Last summer I ignored, for several days, a sketchy poster board sign hung on a boarded-up building a block away: “yard sale inside, knock on door.” Every yard-sale-loving cell in my body answered the call with a quite certain “yeah right, and DIE.” Until the day that… I went inside. Very end of the week, sign had been up for days and days with no reports of murder in my small, happy neighborhood. Door was hanging wide open, normal-looking people were loading things out of the building onto a truck.

So I wandered up. Was greeted at the door by a very enthusiastic old man who told me the story of this former pharmacy – closed down many many years ago, but the building was boarded up rather than being sold. Now the family was finally clearing things out to make the sale. The inside was like a fossil record of the 80s and beyond. There were some other normal-looking yard sale patrons paging through books. The guy shooed me inside and begged me to take things. He said he’d give me a deal.

Over an hour later I emerged victorious. And really really, dirty. Like, I went home and showered kind of dirty. Feeling a little guilty and like I had just committed some kind of yard sale robbery, but also sure that my grandpa would be proud of the price I paid for my haul, and positively giddy about my treasures.

For part of a sweltering hot Friday afternoon, I sat on a grimy chair in this grimy room and pawed through grimy boxes full of pristine greeting cards that were older than me by decades. They were amazing. I drooled. I fawned. I sorted out two boxes of the ones I wanted. What for? I didn’t know. I was completely consumed with the wanties. They were going to go in the trash the next day. There were hundreds and hundreds, most in multiples. They were almost entirely packaged neatly in flat, brown paper envelopes, reorder tickets sticking out of the tops. No bends, no creases, no fading, no de-glittering or de-flocking. The vellum was beautiful and crisp. They were all stock that had never been put out for sale.

I emerged into the sunlight with two big boxes of greeting cards. And then again with a box of lovely antique cameras, plus a couple of 70s Kodak gems (most have been gifted – I kept one). And then a box full of half-empty, ratty scrapbooks, which I devoured to learn a little of the family and the past of my town. On top of that last box was a super-ratty quilt, which lives on to enjoy outings onto the grass to listen to music and be sweated / bubbled / hummused on by happy, dancing children.

All told, I had paid the guy a sum so small that I can’t admit it here, even after fighting him and rounding up to something above “really fancy Starbucks coffee drink.”

So the cards. What in the hell do I do with hundreds and hundreds of beautiful vintage greeting cards? Aside from use and gift, I came up with two solutions. Some I will sell on Etsy. They have been in plastic totes for half a year because I felt a little guilty doing that. However, practicality wins and the first batch will be up shortly. Beyond that, I am scanning all of them and making them available for download here. They are all uploaded in their original size, for graphic taking and crafting in whatever way you are able. There are many, many more to be added to that set, so check back often.

The people who owned the pharmacy were German. They had a nice collection of cameras, mostly German as well. They were good photographers. The man – the pharmacist – had two doctor brothers, both lived in Florida. They took a lot of photos of snow. They sent Christmas cards. They baked cookies from stained, handwritten recipes. They rode horses on Kingwood street. The women had excellent taste in clothes, but, alas, were not my size.

Enjoy.

Listening: Nick Drake pandora (probably for the rest of “winter”)

A gigantic, crazily rainbow striped, crocheted masterpiece. Vintage sheets (and quilt daydreams.) Hazel’s find – cowboy boots, one size too big. Which is not stopping her :) And, a turquoise Pyrex bowl – the first piece I’ve found of the clear glass variety. And a wee green milk glass dish, unmarked. I had intended it to go straight to the selling stash after I paid my quarter, but it’s too cute and happy – I just keep using it.

My brother and his girlfriend just showed up at my back door after some morning yardsailing, bearing a pristine blue #401! Yip yip yip – complete set!! Red thrifted by my mama, green from goodwill, yellow from a local thrift shop, and now the most delicious wee blue. Thank you, Ben & Megan!

It is said that if I could melt it down and shoot it up I would, but really, I don’t know why people do drugs when you can just go thrifting. All you have to do is take in an episode of Hoarders every so often to keep yourself in check. It’s cheaper than beer, cigarettes, coffee…

swoon. swoon. swoon.

- I love my wee back porch. These little succulents in their mismatchy milk glass homes love it there, too. One of Hazel’s current favorite things (and the only plant she’s ever chosen to buy, beyond selecting flower colors) are the “baby toes” in the middle. She loves to pet them and look in the little windows on their tips.
- Sometimes there is an owl asleep on the kitchen floor.
- Thrifted a pretty pretty pretty (and functional!) vintage Belgian Descoware pot… smothers wish for a Le Creuset, matches a tiny decorative version that belonged to my grandma, looks smashing living life on top of the stove with a turquoise teapot, and doubles as deadly weapon to use against any potential back door intruders. The goodwill gods have smiled upon me once again.
- Text message from my brother requesting books 3 & 4, and practically running down the block with Hazel to deliver. Yay for new Potter fans! And yay for my brother and his gal living so nearby that Hazel’s “is ‘dat Uncle Ben’s house?” pointing inquiries are limited to less than 10 houses between theirs and ours.
- Snoopy band aids for wee injuries!
- …and “band aids” for the rest of the “injuries” in this house. What is it with two year olds and band aids? All over their parents and stuffed animals and dog and…I do not have the kind of band aid budget that Hazel would like, but I LOVE to watch her play doctor, so instead I give her these labels that look like small neon band aids. She loves them. I pay a penny or so each, and sometimes go about my day with nine of them all over my shins. Win.

