Junk Love: This Love is Cold

After a deliciously mild and rainy summer, the sun has decided to punish us. I know--I shouldn't complain. I should instead be grateful for all of those moody, stormy afternoons. But it's hard to keep a smile on when 30 seconds outside makes my hair a giant frizzball. As the sweat trickles down my forehead, I seek the comfort of cold things: my ridiculously air-conditioned house (this is going to cost me a fortune on next month's power bill, but today I am in the mood for a bit of meat locker chill), a tall cup of sweet tea, and a bit of the Arctic (or Antarctic):

I have posted about penguins in the past, but I didn't bother to include pictures of our babies. This collection began with Chilly Willy and his gal pal, Milly. We actually have an extra Milly, so Willy could step out with twins (wink wink). But, he'd probably rather just eat a giant stack of pancakes (and there's nothing wrong with that).Of course, Willy + Milly + Milly = 3. And we know what 3 means...dum dum DUM! A penguin collection. So, it was only natural to add to the family!

And then, there's this guy (the big lummox), who holds a special place in my heart:

Of course, we have to have crossover potential with the cocktail collection:

Our West Bend ice bucket was too hard to photograph, but this one's on ebay

Fabulous vintage penguin decanter.

And let us not forget some other dwellers of chilly climates. Here is a hint:

This one was our first.

These ladies weren't acquired together, but now they are the best of friends.

And this guy was purchased for three reasons: the maker's name, the fact that he would hold perfectly chilled root beer, and his Alaskan heritage. Oh, Charlie!

The littlest Eskimo (wouldn't that make a great movie?) and the salt and pepper shakers live in their own little world, created by me on a white shelf in front of a pale blue wall. It's the perfect merger of the Great North and Frigid South. They seem pretty happy with it, anyway. The rest of them are scattered throughout the house, to give a bit o' the Arctic to almost every room.

Ahhhh! The cold air gushes forth from my vents once more. I feel that an ice cream cone is in order. And, just maybe, another Eskimo to love:

1970s clothes hanger; Etsy

Junk Love Monday: Glassy and Elegant

I blame my mother. I realize that this is a loaded statement, with various applications, but I'll save most of those in case I ever decide to collect therapists. For today, the blame game has one objective: glass.

http://www.maribethanderson.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/BlenkoGlass.jpg

It started with a birthday (sort of). We had cake and candles, and wrapping paper was flying, and I ripped into one box to find...bottles. There were three of them, about fourteen inches high, each a different color and shape. One had a triangular base; another was round and very tapered; the third had a pattern that looked like waves. I loved them, but I was confused. I did not collect bottles, so it seemed like a random sort of gift. As the festivities wound down, she pulled me to the side and asked if I wanted her to get me something else. She worried that I did not like them. Of course I liked them (they are fabulous), but I asked her why she chose to give them to me in the first place. She looked surprised. "You've always loved colored glass. Every time we go somewhere, you look at, pick up, or comment on the big glass bottles." She had me there. My mother was right. (And in my childhood home, a victory boogie just took place. I promise never to admit it again.)

theendofhistoryshop.blogspot.com

I had never really experienced deep thoughts about colored glass, particularly Mid-Century bottles, but I suppose that I was a collector in denial. It took my mother's gift of three bottles (three being the number of the counting for making a collection official, if you will remember an earlier post) to make it real. I looked at my bottles, and loved them, and devoted myself to finding them some friends.

Now, I realize that I began this story with a birthday party, but really, it starts with my great-grandmother. I spent a lot of my childhood at her house, which was where I trained diligently in the art of plundering. Her house was stuffed to the rafters with stuff, and I loved to find it. All of it. And one of the things that I found was a 1960s amber glass bottle with a stopper. I was positive that it used to have a genie inside, and she assured me that the genie was on vacation. I loved that bottle. I would look at it at least twice during every visit, to see if the genie was back yet. (He never did come back. I assume he's living the high life on a beach somewhere. But, I digress.) Anyway, the memory of that bottle was archived and filed in the part of my brain devoted to meaningless childhood details, and my mother's bottles whispered to that same neglected lobe.

And so, I had to acknowledge what my mother had always known. I love big glass bottles. It is one of my more carefully curated collections for two big reasons: limited display space, and the cat. I cannot buy a bottle with a very loose stopper, for fear that tragedy will strike the first time a stray cat meows from the flower bed. And, I don't want to get into the habit of buying large bottles that will instantly have to go into storage. Large bottles are difficult to store. I also try to vary the colors, although I tend to gravitate toward blues and greens. Interesting stoppers are a must. Blenko makes my heart beat faster.

www.blenkoarchive.org

I go for long periods of time without finding any interesting bottles, and then I'll find a shop that has five or six great ones. They just aren't very common in my normal shopping range. But, we recently traveled to Ohio, which will forever be known as The Land of Big Glass Bottles. They were everywhere, and not just in twos and threes, but in dozens. I saw thirty-six different Mid-Century bottles in a single day, ranging in size from eight inches to around three feet in height. It was Mecca. And I couldn't buy any, because they were either too expensive or too delicate for a road trip through multiple construction zones. Even now, I'm getting depressed about all of those bottles that I will never own....

from ShootingCreekVintage on etsy.com

But, I suppose it's for the best. I have limited space, after all, and I live with a cat who is insane. I just dream of the day when I have a huge window, with all of my bottles sitting in front to catch the sunlight in the morning. I hate it when my mother is right.