Naked Body Parts Indeed!

I found this painting at a church rummage sale a few years back. I spotted her across the room, and snagged her for $50. It’s not clear to me how the work was painted, though the wonderful frame was clearly created for it. It is not dated or signed, but i would guess it was done in the 1950s. The paint is thick , creating a raised outline of her body. While the figure is unclothed, the artist created an impression of her body without obvious detail. Our eyes recognize it is of a naked woman, but the beauty of it is in its simplicity. Every time I see her I recall a time when I took children on a field trip to the Art Institute in Chicago.

In 2000 I, with a team of women, created an elementary school volunteer art program we called Famous Artists. The premise was to introduce students to well know artwork with a hands-on art project in the artist’s style. One of the highlights was a 5th grade class field trip to the Art Institute, where many of the works we introduced over the years were hanging (Lichtenstein, Monet, Mondrian, Moore, O’Keefe, Picasso, Renoir, Seurat, Van Gogh, Warhol, Wood).

Even when my children were not in the 5th grade, I would participate as I enjoyed the trips. It was interesting to see the varied reactions from the students – some could care less and others were very engaged. Some docents were inspiring, others boring as all heck. One year my group got stuck with a docent in training, and the woman refused to deviate from her assigned “little children” talk. The 5th graders were bored, and as soon as possible I extricated us from her tour.

At that point there was time left to explore and I asked what the students wanted to do. A group was interested in going to see the Thorne Miniatures (amazing detailed houses). Another group, all boys actually, asked if I would tour them around the museum to see works we had not seen on our childish tour. In a prior year, I had been with a group of students where the girls in the group were remarkably squeamish (and vocal) about seeing art with naked imagery (something that is hard to avoid in a large museum). And so, I asked this group of boys how they felt about “naked body parts”. Hmmm, they replied, naked body parts? Yes, I said, I would be happy to walk around with them and discuss art, but I was not keen on hearing silly comments about art with naked bodies. Well, they decided, that was absolutely fine, and off we went on probably my most memorable tour with students! We had a ball, they were remarkably curious (not about body parts) and we got to see the art they had studied.

And so, this piece always makes me chuckle – naked body parts indeed!

Treasures By Marcella

One of the wonderful things about art is that pieces can inspire emotions and memories, regardless of the artist’s original intent. Sometimes a story or memory unspools in my mind, and I am inspired to research both the work and my memories. The works of Marcella Lewin are a prime example.

I first came across a “Marcella Lewin” collage a few years ago and loved its charm(for those of you who know me, you won’t be surprised that it was of a pink house!) Turning to the internet, I discovered her originals sell for well over $500, beyond my thrifting price bracket. I was curious about her, however, and read she is a “listed” Chicago artist. As I have absolutely no idea what “list” this refers to, I dug deeper.

Marcella was born in 1918 in Muscatine, Iowa. In 1946 and 1947 she exhibited artwork in the Art Institute of Chicago, though it is unclear if she was a student there. Both pieces were titled “North Side Scene” and were priced $85 and $100 (this is equivalent to $1350 in today’s dollars so not as inexpensive as it first seems).

I also came across a charming photo of her at an art fair in Chicago c.1960 in the Chicago Historical Society archives. She married Otto Senz and she died  in 2004 in Chicago. No answer regarding the “listed artist” notation.

Forward a few years to a recent thrift store outing where I found this artwork of a Victorian style house done in greens and yellows. I snatched it off the wall, paid $35 and left with a pounding heart. I realized what a rare treasure it was! An original Marcella Lewin, framed and in great condition. The details of the house are amazing, and it is both painted and collaged. There seems to be wallpaper and paper doilies involved! The colors are straight out of the 1970s.

The best part of the story is that a friend was so intrigued by my find she wanted to visit the same shop. The next day we ventured off, and while there, I came across ANOTHER piece by Marcella Lewin – this amazing hand drawn carousel and street scene. Framed as is it cost me $10. I could hardly believe my luck! Check out the amazing details!

