February 2012

I work at home, so I just don’t have enough ways to waste time during the day.

So I taught Penelope, our pastel tortie, how to play “Fetch the Mousie”. She was so good at it — she must have been a golden retriever in a previous life — that I had to keep playing with her for much, much too long.

And then I had to spend way too much time trying to get a cute picture of her fetching the mousie.

Like this:

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And, finally:

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This is why working at home is exhausting. I need a nap.

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Things around here were getting so boring. So I had to go thrift shopping.

I do loves me a good Salvation Army Thrift Store.

Especially when there are so many thought-provoking objects on display.

Are these chairs supposed to be faux-pony or faux-Holstein?

Better yet, they swivel, too. Oh, dear faux-pony/Holstein chairs, why were you forsaken unto the Salvation Army thrift Shop? Did the lady of the house change the decor from hipster-faux-hipster to wretchedly-sincere? And wouldn’t you have made the transition just fine if given half a chance? Oh, dear faux-pony/Holstein chairs, the world was not meant for ones as beautiful as youse.

And if ever there was a couch whose upholstry referenced Paul Klee, it’s this one:

Get it, Get it, Get it, the hamsters in my brain are shouting at me. Not to sit on. It doesn’t look as if providing a comfy seat is one of the priorities of this piece of furniture. Just for looking at, and admiring my taste for acquiring it.

This was hard for me to pass up this…

…given my love of vintage Paint by Number art. But the mountains did not hint enough of Scotland, and there wasn’t a horse behind the fence, and the season wasn’t Fall. So I talked myself out of buying it.

It was also hard to not grab these immediately:

The season is right (Fall)…

…and the landmarks are iconic (Sacre Coeur)…

…and the weird geography is wondrously dreamlike (The Arc de Triomphe does not have a sidewalk full of cafes running anywhere near it).

But the set was over priced at $23.00 and I can not, can not, can not start collecting ironic French stuff becauseI’m trying to live a de-cluttered life . So I paid no attention to the hamsters in my brain, paid no attention to the hamsters in my brain, etc.

Except when the hamsters went go crazy for this:

Somebody loved this little dog statue very, very much. It’s  eight inches tall, and made of ceramic from a company called Tilso (the label on the base also says “Handpainted – Japan”).

I know that this little object was beloved because for one, it was spotlessly clean. Usuallywhen a piece as old as this turns up at a thrift shop it’s coated in a film of grease and grime from having been overlooked in an old person’s house for decades. But no, this little dog had been cleaned regularly, so someone loved it very much.

Also, there was nary a chip of the most vulnerable bits — the flower petal and the ear tips were in tact, another indication that someone cared deeply about this object and protected it. Probably gave it the place of honor somewhere in the living room, or boudoir.

I don’t find this dog particularly cute but I could not bear to see it languish in the Salvation Army Thrift Shop, where it might get brushed off its perch by a passer-by or shoved against the old lamp next to it, shipped or cracked or smashed, an ignoble end after all those years it spent as an object of desire.

So for $6.00 I rescued this little dog, and until I can find an obsessive collector of Tilso knick-knackery, it will have a good home with Top Cat and me.

I also brought home another piece de resistance.

No, not the groovy vintage floor-length Summer frock:

I found a hand-sewn fully reversible jacket, made of a pomegranate-toned batik material on one side:

And a very 1980s patchwork purple corduroy on the other:

 

You can’t tell from these photos, but this jacket is beautifully made. Someone went to a lot of trouble to sew this.

Oh, dear wearable art project of unknown provenance, why were you forsaken unto the Salvation Army thrift Shop? Did someone not wear you to the big Duran Duran concert after all?  Did you get pushed to the back of the closet when grunge became all the rage? Or was your exuberant sense of style too embarrassing when your owner went goth?

If only corduroy could talk.

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