My Window Into the World...

It's a window...a simple window, without much of a view.

It's the almost final piece of the bathroom renovation that was begun in mid April and having this installed yesterday was so very exciting.  Yes, I live a small, happy little life if the installation of a window excites me.

You have to appreciate that the window that was in this bathroom was original to the house which is now 50 years old.  That means that the wood surround was original as well and it was not only becoming impossible to keep clean it was showing it's age.

This new window has a vinyl surround and it opens like a dream (the old one was a slider).  All it needs now is a covering which I plan to get today...plantation shutters will do very nicely.  But for now I'm just enjoying the openness and the breeze.

And rest assured, no covering isn't much of an issue.  My neighbours' bedroom window is below and to the left...they are elderly and aren't much interested in what goes on in the bathroom next door.  I hope!

Once the shutters are up I'll do a reveal of the transformation.  I'm still loving it and still go in there frequently just to look and to fluff and change around the decor.  It makes me happy.

How Many Bottles...

I've gone with a new look today, with thanks to my friend Deb who told me she couldn't get into my blog...she got a warning about a virus and the link went back to shabbyblogs.com from whence the virus had been reported -- which surprised me because I don't have anything on my blog from Shabby Blogs....or so I thought.  When I had my new banner done I was trying different backgrounds and was given the code information for the background I was using.  I thought nothing of it until Deb mentioned this "warning" today and I realized that the background must be from shabbyblogs.com  -- so out it has gone and hopefully the issue is taken care of.  Thanks again Deb for letting me know!

Back to the bottles....the only thing I purchased at the Springfield Antique and Flea Market show a few weeks ago.  There was so much on offer and so many things I liked and yet, for some reason, I saw these bottles in the tent by Junque Magnet and they wanted to come home with me, so home they have come.

At this point I've done nothing with them, though I have a few ideas for possible labels and flowers and then sharing them on as gifts.  For now I'm just enjoying photographing them and playing around with textures and overlays.

I'm not sure what these bottles would have been used for -- with marked numbers and levels on the side I'm thinking perhaps something medicinal.  

Whatever they were used for they will find a new purpose and a new life....with me!

A Great Place...

me, wearing my "Hat"

A few weeks ago I was approached by Tracey Rempel Green, asking if I would be interested in submitting to the site she moderates, A Great Place.

I went to the site, read some of the stories that were heart warming, life affirming and soul stirring and I knew that I very much wanted to contribute to Tracey's site.

I worked on my essay, submitted it, and after some dynamite editing by Tracey, which gave true life to my story, it is now available for others to read.

Please go to A Great Place to read this essay and others, and if you are on facebook, please like A Great Place.  It's worth a few minutes of your time to be reminded that there are still wonderful stories that abound in this great life that we live.

Thanks again to Tracey Rempel Green for the opportunity to share my story.

Homestead Collection in Findlay, Ohio...

Last Monday after we had been to the antique/flea market mall in Findlay, Ohio, we stopped at this lovely spot called "Homestead Collection".

It's a group of 5 buildings that carry primitives, Vera Bradley items, garden wares, food stuffs (dips, pickle, that sort of thing) and antiques.

There was a time, not too long ago, when I loved anything primitive and had quite a bit of that style in my home.  I've moved away from that design style but there is part of me that is still drawn to it and I love looking at it and toy with the idea of doing it again.

I came away with a wooden crate to use for my plants and I'll share that in another post, but if you are in the Findlay area, I highly recommend a visit.  I enjoyed standing outside snapping photographs as much as I did wandering the shops.

The Guiding Hand of Fate...

One of my finds last weekend was this beautiful gravy boat.  I don't collect china or gravy boats but just before we left the antique/flea market mall I liked the best, I saw this on a shelf and quickly added it to my basket.

The gravy boat cost me $6 which I felt was quite a deal and while I had no clear idea why I wanted it or what I would do with it, I just felt it call to me and say "I need to go home with you."  And so it did.

The other day I decided to do some investigating about this piece.  As you can see, the identifying stamp is either worn off or was never applied properly.  Does that make this an original or a fake?  I have no idea and it isn't that important to me because I'm not a collector.  But I did want to know who made it and where.

