Vintage Bowels...er...I mean Bowls

Aging is sad in many ways. There are things to look forward to of course, but so many others cease to be relevant and no longer bring us happiness. On the other hand, sometimes, a memory and all that goes with it can still bring us that joy.  

My friend thought I was crazy I'm sure. Ever since I can remember, part of our interaction has been about downsizing, minimizing, and de-junking our houses. I have made some, albeit not huge progress. For that, I apologize in advance to any family members who will have to pay for dumpsters after I'm gone. Just know that it could have been a lot worse.

This past week, we (friend & I) had occasion to visit a barn called Craftworks. The lower floor consisted of all the sorts of things people eventually get rid of, donate to thrift stores, and sell at yard sales. The upper level had a lot of lovely new items like furnishings, pottery, knick knacks, and giftware. It's an amazing huge place providing lots of fun and nostalgia, and it's totally worth visiting.

While there, I spotted two items downstairs. Alas, I finally saw the Tom and Jerry punch bowl set that I had been yammering about and actually wrote about in a blog (August 16th, 2019, "Tom and Jerry, Where Are You?"). I had enjoyed the Tom and Jerry drink on a trip that year, but I decided to pass on the set when my friend said, "Our experience was a wonderful memory but we don't need to own something we probably will only use once a year." She had an excellent point, one which I had already realized.*** 

I moved on, eyes scanning the room. Records? Jewelry? Ornaments? Pots and Pans? Vintage Clothing? Furnishings? Then, I spotted it! Excitedly, I made my way toward a large yellow pyrex bowl. Yes, a bowl. I picked it up. I held it. I admired it. I cradled it. I didn't need it. I bought it.                                                      

Why?

When I was between the ages of two and six, my family lived in a couple of different shacks on an island in Red Lake. By shack, I mean...well, shack. They were something that author Jeannette Walls would have considered luxurious. We dragged water from the lake to boil for cooking and washing dishes. 

Entertainment consisted of birthday parties, church, Saturday night dances, and card nights.  Everyone congregated at our home for card nights because it was probably the one with the largest space for several card tables. Not to brag, but our outhouse was also the nicest and we had heat from not only a wood stove, but also a new oil burning one. Those draws, plus the fact that mom always created the most magnificent coffee cakes and tortes were probably the reason for our frequent visitors. Since we had no fridge, it also meant that company had to take home leftovers. 

One night, my parents won a bridge game. The next day mom excitedly displayed her winnings. It was a set of four colourful pyrex mixing bowls, just the thing for an avid baker. They were bright. They were beautiful. They were certainly appealing to me as a small child.

 After that, whenever I helped with the dishes, I begged mom to let me dry the big yellow bowl. I was five years old and the bowl was really, really, big. She'd always give me the smaller red or blue one. I eventually worked my way up to the green, but never the yellow.

I know the bowls moved to Toronto with my parents. They also moved to the suburbs. They were still around when my mom passed away. Then, they disappeared. 

A couple of years ago, I found the red bowl at a thrift store. Now I have the yellow. Not mom's originals, but still...

Sounds strange, but I am making it my mission to find the rest of this set. I'll probably never use them and they may end up at the dump one day, but I hope not, especially since I discovered that the vintage set now sells for between three hundred and seven hundred dollars. My research also unearthed some other cool info. 

Original Cost in the 1950's

Thrift stores and garage sales, here I come!

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*** NOTE - I still have the Tom and Jerry mix that I purchased in 2019 in my freezer. 

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Memories of Two Dresses - Dress #2

 In 1989, I purchased a dress. It was made in Italy, and came from some kind of boutique type store in Markham, and it was designer I suppose. It wasn't my style...way too shiny, fancy and frilly, but for whatever reason (divorce), my whole mindset had changed. It wasn't that I had much money, on the contrary, but this dress spoke to me. 

      It said, "When you get invited to a garden party by the Queen, you'll be prepared."

I never had an expectation of attending such an event, it was just the thought of it I suppose. So I took this stupidly expensive dress home and put it in my closet. There it sat. It moved with me from house to house to house. Whenever I donated or tossed out clothing over the years, I'd look at the dress, put it on, dance around the room, then fold it back up carefully and put it into its now designated box in the closet.

