the fire is so delightful

it is still bitterly cold outside, and I have spent the day drinking tea and sitting by the fire

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I found this on an impromptu stop at an antique shop where everything was on sale

and even though it is not my style of mid-century modern or art deco, 

I just had to have it

Scandinavian blues

So yesterday (and by 'yesterday', I actually mean Monday. I am a slow writer....) was Snow Tire Day. The annual ritual of preparing for the stuff that has already befallen on Alberta and BC (and other points west, not to mention much of Sweden judging by their lovely, wintery scene laden photoblogs). Anyway, even though we had not one inch of snow last year, making Snow Tire Day a reduntant ritual, I decided not to risk it. Besides, I needed new tires anyway, so why not get the heavy duty, practical ones.

By a strange quirk which would be too tedious to explain, but does actually make sense (you'll just have to trust me) my snow tires from last year were stored at a garage an hour and a half away. I had an appointment for 1PM. I gave myself 2 hours, because one never knows with traffic. I was there in 1 hour 10 minutes. Even with a cop hovering on the highway, I made excellent time. And because it was an unseasonably warm 15C I opted for a leisurely stroll along the waterfront to eat my sandwich. That was when I realized my sandwich was still sitting on the counter at home. I am getting so much better at not letting such things put me in a ripping foul temper. I enjoyed the warm weather and found a place to buy something else for lunch.

Then I thought, well, I've come this far, once my tires are on I may as well go another half hour and visit my brother who has just opened up a new store. An antique store. I was really quite excited to see this new venture and see what kind of vendors had rented space.

Now, I am almost glad they are not closer to home, because I would be running out of money. And space for more stuff. I have a thing for buying glass. Especially glasses (of the drinking variety). You could all stop by for a drink at the same time and I would not run out of glasses. And now I have 2 more. I only buy in 2s now, because sets of 6 or more takes up way to much room and I don't actually have that many friends who need matching glasses when they visit.

But really, the thing that caught my eye were these

Hand blown door knobs. Danish.

In a most striking and beautiful shade of turquoise. My most favourite colour.

I was their biggest spender that day.
Now I just need to find a tumbler that fits.....actually FOUR tumblers that fit.

an estate worth visiting

Shopping is not one of my favourite things to occupy my time. Unless it is in a foreign country. Or an antique store. Which, in a way, can be like shopping in a foreign land.

There is a certain allure to antique shops. You never know what you are going to find. Some places cater to a very specific era like Victorian or Mid Century Modern or to clientele with upper class tastes for lots of needs-to-be-polished silver. Some are elegant while others a total mishmash. Some are more junk than antique. One thing they do have in common is a high turnover rate with no idea of what may be in stock next. Even if you are not particularly an antique lover you can usually enjoy a moment or ten perusing items that may remind you of your childhood, or finding a lovely Moorcroft vase that you never knew you had to have until that particular moment.
Some items may or may may not be actual antiques (like this vase I found on the internet, but it is a particularly fine example of modern Moorcroft Pottery)

And antique dealers are a different sort than your usual shop owner. They will often negotiate a price, sometimes even before you start demurring. Afterall, there is always more stock coming in. Someone could walk in the door with a stack of numbered prints or a phone call could come about Mother's estate that no-one in the family wants, or a restaurant could go to auction... room is always needed. I do believe they want to see their treasures go to someone who will really appreciate them. And it is not unusual to find a dealer who will spend a fair bit of time excitedly showing you various objects that he knows you have no intention of buying, but because it is so beautiful or unusual and he wants you to see it.

I have had dealers like Carrie phone me to let me know that there are more lampshades in like the one I was admiring a few months ago. There is Robert who will wrap up an item I am trying to talk myself out of buying and put it aside for the next day when I will return with money. Yes, you really need this. Of course, you need to have shopped there many times and made yourself known to them. Otherwise, you learn to buy it before someone else does, remembering that you cannot return it.

So you can imagine my dismay at seeing a MOVING SALE sign outside my favourite antique shop a short walk away from my house. No one was happy. The rent was raised to such an astronomical amount that he had no choice but to leave. There are still many other great antique shops not too far away, but none quite like Robert's and none within walking distance.

There will, however, be a new restaurant within walking distance...

More on that later.

