“Never worry and never hurry”, says E.B. White. So I’ve been working hard at making these formerly good things even better. I admit that I want to just rush right into the new, but I’m getting a lot of satisfaction from revising the old.
“Never worry and never hurry”, says E.B. White. So I’ve been working hard at making these formerly good things even better. I admit that I want to just rush right into the new, but I’m getting a lot of satisfaction from revising the old.
Check it out! I’ve been featured on Italian blog Cosebelle!
Since it is all in Italian, I have only various internet translators to rely on. Google Translate gave me this great snippet:
I also like many of these fans are junk and I believe in the magic that occurs rousing little treasures in some remote spot of the globe. Elizabeth is also obvious.
If you want to talk shit on me, please, do it in Italian. I’ll never know. “Obvious” my ass!
POST SCRIPT: Cecilia, the author of the article, added to the comments below with a much more logical translation:
“the price (of your jewels) is low, but the result is high, as always happen with things you find around street markets. i am a fan of this little stuffs and i believe in the magic that occurs when you rouse little treasures in some remote spot of the globe. Also Elizabeth evidently believe in it (the magic).”
Thank you so much, Cecilia, for your kind words!
Thanks to the most beautiful lot of Soviet Union military ribbons, each badge is one of a kind. Dig in, kids. My mother really likes these and you know that she wouldn’t steer you wrong!
It is Saturday night and we here in Rhode Island are hunkering down for a couple (thousand) bathtubs full of hurricane-generated rain.
I have faith that our 150 year old house will fare fairly and go forth to serve for 15o more. I don’t often think of it as being so old nor do I think much about who lived here before our landlord moved in with his young family. Sometimes, however, I like to think that there is treasure hidden beneath a loose floorboard. In my daily life, that is the extent of my interaction with our house’s historical presence. But on hot and still days such as today, it does suddenly start to smell much like An Old House- the kind that you tour or study. Not the kind that you return to with a backpack of emergency hurricane provisions. In this case, emergency hurricane provisions have included a case of water, a case of seltzer, multiple chocolate bars, fancy pastries, fancy chocolates, garden tomatoes and basil for pasta sauce making, fancy bread, 3 lbs of clementines, many boxes of high quality chicken fingers, some produce, a new julienning peeler, a bottle of Belgian beer, 3 bottles of wine from various regions, and all the goods to make A LOT of s’mores. I hope we’ll be okay.
But! Last Saturday, when it was dry and felt like we were in the final stretch and yawn of the summer season, Jess and I took a day trip to the Washington County Fair. We saw tractor pulls and huge pigs. We stood in the shadow of the Zipper, turning green at just the thought of getting on board the perennial carnival ride. We harshly judged barn after barn of children’s 4-H handicraft and ate more than two things that were made from corn and/or fried. I bought a DILLIGAF biker pin and some local honey. Jess almost bought a paperweight with a scorpion in it.
Appropriate calliope sounds, everywhere you go, thanks to the newest technology.
Not quite sure what standards this okra was held up to.
So small, you couldn’t even see it.
In this spirit, I spent the time when I maybe should have been taking in the lawn furniture and battening the hatches instead, jacked on coffee and sugar, sitting in front of Etsy, searching for 4-H medals and memorabilia.
Like this fine cap:
Which can be worn with a uniform from any of these 3 decades:
And safely protected from the elements by this delightfully explicit jacket:
As you plant an award-winning crop of heritage vegetables:
Or train your dog to retrieve a beer from the fridge:
Go ahead. Give yourself an award. But be modest:
For weeks, I had a quiet need to watch Christopher Guest’s Best in Show. I’m not entirely sure where it came from, but I’ll just blame Kelly and her defining our work relationship as, “We can not talk or talk for hours. And still find things to not talk about.”
I finally got the chance to do so last Friday night. Of course, I fell asleep on the couch, right in the middle of it.
Sold!
I’ve been up on the medal making lately, particularly spurred by finding myself listed as, “specializing in steampunk medals” on www.steampunktribune.com. It’s nice to be an authority on something. I wonder what their ad rates are?