Carousels have always been special to me, and I recently did some internet searching to recall childhood details. When I was about 6 we moved to upstate New York near the city of Binghamton. To quote the City of Binghamton’s website about this wonderful story:

“Between 1919 and 1934, George F. Johnson (1857-1948)…donated six beautiful carousels to [Binghamton]…He felt carousels contributed to a happy life and would help youngsters grow into strong and useful citizens. Because of his own poor childhood, “George F.” believed carousels should be enjoyed by everyone and insisted that the municipalities never charge money for a magic ride.

Now, into their tenth decade, these magnificent machines still spin from Memorial Day to Labor Day at no charge …In a day when nothing is free, we boast the world’s greatest entertainment bargain!”

No wonder I have many childhood memories of riding wonderful old carousels as I suspect my parents took us to these free rides many times over the two years we lived there. Unclear if it assisted me in my strength and usefulness, however.

So back to my two Marcella Lewin treasures.

During my childhood in the 1960s, it was legal for banks to refuse loans and credit to unmarried women, or require a husband’s permission for married applicants. In addition, a married woman, into the 1970s, could not own property independently of her husband, including bank accounts, unless they had signed a special contract.

One thing that was important to my mom was that she had her own money. Starting in the early 1960s, my father actually PAID her a salary for her work raising 7 children. When the time came for our family to move from Binghamton, NY to Darien, CT my mother argued that the house should be in her name as she did all the work to find, move and decorate the house. Dad agreed – again very unusual for 1970 - and our Darien home was held in my mother’s name only. From then on Mom owned the real estate, and made all the decisions regarding where they lived. She was very proud to have her own assets, and felt strongly that women needed independence.

When I see the charming yellow house by Marcella Lewin, I think of my mom who insisted her worth be recognized. Certainly, my father enabled this, both with his successful career, but also with his understanding of my mother’s need for financial independence. The Carousel artwork also harkens back to that pivotal time in my mom’s life, when her 7 children rode antique wooden rides in town parks in the 1960s. Those rides have remained with me, inspiring my love of circus and carousels, and bring positive memories with them.

I hope others will find a treasured Marcella Lewin artwork and share the memories they inspire. Her work deserves to be recognized!

Mussolini Was Missing

Yes, we’re discussing THAT Mussolini, though I confess this is a “family heirloom” story. And honestly probably my least favorite heirloom, but the kids think it’s cool, so there you go.

My parents gave me the large box of our family papers, photos, books, etc at least 35 years ago. My mother made sure to point out there was a memento in the container signed by Mussolini for my great grandfather Benjamin Strong (1871-1926). The document is a menu from a financial meeting held in Rome in May, 1926, with a beautiful etching on the cover. Research indicates it is of the Mausoleum of Hadrian done by Giovanni Battista Piranesi (1720-1778), though it is unclear how the image was reproduced for the menu.

A few years later, Mom asked me about the autograph, and I could not find the darn thing. Damnedest thing – I knew I hadn’t thrown it away, but it was missing. This prompted a major “organize the files and papers” effort, but it never turned up. The Mussolini signature remained missing ever since.

A few months back my daughter expressed interest in all the family memorabilia – she didn’t have to ask me twice! I was giving her a quick rundown of the files, photos and books. As I pulled a book off the shelf (Benjamin Strong Central Banker, L. Chandler, 1956 – not a riveting book) out fluttered a paper. Lo and behold Mussolini had hit the floor!

It took me a bit to determine what had happened. The book contained a paragraph about Strong’s meeting with Mussolini in Italy in 1926 and thus I must have left the autographed document in the book when I read it over 30 years ago!

So here you go – Mussolini and the blurb from the book for reference. The only saving grace for my not favorite heirloom is my great grandfather certainly recognized the danger Mussolini posed.

Transforming the House

Sometimes when I pick up a treasure, I’m not exactly sure what I will do with it. This handmade pottery house was an estate sale find from a week ago ($2 -I kid you not). I  have no idea what the house was designed for, though I suspect it was a student’s project from many years ago. It has an open roof in back, which is useful to carry it as it weighs 9 pounds! But no clear idea as to why. Note the fabulous details: the sagging roof line; impression of brick work; window boxes with plants and the front doorknob! The colors and details appealed to me, so I brought it home. I kept moving it around our house -until it finally landed here. And suddenly it made sense!

