be bi bo bangle

starlight bright bangle

shell pink bangle

cobalt blue bangle

like gems

A whole bunch of beautiful bangle-y button bracelets. (in a basket) This post was brought to you by the letter B apparently.

I made the white one one several years ago. I always feel so special when I wear it. All those vintage white and mother of pearl buttons are like little jewels. And it has just the right weight to hang low on my wrist and jangle softly as I move. I love it so.
When a tin of buttons fell out of my cupboard, raining down like a kaleidoscope of hail, it occurred to me that buttons in the cupboard are hoarded buttons, whilst buttons stitched into bracelets are not just jewelry, but a collection on display; a handful of happiness.

I spent a lovely afternoon yesterday stitching buttons onto wide black elastic. I made a pink/burgundy/coral bracelet first. The colors combined have a tension that excites the eye. And pink was apparently a popular vintage color. I had a hard time choosing from many.
I made the blue one next. True blue. There is a VERY old cobalt blue glass button with faceted face stitched amidst the bakelite and vintage aqua's. Blue is one of those colors that is a neutral without even trying.
The tan/cream one came next. I hadn't thought to include those colors but there were so many amazing buttons in shades of wicker that I fell under their spell.
The silver/pewter one came last. Well, last for now. It has an especially wonderful feel on my wrist. So blingy. The dull burnished glow is so elegant. Who knew old coat buttons could feel like gems.
I think I'm going to try to create a necklace next. i don't like anything I've seen on Pinterest but if I slide them around on the table an idea may come.

A+

Two leather bracelets.

Two dollars

Two bracelets + a Twoonie=Thrift Shop Math

trio of joy

Powder blue, dreamy and creamy. Exactly the same color as Grindley Petalware and you know that has to be a good thing.

I'm pretty sure, well certain actually, that this isn't vintage enamel ware but it is a marvelous big jug that I'll use for flowers and pussy willows and winter branches. Perhaps the bowl will go camping and live on as a dish pan.

I found this truly vintage, enamel ware jug years ago. I love the lines.

Then, a few years ago, I gasped and pounced on this jug at a thrift store. Good grief, it's green. Lovely, lovely Petalware green.

This blue jug is clearly a close relative. They were destined to be happily reunited. I do what I can.

Isn't this a trio of joy?

logo for life

Have you ever noticed that loving someone alters how you see everything around you. You are drawn like a magnet to all that reminds you of them. That is heady stuff if they are close and constant, but if they are far away it feels a lot like grief.
I remember when my daughter was away at school for a year. Far away. I couldn't bear to watch the TV shows she had loved. I couldn't cook her favorite meals.
There just seemed to be so much that reminded me of her, or the lack of her.
She has children of her own now, and I find myself just as smitten by them.
What they love becomes dear to me for their sake.
My little granddaughter loves hearts. Almost every art project is adorned with hearts, drawn in her own distinctive backwards loopy heart-ish way.
I've never been fond of hearts. Perhaps the heart happy eighties with country hearts stamped on walls and whittled out of wood are to blame.
It is strange then that I have felt a growing affection for heart shaped things. It is like recognizing my little granddaughter's signature, her logo for life.
Her love of hearts truly says something about her nature. She loves. Generously, with all her heart.

I love wooden things (because my Grandma did) and when I saw this necklace, wooden AND heart shaped, I happily pounced on it. I am imagining it restrung with gauzy pink ribbon.( my granddaughters favorite color)

sold

The souvenirs people wedge into their suitcases and cram into their take on luggage have a way of gravitating to the bottom of toy boxes or end their days languishing on dusty shelves in thrift shops. Treasures have a hard time holding their own it seems.
While foraging at MCC I saw amidst the seashell plaques and toothpick holders, a treasure from Timbuktu or somewhere else equally distant.
This tiny wooden trio.
They were glued with gusto onto a slice of tree limb.
I loved the little house and the trees so Erzgebirge but not on the ugly bit of wood.
Too bad.
They seemed glued on pretty tight too.
Could they be pried off? 

"What do you think?" I asked my sister, handing it over for her appraisal.
There was a fumble and she promptly dropped it on the floor.
Off shot the house.
Sold.

as well

Now here is a souvenir of an event that really did happen. The Royal Visit to Canada of King George VI and Her Royal Highness, The Duchess of York. This couple were the parents of our current Queen. Queen Elizabeth. I never realized until today that the Queen Mom, as she was affectionately known, was actually an Elizabeth too.
I was at a baby shower once and we were asked to tell how we got our name. More than half the group had been named after someone.
We bring something of our unique self to our name, but I think our name brings something to us as well.
As Dr. Seuss would say, "You are you. Now isn't that pleasant?"

honorable substitution

 You know you are a collector when you have a souvenir from an event that never even happened.
Queen Elizabeth II had an Uncle Edward. He was christened Edward Albert Christian George Andrew Patrick David but everyone just called him Prince Edward.
He would have been King when his father died.
People expected him to be King when his father died.
And he was King ever so briefly.
So briefly that his coronation never took place.
If it had, this mug was ready.
It would have been a lovely souvenir of an important royal event.
Instead, Edward abdicated and moved to France. His politics and his romance were at odds.
His younger brother Albert became the King. He didn't have as many names as his big brother. Just Albert Frederick Arthur George. But then, no one had expected him to be King. He chose to be known as King George VI and was a very loved monarch.
When I was a girl, children still sang God Save the Queen every morning in school after raising the flag, but our song books were so old that they still had God Save the King printed out and we had to make the necessary substitution. The respectful and honorable substitution.
Just like King George VI had to do.