It's hard to believe that thirty five years have gone by. This dress has been around longer than the the method of photography I just used after it occurred to me that I didn't actually have a photo of  this now vintage dress. The Queen was gone. The dress remained unworn in public.

In June of this year, I had an opportunity to attend an outdoor function labelled "garden party". I wracked my brain as to what I would wear. Information describing the party included, fancy attire, hat, gloves if desired. I pulled out the dress. Hence the photo.

It just wasn't quite right...too long, layers of lace making my upper body look wider than it actually is. What to do? Might this be my last opportunity to finally wear it, or option B, did I want to be buried in it and make that the last?

Decision made, I located a tailor in town and described my vision. Of course, my vision cost a fair percentage of the original dress price, but I didn't care. After all, this is 2024 and no longer 1989. She kept commenting on the lovely colour but that didn't get me any kind of discount. Anyhow, it was finally happening. 

I hauled out my silver sandals which thankfully, I had not yet donated, ordered a fascinator from Amazon, and I was ready. Boy was I ready.

The party turned out to be a lot of fun. The weather was hot but the rain held off. I sat with two friends. There was a fashion show, and a fantastic array of food items including a candy bar. Several people commented on my dress. I shall wear it again...on my next birthday, so, if you'll be attending, please pretend you haven't seen this dress before.                                                               

Memories of Two Dresses - Dress #1

 Long, long ago, in a subdivision not that far away, I had a dress...yes, just one. I did own some skirts, since these were compulsory female attire in high school back in the day. Anyhow, clothing options were limited by my parents' lack of finances. They had just purchased a house and funds were less than abundant. Like some people, they struggled, made sacrifices, and teens (specifically me) didn't complain or demand designer products. In fact, I doubt I even had a clue about designers. All I remember is the trendy Dr. Kildare and Ben Casey shirts and the penny loafers girls had that I often coveted. 

So, someone made me a dress. I might have even made it myself, but since it wasn't lopsided, it probably wasn't me. I suspect it was a close friend of the family who came up with the most wonderful items for me to wear, gifts at birthdays and Christmases. Once, she even made me a gorgeous skating skirt so that I could spin and swirl as I glided up the frozen creek behind our house. Alas, I digress from the dress.  

The dress was pale blue, A-line style, quite nice, and was made from a light weight summery fabric. It fit me well but it was plain. Very plain. The definitive word here being PLAIN. Nonetheless, I liked it. One day, I got a brilliant idea. Was there any reason I couldn't make the dress fancier? In fact, I could make it look as though I had a new dress. After mulling some ideas, and considering my limited teenage skill set, I had a thought.

It was summer vacation, so I took my paltry babysitting savings (35 cents an hour) and off I went to the closest two-story department store, Sayvette. Getting there required walking on the gravelly side of a dusty two lane road (facing traffic of course), to the closest town about 6 km away. Once there, I stepped on to the moving ramp which existed where an escalator would normally be. It was a great concept since shopping carts would lock into place until you reached your up or down destination. I made my way to the sewing/notions department where I purchased a few embroidery threads and a needle.

After my trek back home, I began my attack on the dress. I laid it out, drew a pattern and hoped all was properly centered. This is how I've always functioned with craft type endeavors. I assume I can do things and don't give it a lot of thought...just full steam ahead with the hope that it will turn out. I worked in secret for days and days. I  was a rebel and did things first, knowing that asking permission would not necessarily elicit the desired response. On the other hand, it was MY dress. 

After about three weeks, I was done. This is the only photo I've been able to unearth in my vast pile of slides and prints. I liked it and felt as though I had a new dress. Dad said it looked like it was covered in space aliens. So? What's the verdict? You tell me.

A Rose By Any Other Name

Having taught for much of my life, well over a thousand children, I don't recall any strange or unusual names. There were of course some who had ethnic origins, however, they were usually typical names for their culture. The challenge was coming up with a name for my first born that I didn't associate with someone I'd taught.

Often, children are named for parents or grandparents. My dad for example, had the same name as his grandfather, which was the same moniker as his father and great grandfather, but in reverse. Some parents opt to name their children after famous people, movie characters and more. Then there are all the variations and permutations of spellings for names, substituting "y" for "i" or adding extra consonants in attempts to make a child's name unique.

