathleen I purchased an old window screen (which I’m currently using as a display for some of my art—propped against an always-open bedroom door), a charming petite footstool with a needlepoint top and legs painted lavender, and a beautiful shelf exhibiting Kathleen’s mosaic work.  All of these are pictured above, along with treasures from two other garage sales.  But here is a closeup of the tiled shelf, waiting to be hung:

Serendipity!  Treasure may be found most any time, any day.  All we need are eager ears, open eyes, and a willingness to climb uphill through the woods to discover the unexpected!  

Margaret L. Been, ©2011

Note:  The photos have been posted on this site with Kathleen’s permission.  Thank you, Kathleen!

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Home: there’s no place like it!

My friend Karen and I visit a lot on the phone.  Such a nice old-fashioned means of communication!  In fact, the only communication venues that can compare with a congenial phone chat are:  a face to face visit and a real letter via USPS.  Karen and I enjoy these as well. 

Karen and I catch up on our family events, and we chat about gracious, homey things such as our gardens* and our home decor.  Both of us relish an occasional afternoon spent in antique malls on rainy days, and on the local rummage sale circuits when the weather is fair.  We collect all and everything that catches the eye, warms the heart, and can be obtained at a bargain price—and we love to share the news of our latest finds.

Yesterday Karen and I were talking about how we love to be at home—baking, scrubbing, dusting, rearranging, and creating vignettes of beauty around the home.  We never tire of our homes, and neither of us looks at homemaking as a chore, but rather a supreme privilege. 

Being a keeper at home—along with nurturing a family—is the most creative occupation on earth.  Our loved ones flourish in an environment that is relaxing, delightful, fun, and (in my case) funky.  People love to visit a home where the lady of the house is fulfilled and happy.  Words need not be spoken, as the atmosphere says it all!  Home is an artist’s canvas.  When the artist is contented the home exudes beauty, originality, and joy! 

Nearly forty years ago our son Eric—14 years old at that time—made a classic statement which makes me smile to this day.  Eric said (with the characteristic fondness that mellow sons have for their mothers), “Mom, you are such a homey simpleton!”

I realized that the statement, from Eric’s perspective, was a tremendous compliment.  He knew that I was in euphoria at home:  arranging vignettes of beauty, reading old books, watering houseplants, raising cats and dogs, baking bread, and stirring up huge pots of chili for Eric and our other children to share with their friends.

After I finished laughing about Eric’s loving apprisal all those years ago, I explained to him that a “simpleton” was the classic town idiot of folklore and fairy tales.  I still chuckle today when I think of it!  But maybe it’s no joke!  The “world” does view those of us who love to be at home as “simpletons”.

Homey simpleton indeed!  The best job description on earth!  How could anyone want to be anything else? 

Margaret L. Been, ©2011

*Karen is a master gardener whose gardens, in the city of Waukesha, are unlike any I’ve ever seen anywhere.  Walking through her paths is like a trip to England. 

If all goes as planned, photos of Karen’s gardens will be featured on Northern Reflections in a few weeks.  Things are just beginning to get revved up around here, gardenwise.

And finally, below you will see some of the main reasons why HOME is so wonderful!  This photo was taken at a family member’s home—but these treasures visit us a lot.  We are all at HOME at each other’s homes! 

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