My search told me that this was made by New Wharf Pottery in England -- and it's porcelain.  New Wharf Pottery was located in Stoke-on-Trent in England in an area known as The Potteries, and while I'm not 100% certain of the pattern name it looks that it could be one of two patterns.  I'm intrigued enough that I'll probably do more searching, simply because I'm curious.

A few weeks ago I read a book by Priscilla Masters - "The Velvet Scream" which I thoroughly enjoyed.  I immediately requested all of her books through the public library and have now read all but two.  I think it's safe to say that I am hooked on this author.

Yesterday I was reading this book, "Buried in Clay" and ... I love when this happens ... it takes place in the Potteries district of England and deals with an antique Staffordshire jug. 

When the hand of fate guides me I pay attention...nothing is ever a coincidence.

Unexpected Finds...

One of the nice surprises of travel is when you stumble upon something unexpected...like a cemetery in the middle of a complex of hotels...near an airport.

As we drove up the winding hill to our hotel that first night we arrived in Springfield, my husband noticed cemetery stones beside an office complex.  We passed this small cemetery a few times and finally drove up the lane to have a look.

I loved this arch...

And with my interest in the Civil War, I found this stone with it's accompanying Veteran Star from 1861-1865 most interesting of all.

It truly was a weekend of "finds".

Springfield Antique and Flea Market Show...

There is something delicious about that first long weekend in spring.  It's time to be outdoors and soak up those first rays of sunshine in weather that says you really don't need a jacket or a sweater.  Sometimes that first long weekend can be filled with rain and then it's really all about the gardens and the trees.  This long weekend was one of those very delicious "this is for you" weekends.  We added an extra day on either end of the weekend and took off to go antiquing.  Mostly I think it's looking for junk but it's "good" junk.

Lake Huron taken from the bridge that connects Sarnia, Ontario to Port Huron, Michigan

Many other Canadians had the same idea of leaving on Friday, ostensibly to beat the rush, and in fact we became the "rush".  A two hour wait to cross the bridge and go through customs into the U.S.  It's times like this when patience really is a virtue.  It was hot, the sun was beating down and it was lunch time...but on the whole, it was worthwhile.

We headed to Springfield, Ohio for an antique/flea market show.  This one was 3 days ... it was billed as an "extravaganza"...and the only thing extravagant about it was the incredibly, unbelievable heat.  We went on Saturday and it was 91 degrees.  Even with the extreme heat we managed to walk for 3 hours, looking at all the wonderful displays and deciding if there was truly something we had to have.

At the end of the 3 hours we left with 3 bottles ... for a total of $10.  That was it.  I liked a lot of what I saw but nothing was whispering to me..."take me home".  It isn't always about the purchase.  It's really about the experience and everything else you take from it.

Here are some of the lovely things I saw before it became even too hot to lift the camera and focus before the perspiration dripped into my eyes....

there was a colourful pig...

and a kick ass goat doing a jig...

and a cow that would never get over the moon.

 

 

I loved this idea.  I'm going to use the boys' old wagon and do something similar!

There is something very special about this photograph.  Not long after I took this, a woman with a baby in her arms stopped to look at this display.  She picked up the box with the pillow, put it back and accidentally knocked the plate.  You can guess the rest.  The plate is history.  It no longer exists.  Except in this photograph and the photographs of anyone else who managed to snap it before it snapped.

I have no issue with people who bring their young children to these kinds of events.  It isn't everyone who has the luxury of free day care with relatives or who can afford to pay a babysitter so that the adults can have a day out.  What happened with that plate may or may not have happened had the woman not been holding a baby in her arms.  She had one hand free and two makes all the difference.  What I hope was taken from this by the women who had this stall was that people ARE going to be there with young children and it's probably best to not display breakables where they are precarious.  That could have happened to anyone...man or woman...with or without hands full.  The woman who was looking at the object beside the plate likely wasn't even aware of the plate because that wasn't her interest.  Having the plate at the back of the dresser with no protection behind it was an accident waiting to happen.  The plate holder is far too small for a plate of that size and that weight.  It's always easy to lay blame...and much harder often to accept responsibility.  Food for thought.

