Scott and I love antiques. Well, to be more specific, Scott likes antiques and I loooooooove antiques. So if you do the math, we love them. Not the fancy, expensive, heavy, ornate numbers. We like the well loved and used primitive looking simple antiques. Sometimes the things I bring home are a little too well used and rickety for Scott’s taste. Mostly because when I bring them home, I bat my eyes at him and ask him to fix them. He works his magic and then I find a place for my treasure in our house. This process makes me so happy! A few years ago he went so far as to ask me to please stop buying pieces of junk. I can’t remember exactly how I replied, but I’m sure it was something like, “Oh silly, you know I can’t do that.” One of my favorite pieces of junk joined us on a snowy day in November a couple of years ago. Here are a couple of random pictures from that day (aren’t cell phone cameras neat?):
I found it on Craigslist and somehow talked the seller into delivering it. He and his son plopped it right into my garage. When Scott got home, he smiled at me and said that if I wasn’t finished transforming it and moving it into the house soon, he was just going to use it as garage storage. Um, no.
Does this look familiar? I live in my laundry room. I am a folding sage. I feel like it might be the thing in life with which I have the very most experience next to sleep. With four of us and our various activities, laundry is a constant. I love language and puns and rhymes and alliteration, so I’ll lay one of my sayings on you now that never fails to make the eyes of one or both of my daughters roll into their sockets. It’s laundry quandary. If I am overwhelmed with baskets and baskets of clean laundry that are awaiting folding, I say I am in a laundry quandary. When my kitchen is overwhelmed with dishes that need to be done, I say I’ve got dissues. I crack myself up! Anyway, another quandary is how to keep clean laundry from falling out of those overfilled baskets and landing behind the washer and dryer. This happens so often that I resorted to keeping Scott’s gigantic outdoor sized barbecue tongs in the laundry cabinet. When something goes down, I get the tongs, hike myself up tall, lay over the top of the dryer like someone who put their belly where their bottom goes in the saddle of a horse and reach down there into the dusty abyss to retrieve the lost item which is now full of lint and needs to be rewashed. The last time this happened, I had an idea!