comfortably light

This is one of my favourite bracelets. It is not an original idea but it is an original none-the-less. A few years ago at an Arts Fair, I saw button bracelets for sale. I made one of those mental notes, the super size kind.
When I got home from the fair, I rushed to my sewing cupboard and plucked out a piece of wide black elastic. Then I rummaged about in my button stash for white and cream gems; Mother of pearl and vintage alike. I stitched them on with black thread to make a statement. The statement was, I will never fall off, I will never fall off.
It made for a comfortably heavy cuff bracelet that somehow lightens my mood whenever I slip it on.

almost there

Here is my new table runner having its picture taken surrounded by a joyful group of Petal Ware.
Years ago, I found these plates in a box at a garage sale. I seemed to notice them everywhere for a brief time after and then twenty years have roared by with nary a sighting. I love the colors of Petal Ware. Just as Fiesta Ware say 'party,' Petal Ware says, 'spring.' I love that. I love the pastel colors and the fluted edge. I have enough plates to set my table-for-eight in assorted colors, and salad plates all in blue, and a few small bowls and even a few cups and saucers.
I think it would be lovely to paint a home in Petal Ware colors. Actually, my hall is that color of green and my china cabinet is almost that blue and my kitchen is that yellow.
I'm almost there.

the line

Oh dear. I think I have crossed an invisible line.
No warning lights flashed and no gong sounded so I wandered into the danger zone and stepped over the line.
Actually, I'm pretty sure that the line is so far behind me now that I can actually act as a warning device myself. You know what they say, 'If you can't be a good example, be a horrible warning.'
Well here I am, horrible but happy.

It started with a simple first step.
It always does of course.
I was given a nativity set by my sister as a Christmas gift.
She painted it herself in ceramics class back when that was the craft of the year.
I've had it almost as long as I've been married.
When my girls hit their teens, I bought them a nativity set each year for several years.
I didn't realize then that this was a second step, skidding me perilously close to the line.
I was given a second nativity and eventually a third and my fate was sealed.
If you have one nativity, you are just observing Christmas.
If you have two, you are just getting into the spirit of the seaon.
But if you have three, it becomes official. You have a collection.
And of course, once you achieve that status, it is important to maintain it by collecting.
But there is a line.
It always seemed way out there somewhere in the blue until recently.
And now I have crossed it.
I am no longer just a casual collector of Nativity sets.
I am drawn to them and they to me.
I would be wise to avoid the Seasonal area of thrift shops or as my husband would urge, thrift shops in general.
Perhaps it is not too late.
I can just barely see the line still and if I double back, I might be able to cross to the other side again.
The sensible side.
The sane and safe side.
Or not.

Made in Japan, and vintage just like me.

 Very tiny plastic set made in Hong Kong long ago.

Hand carved and very small. Does small count?

all over

The Annual Fall Visit of my sisters always includes our annual fall forage at local thrift shops. This wooden bowl has my mothers name all over it.

A cedar bowl, spun into life on a lathe. And it has a lid!

It was the perfect place to put the leather crocus broach.

And not a bad place to display the vintage hankies.

it does

 Enamel Ware is a joyous thing.

 Especially when it is trimmed in blue and splashed with gypsy color.

 Especially when it is my favorite bowl shape.

 And very especially when it only costs ninety cents.

 The little bowl on the right is my newest acquisition.

  Isn't it a charmer?

 Looks even better turned upside down and paired with a larger bowl.

 Yowzaah!

 I balanced a basin to see if the magic extends....and it does.

Rush to your cupboards and give it a try.

My mother startled me by observing that chewing gum might be necessary to hold them together. Juicy Fruit anyone?

other items

"Is that a......... chamber pot?" Her voice rose and quavered ever so slightly.
I laughed and admitted that it was.
A chamber pot may seem like a strange thing to place in the middle of the coffee table but it does what things in the middle of coffee tables are supposed to do; jump start conversation.
When I bought this piece of enamel ware, the elderly woman waiting on me startled me by suggesting that perhaps it had once served soup.
Soup!!??
She added that when the Mennonites arrived in South America, they were given the barest of bare necessities. a handful of odds and ends to set up home.
Each family got different items.
Some had no serving bowls at all and were forced to press other items into service.
It would have been hard to know whether to laugh or cry.
I hope laughter won.

more is more

These babies were separated at birth but have been wonderfully reunited.

When my daughter was a tiny mite, two or three, she became very attached to a doll in her Grandma's Sunday School class. It was one of those long distance relationships. My parents lived far away and we were only able to visit a few times a year. Love endures though doesn't it?
Because the doll had been motherless for several years, my mother placed her out for adoption and my little daughter happily took her new baby home.
Some time later, my visiting mother made a startling garage sale find. A tiny orphan lay in a cardboard box, almost hidden by stuffed animals and broken toys.
Of course she rescued it and urged me to think inclusively. More is more has always been her motto.
Years passed.
The third baby was hard to resist when I happened upon it, having such a dear familiar face.
And there was that poem I loved too.
"Three babes in a basket and scarcely room for two......"
Home it came.
And then, last year as I browsed a thrift shop, there it was.
Baby number four.
I didn't even hesitate.

that alone

Do the Eighties live on in some corner of your house?
Do you have any evidence laying around that prove you were there?
I moved a few years ago and there is almost no power greater than a move to cause you to evaluate your possessions decade by decade and make rash and ruthless judgement calls.
There are always a few things that slip in under the wire though.
It can be hard to explain to others why you have kept them.
I used to paint on wood.
Almost everybody did.
The country craze was so appealing.
Especially to those of us who already had a love affair with wooden things.
This trio of wooden bears made the cut.
I like to think of them as The Three Bears before Goldilocks.
Don't they look relaxed and happy?
I think that alone should elevate them to the timeless category.