I'll share the rest of the weekend and purchases in future posts.

Looking for "Junk" On the Open Road...

image from blogger.com

The long Victoria Day weekend looms ahead and we are taking to the open road tomorrow for adventure...and as much "junk" as we can find along the highways and bi ways.

I love that we have adult children we can leave at home to tend the nest...and I don't doubt for a moment that they are looking forward to seeing us leave and having the peace and quiet they've come to know from living on their own.

Enjoy the weekend...whatever you are doing.

I've Left the Etsy Building...

I made a decision over the weekend to close my etsy shop.  I've had an etsy shop since 2007 where I started as Esprit d'Art.  As everything does in life, there was change and evolving ideas and my art expanded into other areas and I widened my talent and my creativity.

With that in mind,  in 2009 I switched my shop to Bella Rennie, named after my grandmother.  It was at that point that I was feeling more where my muse was and where it felt "right" to be.  And I did well on etsy with that shop.  I had many return customers and I enjoyed creating under that umbrella.

Then there was more change.  I became stale and dissatisfied with what I was doing.  I wanted to branch out again and move into something else.  I didn't really know what the something else was, but I felt the nudge.  And Bella Rennie segued into Portobella Lane.  I liked the idea of a "port" being a door in French and that this was going to be an opening of doors for me.  I do have some plans in the works for Portobella Lane but I've stalled on those.  For a few reasons.  All of them very good reasons, but at the same time, I've been procrastinating.

One of the main reasons for me wanting to change my shop name was me thinking ahead to the future.  I had been discouraged by etsy for some time.  Change is great...they kept changing the rules and the ways things were being done.  I coped.  I didn't like all of the changes, especially the ones that affected my shop and began to make me realize that etsy was not really about "the little guy" any longer.

I kept my shop open longer than I had planned to simply because I was lazy.  Last week there was a major upheaval at etsy where the administrators highlighted a shop that is in fact a collective.  Etsy has always prided itself on being about handmade and vintage.  Even those who wish to sell supplies have been welcome.  As per the terms of use, collectives and resellers are not allowed to sell on etsy.  And yet.  There have been many reports of resellers and they continue to be part of etsy, selling their mass produced goods and undermining the sales of those who create by hand each and every item they sell.  Uproar was heard.  Comments were deleted from the blog post about the seller of the week.

Regretsy did a post about this seller.  They checked into her, wondering how she could make so much furniture in such a short period of time.  And they discovered that this woman designs her furniture and outsources it to a factory in Bali.  Completely against the terms of use at etsy.  Did etsy remove this seller?  No, they have begun to re-write the rules.  Aha.

Over 4, 000 etsy sellers closed their shops for one day in protest.  Small potatoes you say.  Maybe.  But 4,000 people voiced their displeasure over etsy's handling of the situation.

Word is that etsy has plans to go public in the near future.  Making money and having great sales figures will be a huge plus in that regard.  Etsy is no longer the handmade market place that it was when it started.  And I don't like the way it is moving.  Complaining does nothing.  Leaving was my option.  And I'll move forward to something else.  Hopefully something better.

Change.  It happens to us and it happens for us.  And sometimes we make the decisions about change that are best for us.

Remembering....

image found on google.com

So far today, this Mother's Day, I have made my own coffee and made my own toast.  A day like any other.  Both of my sons are home from their schooling lives and both asked me yesterday where I would like to go for dinner.  I said that if they cooked dinner for me I would be happier, but it would be really nice if they made me breakfast.  I admit, there were no "takers" on that idea and I did say it somewhat "tongue in cheek".  They don't "rise" for breakfast...with those two I'd be lucky to get brunch! 