PhotoHunt- Orange

One of the more fun things to do on a summer's evening is to wander over to Cruise Night - a strange name for a parking lot of vintage motors, though I understand in some places they actually do cruise down the streets - and poke your head into several old, usually refurbished automobiles. Yes, these are better described as automobiles than cars. And this one in particular is perfectly suited for this week's PhotoHunt challenge of Orange.

for more orange photos see PhotoHunt

where I am impulsive

We've all done it.

Made impulsive purchases of things not needed, but lusted after.

Some have worked out better than others.

We have our small, innocuous purchases, like these cute, tiny spoons, which make me smile when I use them to eat my yoghourt.


And there is this, bought at

Anthropologie, just because I travelled all the way to the only Canadian store in the new and improved Don Mills Plaza, and had to buy something. Then I find out when I get it home that it is not only a timer, but one with a handy magnet. How I missed that, I have no idea. It's not like I don't turn every item over immediately to see the price...

And this. My cast iron teapot bought at the market a couple months ago. I LOVE it!

I only wanted a photo for a challenge...




Then. there is this.

bought at a street sale, of all places!

I love these pieces. At least I do whenever I see one in an antique shop. In my living room, where I have been slowly moving towards a mid-century modern look mixed with Art Deco, I'm not so sure.

It was a great deal. It is in very good condition. It has never been painted or otherwise defaced. The guy delivered it for free.

A small part of me wants to paint it. horrors! Because, as much as I love it, I'm not that crazy about oak.

Could I be any more conflicted?

Has anyone else bought something they've long admired from afar, but not so much once getting it home and up close and personal?

summer respite

Whenever I hear the caw caw caw of a crow, I am immediately transported to 'the cottage'. There are many things that will remind me of the cottage, but none are as strong or as immediate as the sound of a crow. No idea why - there were surely many other birds there and just as surely crows around our house in the city - but it is a fond feeling, so I don't question it. I merely sigh and allow it to wash over me for a few seconds.

The cottage wasn't ours, it belonged to neighbours Betty and Fred who every summer invited my mother and brother and I to spend a week or two with them. The cottage next door belonged to her sister and quite often one of her daughters and her family were also there. It was a multi-generational gathering, mostly of women, except for the weekends when the fathers would reappear. I'm not entirely sure how my mother felt about this rustic experience, but for my brother and I it has marked us indelibly.

Because of the age difference between my brother and myself, the cottage is the one thing that we share the same memories of - because it never changed.

It was built on the shores of Lake Simcoe back in the 40s. Very small, with inter joining rooms and a loft bedroom in the back and high rafters in the front. The stairs to the loft were basically a chair beside the built in cupboard which when opened provided the cantilevered shelves as steps which one clambered over to get to the beam which you then climbed over to reach the floor of the boys' bedroom. For years, I was distraught as my legs were too wee to make it up the steep, high, shelving steps. There was a Quebec Heater (wood burning stove) in the front room for heat and a wood burning cookstove in the kitchen for cooking. A large galvanized pail held the daily drinking water, for the water that came out of the taps was directly from the lake and not potable. The outhouse was out back. That bit does not have pleasant memories, yet for years I felt a true cottage did not have a flush toilet - that was a second home, not a cottage. I've gotten over that.

Cottages are for escape, for roughing it in the bush. This cottage was Betty's first home. It was decorated in 1950, and it oozed their personal non-style. By the time it was sold around 1999 it still had the same curtains and curios. The same mismatched furniture. The same Fiesta Ware dishes for the adults. The same Melmac dishes for the kids. The same magazines. It was like walking into a time warp. So very familiar every time, as you knew exactly what to expect and where to find it. I sometimes wonder if this is where my brother and I both found our love of antiques. I inherited one of the dressers and an old quilt that for years had that same cottage-y musty smell. My brother and I helped with the final clearout when all that the family wanted had been taken and for some reason we took all the hooks off the bedroom walls that were used for hanging clothes and divided them between us as a memento.

Coincidentally, he now lives in that same town and for a couple of years I lived in a town not far away. We still get dreamy remembering 'the cottage'. We would have loved to have bought it had we the money. Though with the sale, a new septic tank and indoor plumbing and toilet would have had to be installed. This one was built just before the cutoff date when all cottages in the area had to put in septics in the 80s. So the outhouse remained. Even when the property next door was sold, and the first monster home, with large windows and a spiral staircase, was built in place of the wooden bungalow. One of those large bay windows faced onto Fred's land. The outhouse sat tucked in the trees outside their dining room window. We all felt that was worth the giggle as we sometimes waved to them on our way...

