Sunday, October 6, 2013

Where everybody knows your name

I'm often at our local Habitat for Humanity's ReStore. It has good and not so good memories for me. Last year, I was there with my sister, Therese, when I got a phone call that my lymph node biopsy was cancer-free. Good.  Another time, I was loading an old fireplace mantle into my van, stepped backwards over some wood, and snapped a meniscus. Not so good. Minutes before, on that same visit, a man at the loading dock said, "Hey, you're the "wood lady", do you want this pile here? It is too small to sell, and usually when you come here you get pieces of wood." Good. On another visit, a person who will remain un-named said, "Oh, "green sweater lady", I've been waiting for you to come in.  I found something I knew you would like and have been holding it for you." Great.

Being known as the "wood lady" and the "green sweater lady" is not exactly the same as knowing your name, but close enough for me. Growing up in a family of seven kids, I rarely was referred by my own name twice in a row.

When weeks go by and there is no post, it is certainly not because I have nothing to say (you wish). Nor is it that I have nothing to show/exhibit.  I'm merely handcuffed to a project and lose track of time and the world around me. Right now, it is 3:26 AM and I'm using an old bobby pin to extract myself from the cuff, and share some finished items, one of which is the item that was held for the "green sweater lady".

This piece I got on the River-Fairview line and it must have been in someone's attic for years because I could almost take a credit card and lightly scrape away the varnish. It is a stable end table. No loose joints.

I guess I would call this a mid century modern.  My daughter loves this but has NO PLACE to put it as many pieces I finish find their way into her house.  It's all relative.

I was not sure about this next end table. Another mid century modern from my friend Ken (I have to do a story on Ken, my friend with a compassionate heart). The top may have once had leather inlay, but only remnants were visible. The rest was sort of coated with a black finish with pink (professionally done pink) underneath.

The pottery is from my Mom's collection of Frankoma that I inherited/appropriated after she died.  When my Dad would go to Kentucky for work, he would always bring her home a piece of it. Since then, the factory has had a fire and all the molds were destroyed. I always smile whenever I see it.  So far, none of my siblings have fought me for it. Maybe they've tried, but I didn't recognize when they called my actual name.

I gave it some layers of creams and olive shades, and some grain striping, with poly coatings.

This little footstool was the piece that Melis somebody saved for me at ReStore.  It had carpet nailed to the top with some metal cleats. It may have been a kneeler or a shoeshine stool. It makes a good little footstool or seat for this little elf to park his patoot (it that a real word?) The richness of the oak came out with acetone and some vigorous scrubbing with steel wool.


I've been remiss in giving Josie updates.  She is thriving at 56 days and wearing real pajamas now. She's over #3, thanks to all your prayers. Look how big she is! And her color is so pink. She has a ways to go still, but in a much better comfort zone.


This coming week will have a Subway Art Dresser project that really kicked my patoot. Check it out, I will post it as soon as I finish the door on it. Here is a little preview....

As ever,
"What's her name"

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