I'm beyond the point of remembering Mother's Day when I was a child and exactly what I would have done for my mother.  I know I made her cards each year and I'm sure there were some "charming" breakfasts with the help of my sister.  There was no going out for dinner to a restaurant.  It wasn't in the budget and most families then wouldn't have done the "dinner out".  My father wasn't the "Ward Cleaver" or "Father Knows Best" kind of dad and he wasn't much of a much in the kitchen at all, save for a sandwich that he liked and enjoyed making.  I'm sure he reminded us of Mother's Day but as little girls, we "knew" when Mother's Day was, we needed no prodding.

Today is not only Mothers Day, it would have been my sister's birthday.  Every time this week I thought about the date, the 13th of May, I would shudder just a little and then laugh.  There were many years during my sister's life that Mothers Day and her birthday fell on the same date, or at the very least the same weekend.  She would make it VERY clear leading up to both events that she did NOT want her birthday celebrated with Mothers Day.  She did not want to share a cake or share the joy of the day...she wanted her BIRTHDAY to HERSELF.  When we were younger it was a bit of a joke and yet I understood, as did my mother.  Who doesn't want their birthday to be their own special day?  As she got older she became more adamant about the separation of the two.  In fact, she could become intense about it.  I kept thinking this week that she must be having quite the tantrum, wherever she is, knowing that the day dates have collided once again. 

My children can tell me they love me any day of the week.  They can show me that they love me whenever the desire strikes.  I know they love me.  I know they appreciate me.  They have another 364 days of the year to let me know and I've never been one for insisting I be "Queen" for a day.

Today, for me, it's about my sister.  Happy Birthday Arlene.  May 13th was and always will be your day. 

Blossoms...

For a brief period yesterday morning the sun was out and the sky was blue.  We haven't been seeing a lot of that lately unfortunately.  Not much longer after I had taken these photographs, the clouds reappeared and the rain poured down.

As I drove home from errands I noticed a neighbour's crab apple tree on the boulevard and how full to bursting it was with blossoms and as soon as I unloaded the car, I grabbed my camera, walked down the street and stood there, shooting image after image.

I'm outside as often as possible capturing the flowers as they begin their blooming and every day think of another way I'd like to create an image from what I am seeing.  I'm sure that by now, the other people who live on this street, who might see me from inside their windows are used to me out there with my camera.  I never see anyone else do this when I am looking outside from inside my windows but I hope that one day, someone else will feel the pull to drop everything, grab their camera and enjoy the moments of seeing the beauty of what they have planted through different eyes.

Keeper of the Memories...

marriage certificate information for my maternal great grandfather

I have been spending countless hours delving into the past, of recreating lives that have been lived some less than one hundred years ago, many of them hundreds of years ago.  I'm stitching together the pieces of the quilt that make up my life and the lives of my children so that there is a story left to be told about the roots that have bound us together.

I've talked about this before and I've talked about my fascination, maybe it's even an obsession with those who came before and "who" they were.  Their stories and their journeys.  Some of it will have been heart breaking and difficult.  Some of it I could never imagine having to face.  All of it history...their history, which is now my history and part of my story.

photographs of  my paternal relatives

I've been spending time weeding the truth from fiction and sorting the dates and the places and the possibilities.  I've been making corrections from newer information that is available to me now from when I started a couple of years ago.  I would like to be as accurate as possible.  And I don't want to go so far back into history that it is impossible to know if information provided is accurate and really about people that I am descended from. 

copy of a photograph of my paternal grandmother and great-grandparents taken shortly before they left England to come to Canada

In the past, families told their stories to one another and passed on family history and lore in that way.  Some families didn't bother and just got on with the job of living, making it from one day to the next.  In my family there was a lot of story telling and as a child I listened and I've remembered much of what I heard.  Now of course I wish I had asked more questions, about things that are coming to my mind now, at this stage in my own life and sadly, there is no one left to ask those questions of.  I've discovered too many photographs without names and dates and places so I spend a great amount of time absorbing what I'm seeing and trying to recreate from what information I have at hand to who, what and where.

In one of the photographs above my paternal great grandfather stands with a young boy.  No name is attached to the photograph of who that young boy is.  But through research I now know that he is my great grandfather's nephew by marriage (the nephew of my great grandmother), the photograph taken on a return visit to England in the 1930s not long before my great grandfather passed away.