Husband will comment as various treasures migrate around the house, and recently noted that this photograph has remained in the same spot for many years. It is an original one by Roland Reed (1864-1934) from 1910. I picked it up at an estate sale in the 1990s for my husband, as he read a great deal about Native American history, and appreciates their culture. The dealer threw it in for free with the other things I bought that day.

Roland Reed was among a number of “pictoralists” who wanted to depict the Indian’s way of life before they were forced into reservations, instead of recording what the reality of their lives were like at the turn of the last century.  He worked with a large format 11x17 camera and produced 180 glass plate negatives (there’s a gallery dedicated to his work in Steamboat Springs, CO).  The photograph is titled “Meditation” and notes the tribe is Piegan, a Plains Indian tribe. Current value of an original seems to be $2,000.

The charming clay house now resides beneath Meditation. The colors of the two are similar, and the photo and house seem to belong together. There are many connotations to this juxtaposition, some positive and some not so much. The house represents “home”, and for the American Indians that “home” was taken away. Yet, we all desire a “home” whether in physical structure, or mental construct, and this land, once inhabited by Native Americans, has become our home.

Recently I took a trip east to visit two of my childhood homes; the house from my early years in Chappaqua, NY and the one in Darien, CT from adolescence. Walking through the Chappaqua house was remarkable, as the feeling was one of awareness – I KNEW the place even though I could not have described it well before-hand. The memories were from my very young childhood (about 4 to 6) and I greatly enjoyed revisiting them. This home has been lovingly maintained, and the sense that the current owners respect the home and its history was a joy. The second home I visited on that trip was a very different story. This was the house I lived in through my adolescence, and the current owners had transformed the house such that it was almost unrecognizable. The shell was the same, but literally windows were gone, structures were added, walls moved around, and all redesigned and glamorized. I respect that people can make their mark on their properties as they desire, but, as a person looking back into memories, it is jarring to walk through.

I sense the Piegans in the photograph might feel much the same way. I cannot speak for them, and the tragedy of their history is not one I can address here. However, I treasure both the photograph for its glimpse into the past, and the clay house for its determination to weather all the storms life has thrown at it.

A Horse of Course!

My daughter has loved horses since she was a child. She recently began using her talent for photography to take portraits of friends with their horses. She posted some photos on Instagram recently, and texted me how much she loved doing horse and rider photoshoots. Her text sent me to searching for a photograph I took in 1980 in Connecticut.

 My experience growing up in Darien, CT was one of contrasts. It’s a community of wealth and privilege, but we were not raised as such. Don’t get me wrong, we were very lucky regarding the basics of life but, if I needed a piece of paper, I had to pay a penny for each sheet. And pencils cost 5 cents! I wore all my brothers’ hand-me-down clothes and Mom sewed many of our day-to-day clothing. (You should see the outfits I wore in my elementary class pictures. I may have to hunt the pictures down as evidence…) I learned to sew when I was eight-years-old and made gifts for friends as well as clothing. If I wanted anything beyond the basics, I did house projects to earn money to purchase them. This included sealing the long asphalt driveway as a 12-year-old!

In my neighborhood, I had a friend who had horses in her backyard. She and I would ride her pony bareback across various neighbor’s yards. These were early American (c.1700) properties, so god bless them for not caring that the pony was trotting through their lawns. I loved riding this pony but, as much as I begged, I was not going to be taking riding lessons any day soon. Instead, I collected Breyer horses and played with them endlessly. My horse-loving daughter is still salty that my  mom threw away all those 1970s Breyers.

My parents’ parsimony was motivated, in part, by their decision to send many of their children to private boarding school instead of the local schools. I read all the Enid Blyton books about British children in boarding schools, so this seemed normal to me. My parents wanted me to attend an all girls’ Catholic boarding school for high school as had my sisters. I was not interested in this idea, but  I had undiagnosed dyslexia, and did not do well on standardized tests needed to qualify for co-ed boarding schools. Instead, I spent my first two years in the local high school.