I found the first of these gems at one of those garage sales where you walk in and immediately want to walk back out, but peruse the christmas decorations and power wheels cars and VHS tapes anyway, just to be polite. It was partially hidden under a table, sitting on a bench. My heart lept at its minty greenness, and then again at its one dollar price tag. It’s a Swiss-made Hermes 3000, and appears to work just fine – I need to download the manual and procure some ribbons and see if I can get it functional. I thought about fixing and selling it to finance a couple months’ electricity usage, or half the year’s water bills or something, but I want it in my life for awhile.

The glass coasters / casters are from Viking Glass, whose defunct factory is still located three towns up the river from where I grew up. My mom and I popped into a yardsale in a building there, and were greeted by tables of the usual fare, AND tables and tables of glassware that was left behind when the store (which used to be located right where we were standing) closed and the building was sold. Lots of sample pieces etched with numbers, lots of mismatchy and chippy and partner-less stuff. It would have been a goldmine for a hardcore collector of stuff from old WV glasshouses. So, after an hour spent one night hunting online for affordable, appropriately-sized vaseline glass coasters and coming up with nothing, I did a little internal yip-yip at these perfect little replacements for this cabinet’s wooden shims. Two bucks a pop and part of my heritage? Yes, please. Who cares if they don’t glow under a blacklight. I also basically reinacted this conversation about an oversized wooden shipping crate, stamped with the Viking info and destined for New York. Instead, as soon as I fashion a fabric liner, it will nicely hold Hazel’s growing stash of dress-ups. I don’t have a picture of that – the trunk of my car was too full of photography lighting equipment and a vinyl cutter. Oh baby.

Listening: Jackson Browne

four Hazel Atlas “kitchen aids” mugs :: 1966 Memory game :: vintage Little People village :: brand new LL Bean backpack with my name on it, in my color :: a good weekend :: if we’re ever destitute we’ll sell the village set and game on ebay :)

The best things Hazel has said, lately:

“I a farmer, Mama”, while seeding some radishes…

- and –

…singing a toddler-murder-ballad variation of a classic children’s song… go pop the weasel. A lot. Every day.

After an all-day workshop on suicide prevention, this happy thrifting find cheered me up 50%. Other 50% will be found someday when I locate its sugar-mate, I hope.

Baby plants become unbearably cute with the addition of “cute ‘spouts, Mama! Baby ‘pants! Yook Mama, gettin’ big!”

There’s almost nothing that is more satisfying than successfully navigating witching hour with an activity so distracting that Miss Hazel Mae hasn’t even noticed that 6:00 has come and gone with not a single ounce of Whine. This particular evening – scraps of felt and wooden beads & buttons, chosen individually and handed to Mama for stringing… 40 minutes straight until she declared it Done…

…which is, of course, perfect.

After more than two years of mothering, this is among my top 5 favorite things: watching her begin to very mindfully, rather than experimentally, make art. The girl is a fan of glitter, big paper, stickers, and the color white.

…but I do not always like to sew. Or, more accurately, I do not always have the time, should be doing other things instead, have a toddler who is not occupied enough to allow a hot iron anywhere in her immediate radius, etc. On those days, no-sew fabric projects are where it’s at!

$3.00 vintage folding chair – a little WD-40, some added padding, and fresh new fabric (and a fifty-cent apple tablecloth of perfection – thank you goodwill.)

Various scrap fabric, leftovers, and a vintage shirt popped into “circles” (much to Hazel’s delight) and arranged on the wall. I think I’ll be adding to this – delicious color combo!

…I have to show off this scrumptious Andrea-made cowl that was just delivered to my front door! Perfect color, perfectly cozy merino wool… maybe I will take it off in May. Maybe.

What can I say? The woman is a skilled knitter. And my grandpa is a skilled thrifter – he found the brooch several years ago :)

I bought this afghan at Goodwill on Friday. It was four dollars, and the workmanship is flawless. As soon as we pulled it off the rack Hazel’s eyes widened, her little fingers floated towards the colorful flowers as she whispered something indecipherable, and I decided that we must have it.

Upon closer inspection when we got back home, I found a little commercially made tag with the words “From the needles of” and the woman’s name. I thought that perhaps, having gone through the trouble of making such nice tags, she’d owned a business or did frequent craft fairs or something like that, so I did what any normal person would do (right?), I googled her. No location or any other info, just her name.

And of course in the top five results were PDFs of two church bulletins from Catholic churches in the eastern panhandle, both containing her in the prayer requests. Mikey says “oh yeah, there is – or used to be – a priest over there with that last name.” There’s my “in” – I can pepper an email to a stranger with “I’m catholic too!” and “my husband knows of this priest!” and “by the way he’s doing a phd in theology!”, right?

I picked a random email address from the most recent church bulletin and wrote, explained the blanket, my googling, my hope to track down the woman who made it – if she is still alive – and let her know her beautiful work has found new life with a little girl. I mentioned that my (theology student;) husband knows of a priest by that last name and thought perhaps she was a relation.

I got an email back yesterday. The nice lady that I randomly chose was very excited to hear my story and said she’s almost certain it would be the same person. The crochet-hook-wizard is in her 80s, and still kicking it at mass every week with her husband Abe (cousin to the priest Mikey was thinking of, who turns out to be this parish’s former pastor) and playing bingo twice a week. ADORABLE.

I have her address and will be sending her a letter and photos as soon as I get them printed. I hope she’s happy that someone loves her blanket and not upset by the detail that someone had to donate it to Goodwill first.

Listening: The Band
(I am) Reading: The Poisonwood Bible
(Hazel is) Reading: The Family Book, The Peace Book, and The Grandma Book – this is almost all she has been “reading” to herself over the past few days, over and over and over
Working on: finished sewing Hazel shorts so now I can do doll stuff! ; but after I finish up some custom jewels that I must deliver this week