I scour for all this information as much for my children as I do for myself.  They have no cousins, no other close relations with whom to share or glean information.  I don't wish this history and herstory to die with me.  I want it to continue on and to give my children some sense of where they've come from as they head out to where they are going.

Abandoned...

a photo I shared last week from the Aberfoyle Antique Market -- processed with PicMonkey

Last Sunday while at the Aberfoyle Antique Market I happened upon a large portrait in a very old frame.  At the time I snapped the photograph I kept thinking to myself "who were you?"  "who loved you?" "how did you end up at this market to be sold, most likely for the frame you call home?"  It made me sad to think that someone would buy the frame and then toss away the photograph. 

I think about that every time I come across old photographs that have been abandoned...for what reason, we cannot know.  Perhaps no family left to keep the photographs and they were sold as part of an estate sale.  Or sold/donated by family members who have had no interest in their past and the way life was, and who they came from.  Or maybe it's family history that has been hard to bear and it was easier to part with constant reminders.  However it happens, it makes me sad.

The first photograph I ever purchased was somewhere around the time of 1995.  My sister and I had been in the Niagara area and stopped at an antique shop.  I didn't see anything I wanted and we really were just browsing.  But I found a photograph.  And the little one looked so lost and lonely sitting there, all alone.  I gave her a name and brought her home with me.  Framed her and told her she was now part of a family again.  Perhaps that sounds daft.  But that's who I am.  Some of it was done tongue in cheek and we laughed about Beatrice for a while.  But underneath the laughter, I was completely serious about having "saved" Beatrice.

This week I read a lovely, lovely, lovely little novel.   "Glaciers", the debut novel written by Alexis M. Smith is a tiny book...tiny to hold in your hands (yes, I am STILL and evermore shall be the one who reads a book by turning actual paper pages...) but large in it's telling.  The main character is a young woman who repairs books at a library and has a love of old things...old clothing, old photographs.  Her first purchase when shopping with her father while they were "looking for treasures" was some old photographs of people who captured her imagination, her heart, her soul.  She brought them home and put them in a shoebox for safekeeping.

This quote from the book forced me to stop reading.  It was everything I have thought about old photographs and about life, about how we will be remembered and cherished long after we are gone.

"Change was inevitable, but she could not imagine what the future might look like, or what her place might be in it.  All she could do was hope she did not end up in a shoe box at a Salvation Army Thrift Store."

7 Years...

In May 2005 I despaired that I would not see the next year...or the year after that.  And here I am.
 

 7 YEARS

I am amazed.

I am grateful.

 I am blessed.

To celebrate the occasion my friend Elizabeth and I are having coffee and then going to see about having pedicures.  It's been ages since I've had one and I think these feet that have carried me forward from that point in May 2005 deserve a treat.

What a beautiful day.

Pajamas and Depression...

Bananas in Pajamas image found on google

My youngest son watched this programme for a short time...it aired and he was soon off to school and on to bigger fish to swim with.  I always thought it was rather silly, but then, what children's programming isn't silly to some degree?  It's meant to be.

So here I sit, not laughing now, as I type in my pajamas..and I could do with some B12...standing together that's what they make for me.

Yesterday while chatting with my lovely doctor, she of the Australian accent who is Greek in culture and heritage, she asked me if I got dressed every day.  I looked at her with a question on my face and she explained further...do I put on real clothing (note the term real clothing) or do I stay in my pjs all day or just throw on sweat pants.  I realized what she was getting at -- is my mood such that I can barely force myself to leave the house...and I can happily report that I do get dressed every day.  And never go out in public in sweat pants.  To each her/his own.  But I feel it's like saying "I give up" or "I don't care" if I don't at least put on an "outfit" that consists of jeans or dress pants.  I have been known to run errands on the weekend in a track suit but I never feel like I'm really "dressed".  But that's me.  I never went to one of my sons' hockey, soccer or baseball games in anything but a pulled together outfit and make up. 