There are actually some countries that require the state's permission before a child can receive a certain name. In fact, there are laws in place meant to protect the children. Not a bad idea I would think, but sad that this would be deemed a necessary rule.

In Germany for example, you must be able to tell the gender of the child by the name. I suspect this will be an area of dispute in future years considering the current "he, she, and they" options. Also a name cannot negatively impact the well being of the child. A child cannot be given the name of a product or an object. In other words, Gwyneth Paltrow's "Apple" would be out.

In Sweden, the patent and registration office approves names. Metallica, Superman, Veranda, Ikea, and Elvis are among those rejected. I'm not certain what the issue is with Elvis, and I must admit, I did teach one during my years in the profession.

Iceland actually has a naming committee. Names must contain letters in the Icelandic alphabet, and as I learned while in Iceland, names represent whose son or daughter the child is. Last names are fairly irrelevant since most are identified by first names eg. Jonsson, or Jonsdottir. There's more...quite interesting. Look it up.

  

Even the U.S. has rules. No names in their entirety may contain more than forty letters. This has something to do with spaces in official documents and on computers.

So, where does this leave people like Elon Musk who came up with X Æ A-12 as his baby's name?  And how about these?  Jason Lee's son is Pilot Inspektor and Jessica Simpson's son is Ace Knute.

• 
  
• I recently watched part of the old movie "East of Eden". As so frequently happens these days, it jogged another of my memories. 

There was a quote, " Abra was ready ere I called her name;

And though I called another, Abra came." 

It always made me want to name a daughter Abra. Then I thought of the mocking and teasing that could, no would, surely ensue at school.

 

"Hey Abracadabra, can you make a rabbit appear?"

My next unusual choice came from a Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem. I often listened to the radio in the evenings while painting a mural on the wall of my soon to be born child. The broadcaster would play music and read poetry. A frequent offering was, "The Children's Hour". There was a verse...

"From my study I see in the lamplight,

      Descending the broad hall stair,

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,

      And Edith with golden hair."

Allegra was a flowing and unique name. I liked the laughing part...a happy child. Thankfully, I did not opt for this name which has since become a brand of common allergy drug.

So there you have it my dearest Ingrid. I did not name you after grandma Rose. Your name can't really be condensed into something cutesy. It's only slightly ethnic. You were quickly able to remember "ing" spellings and endings in school.  AND, it generally conjures up the image of the gorgeous and brilliant blonde that you are. My only regret, although it doesn't seem to have impacted you negatively, are your unfortunate initials...I.P.

2024 - Really?

I was busy. I had knee surgery. I was lazy. I forgot my blogger password. All those are not good excuses, but after a lot of huffing and puffing, secret verification codes that didn't work, and a few unpleasant words said under my breath, I'm back in. I see that I did in actuality begin a lot of blogs last year...the definitive word being "begin". Will look into those later. Hope I still remember how to write.

I sometimes watch Jimmy Kimmel and he frequently shows clips of newscasters . He makes fun of  them because they say, "I can't believe it's (insert any month here) already."

So here am I and I actually can believe it's April already. In fact, today was the day of the big solar eclipse. Some saw it, many didn't. We had cloud cover but it did get dark outside. I confess I wasn't as excited about it as the hoards who populated Niagara Falls and some other regions of North America. I actually got tired of hearing news and updates for weeks on end, but nonetheless,  I did get one pair of protective eyewear. Unused as it were. 

All day long, reporters have managed to sneak the word  "eclipse" into their reporting as though they were the only ones to think of it. Let's wait until tonight's Jimmy Kimmel and see what materializes. I'm certain it will be entertaining.

What surprises me is that there wasn't more use made of music...songs about the moon, the sun, and the like. For example...

 My son managed to get some cool shots from a store parking lot slightly north of the city. When I look at his pictures, I almost think that there should be some  heavenly choirs of angels singing. Lovely.

So...who knew that the eclipse would get me back into my blogs? Actually, I've been thinking about it for awhile and I have lots to share. Besides having a new and constantly revised bucket list, I have also achieved a number of goals. Those will be forthcoming in future blogs.

Now, enough about the eclipse and on to something more pressing...Blue Jays Home Opener is starting in five minutes. Gotta run.