Needless to say, being in high school in a very privileged community in the late 1970s involved some not-so-great exposures. I recall being at a hockey game in town when the elder brother of one of the girls offered us all free cocaine. I didn’t join the girls and it turns out I made a good choice as the boy was a dealer and liked to tempt younger students (we were 14) to buy drugs from him.

Eventually, I made friends with a group that went to a local private school and they wanted me to go to their school. One morning, I called the office and the woman answering the phone asked what subjects I taught. When I explained that I was interested in attending as a student, she made an appointment for me to speak with the Headmaster. Years later, I learned that the Headmaster called my parents after the appointment (they knew nothing about me applying to the school) and said it was the first time he’d ever been interviewed by a prospective student! I did end up at the school, St. Luke’s in New Canaan, CT for two years, and I thrived there.

I took up photography at the school, working in a dark room on a manual camera with black and white film. I don’t recall the assignment, but I was at the Ox Ridge Riding Club in Darien. Mind you, I was trespassing, as I had done many times when the club would host posh horse shows. At the time of this picture, Fall of 1980, the club was quiet and this horse was simply out grazing in a pasture.

Recently, I felt the need to clean out old emotional cobwebs, so I emptied a box of mementos. Going through this box was a journey through a million memories. Though I threw away many items, I saved my old journals, some endearing letters, and this photograph of a horse… of course!

Dangerous Curves Ahead

My daughter recently asked me to explain why things catch my eye when I’m out thrifting. That is a hard question to answer. The simple answer is “it appeals to me” but the longer answer involves a lot of art.

My parents took me to see art exhibits in New York City when I was young. I remember a few shows quite well – Picasso, Calder’s Circus, Monet’s Waterlilies. In college I enjoyed art history classes, and began traveling to see many of the pieces I studied. As a mother, I took my children to art exhibits and outings to Chicago’s Art Institute. Around 2001 I helped create a “Famous Artists” program for our elementary school, which I gather is still being used.

What this all means is that exposure to art helps train your eye to recognize design, balance and color. It does not need to be a formal experience, but over time you will learn what appeals to you. I for one fell in love with Calder’s Circus as well as Dutch Masters’ art – especially the introspective paintings of women in homes. These works have influenced the pieces I gravitate to when I’m thrifting. As my husband noted, I have a bias towards women in art. I also have a whole room devoted to my Calder’s Circus painting.

This statue puzzled me. When I first picked it up in a thrift shop, I thought it was of East Indian or Asian origin. But the colors were beautiful, and the gold a wonderful warm tone. (I suspect it may be actual gold leaf though I have not tested it). The curves of the statue’s body are well done, and she seems so serene.

The curves made me chuckle. When we were first married, husband and I would drive between Pittsburgh and Cleveland to see my parents. Part of that drive is through the Allegheny Mountains. These are rather difficult during bad weather, and there were often signs posted along the way announcing “dangerous curves ahead”. Husband found this amusing as I was a rather curvy girl, and at some point a silly version of this made its way into our dressing room.

So back to our mystery thrift shop girl. The only markings on her are a carved name on the bottom “LOLET” and a teeny tiny sticker with numbers. A Google search for the name Lolet accomplished nothing, other than recognizing it is likely a German name, and thus the piece is likely European. Eventually I found a nearly identical statue carved in the 1930s by Josef Wilhem Soukop (Austrian, 1907-1995). It is described as being Art Deco and hand carved.

Even more of a mystery is that the pieces of his I could find were not painted and, if signed, were signed “WS”. I am left to puzzle whether Lolet is an original carving by W. Soukop that he or someone then painted (Lolet)? Or if the entire statue was made by Lolet, copying one of Soukop’s? If anyone has any insights, I’d love to hear them! In the meantime, her dangerous deco curves continue to appeal to me.

The Giving Lilac (Tree)

This photograph of my children was taken in 2001, so it is not old nor an “heirloom” in the traditional sense. However, the memories it inspires are treasures none the less. The photographer was a young woman (Kari Lanie McCluskey), working in black and white film using a hand tinted technique. No idea how that’s done to be honest, but I wanted to showcase my mother’s knitting and so I paid more to have the work hand colored.