I'm having a slow start today and that's okay.  Sometimes it's a very good thing to not be rushing here and there.  I have things I want to do today and things I need to do.  One of those things is the library which doesn't open until 12:30 on Thursday.  I wasn't able to take my shower first thing this morning as it was being used and so instead, I made use of my time by having breakfast and coffee, catching up on emails and reading the newspaper.

I'm learning that having a slow start and still being in pjs until "some other hour" of the day isn't a bad thing and doesn't make me slovenly.  It takes re-training.  As a child my mother would have us up early, have breakfast prepared and then off we'd go to school.  Even in the summer holidays, we were up early and dressed and starting the day by 9 a.m.  Still being in pjs past 9 a.m. meant that you were ill and in bed.

I'm learning to be kinder to myself in the "rules" and standards I've had set up for me, that I've continued or have implemented myself.  I'm learning that as my physical body ages it means some things take more time and changing the rules is going to become more and more necessary.  And that it's "okay".

But I sincerely hope that I never think it is okay to just never get dressed, or never run a comb through my hair or never swipe a lipstick across my mouth.  And if I do, or someone I know becomes like this, or someone you know, or maybe even you yourself are like this now or become like this -- it is a sign of depression.  Depression hurts and there is help.  It's okay to suffer from depression because it happens to so many of us...but it's not okay to let it continue to make the "rules" of  your life.  If you can't do it yourself...reach out.  You'll be surprised at how quickly that hand is taken.

Even When It Ain't Broke....

May 2, 2012

Not the most artistic of photographs but it will serve the purpose.  Yes, this is part of my new bathroom, and you can see that there is a piece that is not quite complete...that hole in the wall with the cans inside it is going to be a built in shelving unit.  When all is complete, including the new window, I will do a post of a "reveal".  I'm still having fun choosing accessories and I can't believe how absolutely "picky" I'm being over what I buy.  Who knew there were so many choices for towels, trash cans, bathroom brushes, shower curtains?

Back to the photograph.  I had my hair cut and "rinsed" (so very dating that word, "rinse"!) last Tuesday.  It's not a bad thing to have a rinse -- it doesn't mean I'm someone's grandmother, it just means that it will keep the grey hair "grey" and sharp and not yellowed out which grey hair has a tendency to do.  I also had my strip of colour put in the front -- a dark brown with hints of red.  It always comes out lighter than in the sample but it is enough and it gives me that bit of extra "oomph" that I love.  Sadly, from the moment I left the salon, I wasn't happy with my hair.  I couldn't figure out if it was something my stylist had done or if I was just being as"picky" about this as I was being about bathroom accessories.  I decided that I would live with it for a week and see how I felt then.

Roll on to today.  Still not happy with the hair.  The style was much as I have had it for the last year or so -- a bob with a grading at the back ... and yet.  Nothing I did with it made me smile.  I felt dowdy and drab and miserable. Every time I looked in the mirror I frowned. I decided today that I would do something about it.

First stop was a complete physical at 9 a.m. and that went well (as well as those things can go) and while talking with my doctor I realized how much of a funk I've been in the last few months and how I've just been "going along" and it really upset me that I've been feeling that way.  I don't know why the words started coming out of my mouth but I allowed them to and felt much better for it.  My doctor always has excellent advice and she can make me laugh.  The laughter was great until she inserted a speculum...a word of advice.  Do Not Laugh when you have a speculum resting in your lady parts.  Just sayin' ...

From there I drove directly to the salon.  My stylist wasn't in yet but started work at 12:30 and had an opening.  I took it and said I'd return, which I did.  Was she completely surprised to see me?  Not really.  I said, "I need sassy" and she agreed so off to work she went with her razor and her scissors and suddenly I started smiling again as I could see myself, "who" I am this minute, looking back at me in the mirror.  I've worn my hair like this before, good grief, I've been bald!  It's just hair.  It grows.  And there is something satisfying and motivating for me about changing my hair style.  It's a small thing but it has much larger impact on how I feel.

Sometimes, even when it ain't broke...it's okay to fix it.  Much better to take things into your own hands and fix what bothers you than just let it ride and wait until "next time".  The lovely part?  My stylist charged me only half what she would normally.  And that generated a very generous tip for her.  Kindness repaid.