Now, there are very few cottages left on this prime land. It looks like any suburban street, albeit one with a lake at the back of the house and a forest across the street.

I dearly wish I knew someone with a cottage who would invite me for a leisurely visit. I have read all the magazines - I know about house gifts for the cottage owner. I know to bring books to read and share, and that sometimes no conversation is needed as you sit on the dock and listen to the water slapping against the rocks. That the best way to get rid of mosquitoes is to build a great bonfire. And I'm not fussy, I'll eat the fish that is caught (if someone else guts it). I'll even help catch it. Or buy it, if need be.

And I have an ample collection of Food&Drink magazines from the LCBO.........

one-ringy-dingy

Brrrrp, brp, brp, brp, brrrppppp.
Brrrrp, brp, brp, brp, brrrppppp.
Brrrrp, brp, brp, brp, brrrppppp.

What the hell is that annoying noise?
(yes, I talk to myself. and yes, sometimes, even out loud, which is another post all to itself)

Finally, the cobwebs in my head cleared enough to realize it was the phone.

My new phone. The old one having become more of a nuisance than a useful piece of equipment, what with not holding its charge for very long. Sometimes, in the middle of a brrrrrp it will die. Or worse, in the middle of a conversation. No more 30 second warning biip, just an awkward noiselessness that tells me no one is listening to me anymore.

Not even returning the handset to the charger helps. Yeah, yeah, I know. But where is the joy of having a cordless phone if you have to keep putting it back where it belongs? You want to put it down where ever you have wandered while talking. It is a very handy excuse for screening your calls and picking up in the middle of someones message: so sorry, I couldn't find the phone...

Then there is the frantic searching for phone numbers when you try to call back to the person who wasn't listening to you anymore because your phone died, only to realize their number is stored on the phone ... that is ... dead.

So, on the weekend I noticed in the flyers a certain store that doesn't just sell tires* had phones on sale. I went and found a really nice looking model, with a "sleek European" handset. Pondered why there are never any "sleek Korean" designs on the latest LG (whatever) - it's only ever the European design that is sleek. But, for $3 more, I could get this other model that wasn't sleek, or Korean, but did come with an extra handset. Since I do have a tendency to 'lose' my phone, I decided this would be a great option.

Too bad that, sometime within the 16 hour charging period, and 16 hour waiting period for someone to actually phone me I threw out all the packaging. Because, I HATE this phone. I hate the ring. I hate the orange glow on the faceplate. I hate that I can't see the numbers on the orange glowing faceplate. I hate the big orange bar that lights up when the phone is in its charger (instead of the barely conspicuous green dot of my other phone). And I hate the way the handset feels in my hand.

I can be so picky about a $27.00 item I barely use.

In fact, I much prefer my old rotary phone. It has a receiver (note: not a 'handset') that fits quite comfortably in the hand. It has some weight to it, gives you something to hold on to. And a nifty coiling cord to twirl and fiddle with while you're talking. But, sadly it doesn't allow me to press 9 for entry into my building. Nor does it have that oh so convenient 'redial' option. And it does get annoying with those 10-digit numbers beginning with area code 905. It takes a looong time for that dial to go all the way around from 9, then 0.

But it does have a nice comforting, unmistakable 'ring' to it.While looking for a picture of a rotary phone because I thought it would be easier than taking my own I realize that North American phones have the cord on the LEFT while British phones have the cord on the RIGHT. Any ideas as to why this might be??

* Canadian Tire - an auto store that is fast becoming a favourite housewares store.

blue

This past week has been Dull and Dreary. Dark and Grey. Not the kind of days that entice one to venture outside for strolling.

The enticement lay more in staying indoors with a pot of tea and a good book.

So, that's what I've done.

A couple of weeks ago I was visiting - shopping - at my neighbourhood antique shop, which is dangerously only a less than 10 minute walk up the road when my eye spied

this mug. a Fire King D handle breakfast mug. In Delphite Blue.

A lone survivor, the 3 siblings having succumbed to irreparable maiming in the kitchen sink crashes of 1972, 1973 and 1988.

It seemed a shame to separate him from his distant cousins the mixing bowls. The middle one still has nightmares of her favoured big sister

clattering to the floor at the hands of an inept yet eager 6 year old cookie maker.

Delphite, the tea mug now joins Lustre, the coffee mug

as my newest old favourite mugs.