The cream sweater my oldest son is wearing is one my mother knit for me back in 1980. The  yarn was purchased on a trip to Greece that year. Most memorable to me was that my birthday arrived while we were visiting Mikonos – where the labyrinth story originated. No one seemed to recall it was my birthday – with traveling and time changes I think dates got away from my parents. That afternoon I left a large tip for the old woman who was monitoring the rest facility at the site (a situation I found a bit odd, but was common throughout Greece at that time). She was immensely happy which I felt was a lovely gift to myself. As I exited and rejoined my parents, it was clear from their faces that they realized their forgetfulness, and a celebration of my 18th ensued, though I don’t recall the details. The old woman and her gift from me will remain a treasured memory recalled whenever I see this Greek fisherman’s sweater – now ridiculously too small for me.

My mom also made the complex snowflake sweater my daughter is wearing. I believe there was a hat to go with – though my young daughter was seriously not into hats. The sweater was a bit too itchy for her as well.  Unfortunately, she had (and still does) a textural sensitivity. To be fair, wool sweaters can annoy the most non-texturally sensitive person, and it was unfortunate my mother loved to knit in fine wool yarn.

When mom sent me the sweater for my daughter, I realized I needed a third sweater for my middle child, and I requested a blue one. Not to worry, she had plenty of yarn, and I recall she whipped up this one for my son in record time. I still have all three sweaters stored in her old cedar chest.

The photographer I hired in 2001 was loth to come to our property for the photo shoot – assuming, I think, that we had a typical subdivision property. However, our property is unusual, and full of wonderful old trees and structures. The tree the 3 children are around in the photograph is actually a very old lilac bush.

As my daughter was still a little girl at the time, she could not keep up with her active brothers as they climbed the huge old willow or towering pines on our property. So, she would “climb” this lilac and was very proud of herself. Sadly, the lilac was a bit under the weather (probably over 100 years old).  One day, well after the photo session, while she and a girlfriend climbed, it simply leaned itself right out of the ground. The girls were not hurt, found the whole experience entertaining, but the poor lilac had given its last moments of joy. The photograph, however, always brings me joy when I see it.

Biased Against Boys

So says my husband as we’re hanging this charming oil painting last night. His point was that I seem to pick up art that shows women or girls and not those with men. He does have a point. I think it all goes back to my love of Old Dutch Masters art – especially those scenes painted by Pieter de Hooch (1629-1684). He is often overshadowed these days by Johannes Vermeer but de Hooch’s art was so peaceful and filled with light that it’s worth turning to Google and looking him up. Studying and traveling to see these works has shaped those things that catch my eye, and invariably they include females.

This charming oil was in an on-line presale recently for a local church rummage sale (there’s a great word for what I love to do – rummage: search unsystematically and untidily through a mass). She is painted on a linoleum-type board which creates the odd dot texture. However, her colors and brushwork appealed to me so I bought her sight unseen for $50. The signature is a mystery and no date, but I’m putting her in the 1970s based on the coloring.  

The image is timeless which is something that always appeals to me. A young girl in a fancy outfit tying her white shoes. The detail spent on her hair and face, with the recognition of deep shadow is very well executed. And, of course, the triangle shape she makes is a classic painting device which attracts the eye. Geometry shows up even in paintings (and quilting!) and while you may not be aware of it, it informs those works that are well done. The style is very Impressionist as there is no real focus on details around her – unlike those paintings by de Hooch which could almost seem photographic. This piece reminds me of a dear sister with her dark hair – the only one of my siblings with dark hair as had my mother – so I will call her Jane. Sorry Dick, I really do prefer Jane.

Quirky Pieces Too

This sculpture caught my eye and I took it home from a thrift store for a few dollars. Why did it catch my eye? Parts of it were clearly old, it was one of a kind, handmade, and a little bit quirky.

