a peek inside the fishbowl

These tea cups are on one of our bookshelves in the living room.

Here’s a small pic. Click to view a larger versrion.

Inside the tea cups are real bird nests. Inside the bird nests are real bits of broken robin’s eggshell. The quail eggs are from the ever-lovely Marla. They just seemed migrate to this spot.

The thing that looks like an insect is actually something the girls found and put there. It’s a translucent husk of a bug - completely weightless – a ghost of its former occupant. I’m guessing somebody was shedding and left that thing behind.

These past days I’ve been researching a pre-Christmas piece for Ottawa Magazine. It’s basically a gift guide, and my task was to tra la la around Westboro and West Wellington and find cool gift ideas for kids. I had a great time with this assignment. What a lucky lucky gal I am.

I had the pleasure of talking to many many extremely friendly shop owners and managers along the way. The message I interpreted from them was ultimately this: (a) we should surround ourselves with beautiful things (b) beautiful things don’t have to cost a lot of money and (c) our children’s toys can be beautiful too.

I’m not going to tell you what it is that I picked out for the magazine spread. You’ll have to wait until the issue comes out and see for yourself, but I will say that our stretch of Richmond Rd and Wellington is home to many sweet little shops that deserve our time and attention. Hmmm. I should supply you guys with names and addresses, shouldn’t I? I could do that later if you’re keen.

This whole thing got me thinking about our home, and our things, and especially the things that I love around our house that give me a special little thrill. And if you happen to be visiting my house, stopped in front of any of these things and told me you liked them, well, I’d like you a little more just for noticing.

I have a few things I wanted to share with you, but I will start with this jar full of (mostly) vintage game pieces and old dice:

This is an ongoing collection. I picked these up at various yard sales etc.  I really like wooden monopoly pieces. They feel warm to me, like they’ve retained Friendly Ghosts of Past Gameplay inside them. Am I sentimental fool or what? :)

Although I started collecting these for myself, I’ve since discovered is that the contents of this jar comes in very handy when the girls are playing games that come as a magazine pull-out, or if they’re concocting their own board games with a pencil and a pad of paper.

These pieces are pretty when they’re all together, but because they’re not rare, breakable, or valuable I never worry about the girls losing them. That way, they’re enjoying Friendly Ghosts too.

There’s a series of three junk shops on the corner of Highway #7 and Marble Point Road in Marmora, near where my mother lives. (Just a few clicks away from the roundabout.)

I stop there whenever I’m visiting. Sometimes I walk away lucky, but most of the time I’m not lucky at all. There is no pretense here. The store doesn’t aspire to be something it’s not. In fact, there is an awful lot of crap here, and it’s hard to wade through it all. I cannot call this an antique shop. That would be a whole other brand. This is basically a group of indoor yard sales, except that part of the stock extends into the outdoors, and is therefore subject to the elements.

I have always avoided the outdoor section. Musty books and old lampshades don’t hold very much appeal for me. I never thought I’d find anything there. But this time, the outdoor section seemed larger than usual. A sign informed me that the stores were closing for the season �-? no reasonable offer will be refused!

My eyes ran across the detritus of people’s lives. Oh lor,’ it is ever depressing to think about the things we accumulate and hold dear, only to have them end up selling for deeply discounted prices on the side of the road.

I was looking at piles of old cutlery when I saw It. I picked it up and held it in my hand for awhile. It felt warm. I brought it inside to pay. I had no idea how much this item was going to cost me.

I held it up to the proprietress. She snorted with laughter. “Oh my,” she exclaimed. “Haven’t you found a treasure!”�=

There was a lot of sarcasm there.

I didn’t react. If I’m bargaining at a junk shop in which there are no prices printed on anything I don’t show love, don’t show fear, and don’t show extra interest outside of regular friendly behaviour. If I do, the price will change, and it won’t be in my favour.

I should mention that in addition to my finding, I also held a new bottle brush in my hand, something I needed to scrub the sticky bits tomato soup from the bottom of the Emma and Sarah’s thermoses. (What’s the plural of thermos? Thermii?)

“So how much?”

I didn’t actually say those words. My face said it for me.

The verdict came down: fifty cents for both.

As I handed her my change she took a closer look at what I had just bought.

“That thing must be 100 years old,” she clucked.

“Who knows?” I said. “I just like the story it tells.”

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