How did I sense the wood was old? As a child I would go to flea markets of varying types with my mom in CT in the 1970s. These were very primitive outdoor sales compared to what we attend now a days. I recall one day she bought a long piece of wood. Seemed odd to me – about as long as my arm and as thick as my thigh (stop the jokes – not listening). It had a bunch of metal embedded in it, especially a band at the top and bottom. Mom explained it was a very old (this was in the 1970s so we’re talking mid 1800s) printing roll for fabric or wallpaper. The raised designs would press against the fabric with dye and create a repeat pattern. Obviously they would wear out, or be made obsolete by industrial improvement. Mom had it wired into a lamp, which was in their home for many years. The wood on this sculpture has the very same feel, with the bands and the nailed design.

The clock baffles me though. The original timepiece could not be repaired and I replaced it. Based on the age of the (very yellow) original one, the entire thing is likely 1970s. But back to the clock – just why? Was there a hole in the wood that needed to be filled and the timepiece fit the bill? Or was the idea to make a very quirky clock? Got me.

The top wired structure is rather industrious. Have you ever tried to bend wire into a pleasing shape? Good luck to you. How this was done is a mystery, though I suspect there were structures involved to wrap around. The two birds in the trees are adorable. Wooden carved one and wire built one. And not just a tree or two, a veritable forest, complete with small toadstools.

The charm of these silly items never ceases to make me smile. Love all the quirky pieces out there. People too.

Forget the Silver, I Covet the Quilt!

Starting a blog has introduced me to many new ideas, contacts and information. One wonderful upshot has been connecting with people near and far. After my post regarding my great grandfather Ben Strong, I heard from my New Zealand cousin, and he shared a document he’s working on cataloging all the family heirlooms my Aunt and Uncle have in NZ.  It appears that while my mother had not a single sentimental bone in her body, my dad’s younger brother and his charming NZ wife most certainly did.

My mom blithely got rid of all sorts of things that had been in the family. I distinctly remember a sterling silver wedding bowl gifted to my grandparents by some men’s club members which was in a box of old family things in our attic in Darien. That hit the garbage. The Strong family bible I remember her throwing out in 1987 in Pittsburgh. A number of items my parents had also ended up being handed “down” to my Aunt and Uncle, who then moved their 2 young sons to NZ in 1985.

 According to my cousin’s write up, there is a huge chest of drawers which is identified as having been given to my aunt and uncle by  my parents “when they were redoing Erica’s room which came from the Litchfield, Ct property.” Good grief! That most certainly is not making the journey back across the sea.

Now, the silver! I think it’s a good thing my aunt and uncle had all this as I suspect my mother would have sold it all to be melted down back in the 1980s when silver was sky high. There is a huge sterling tea set, numerous large bowls, gravy boat, bread basket, lots of silverware (including a fruit set – knives and forks specifically for eating fruit), and the most astonishing standing sterling silver jewelry box (yes envy). To say nothing of the Tiffany enamel smoking set owned by Ben Strong (double digit envy).

 But the one photo that made my heart stop was the CRAZY QUILT made by my great grandfather’s sister Aunt Jane Strong (2/18/1866 to 10/1955) She never married and I have numerous photos of her – including one of her sewing!

Jane Strong 1866-1955 sewing in Woods Hole, MA

Sigh. Forget all the silver, I covet the quilt!

Heidi Heads Home

I need to go backwards for a moment to explain where this idea for a Blog came from. It started two weeks back with a thrift shop purchase. I often scour my local thrift shop for vintage and handmade items, and this charming bust of a woman came home with me for $2.00. Husband thought it seemed very old, and after cleaning and looking – with reading glasses and strong light – I found a date and signature in pencil: “1976 Heidi” (unfortunately her last name is illegible).

Made me start to think about the U.S. Bicentennial in 1976 when handcrafts, especially “olden times” ones like sewing and quilting, became all the rage. (Gunny Sack dresses anyone?!) I actually recall working on a Bicentennial quilt for a school fundraiser…and yes, I sewed the dang thing right to my pants!

Now we are looking at a 250 years -Quarter Millennium Celebration. I find it sad that, in our busy, hyper-modern lives, people are less interested in handcrafts. Hand-painted, hand-stitched, hand-molded, hand-carved items are frequently offloaded to local thrifts store when family members pass away and the stories attached to the items lose relevance. 

Yes, I get it, having “stuff” is not necessarily helpful in life. But, these treasures bring me Maire Kondo-level joy. My goal is to write about the things I have picked up – whether from thrift shops, flea markets, estate sales, garage sales, or Ebay. Or, family heirlooms that were passed on to me. My writing will celebrate these one-of-a-kind items that are made with love and effort and have a home in my house.

Now, back to our sweet Heidi. No idea where she made it, but I am guessing it was a high school art project. Yes, she’s a bit wonky, but heck, you take a lump of clay and do your best to create a bust of a woman and see how you do! Love the deep groves etched into the clay to make her hair and hat – a vintage cloche! My husband is correct, cloche hats were worn in the 1920s, so Heidi was channeling a true vintage vibe in 1976. A time we were all looking into the past when handcrafts were an integral part of our every day lives.

https://konmari.com/marie-kondo-rules-of-tidying-sparks-joy/

Reading Smut in 14K

Hadn’t intended to move onto my great grandfather, but since I mentioned him in passing a few days back, it seemed appropriate. Benjamin Strong (1872 -1926) had a successful life but not a happy one. He married Margaret LeBoutillier (1874-1903) but unfortunately after 4 children, she died when my grandmother was an infant. His second marriage did not end well either, though not through suicide thankfully.

History knows him as having started the Federal Reserve after WWI and there is a portrait of him hanging in the board room of the NY Fed (at least there was when I visited ages ago). So here is a photo of the portrait at the NY Fed:

I have a ridiculous amount of old family papers, photographs, books, and heirlooms handed down from my father’s mother and father. By default, I became the keeper of the family history, and oddly it was my mom who shared much of the family lore. Oddly because Mom’s history is much more limited – orphan German immigrants which was wildly different from the Mayflower era Puritan family she married into.

 For now, I’ll leave you with a photo of Ben’s 14k reading glasses…because, duh, we all need 14k glasses! Funny enough I’m now at the age where these darn glasses work just perfectly for my reading. Maybe I can add some class to my smutty reading? (My dear friend insists I inform you that I enjoy silly bodice ripping trash and NOT porn! But hey, either way I suspect Ben would be rather befuddled)

Good Night Mouse

10-25-2023

So I had a number of different ideas to post today but my husband has trumped them all. Last night celebrating 36 years of marriage he says to me he is proud of what we’ve built – the ways we’ve grown and the wonderful children we have raised. Well dang.

So I want to share a gift I gave him. Actually, wasn’t the one I gave him last night, but this one means a bunch to us:

Thrift shop – maybe $2? Can’t recall but I could NOT pass him up. We’ve decided it is a mouse (note the tail) but hey,  nose is a bit off and ears look like an elephant so who knows?! Seriously, someone’s child made this of clay and put A LOT of work into it – look at that adorable colored quilt! And who knows what the funny doodad on the far side of his nut bed is?! So this orphan mouse with serious extremity issues has come to live on hubby’s dresser. Oddly he is often mentioned – as in “why the heck would someone throw that away?”. No idea how old he is. Guessing made in the 1990s or so. We are glad he resides with us – and can do without the live ones that also do. Goodnight Mouse.

Happy Anniversary

10-24-2023

Today is my 36th anniversary. And yes, that vintage needlepoint is amusing and somewhat spot on. The thing I am constantly surprised by is the number of handmade items people sell or donate. Clearly some woman - and yes I’m guessing it was a woman - made this probably in the 1980s or so. Spent a good deal of money to have it framed nicely. And then it was given away.

I am more than happy to find these treasures - but I do wish people would treasure these handmade pieces. And ask their family members about the histories. Once our relatives pass away, so much history is lost. I am planning to write going forward about the fun items I have collected - almost always handmade - from thrift stores, flea markets, estate sales, ebay. Most are American made though not all. And while some may be for sale (ebay or etsy) many are not. Many are family heirlooms…I even have my great grandfather’s 14k reading glasses! Hope you enjoy the hunt as much as I enjoy it!