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I was perusing my favorite blogs and got the craptacular idea to make some candles after seeing a photo from Martha Stewart.  Shell candles.  Melt some wax, pour them into seashells, stick a wick in there and voila…….a little seashore ambiance.  Just what we need here in Kansas when we’re surrounded by dirt, dirt and some dirt.

Nancy is the proud owner of hundreds of shells so I went to her house to check them out.  We chatted about THE BIG SALE COMING JUNE 4TH (shameless shouted plug) while picking out shells.  I left with a nice stash and got to work.  It was warm and muggy out, but I hovered over the stove watching my wax melt because it happens to be highly flammable and I didn’t need to burn down da howse.  Anyhoodle, Martha says to put your shells in a baking dish filled with sand as to keep them from tipping.  Martha thinks of everything.  Oh me, oh my, they were so cute until Boy Child came sniffing around the crap project and said, “How are you going to keep the wax from running out the sides when you start to burn it?”  Martha already thought of that.  Doesn’t she always?  You glue small shells to the bottom like little feet to level your shell.  They no sticky, Martha.

There I was massaging another cluster when Boy Child says, “Maybe you should put them in something.”  Oh, he’s so smart right out of year two of university.  Off he went and I got a vase to try out my new grand plan to float the candles.  I filled the vase with water, dropped my little shell of wax into it and it sank right to the bottom.  Me, not so smart.  Me need more university. 

Final Assessment of the Hot Mess of a Bad Idea:  Shells weren’t big enough.  Didn’t have underlings like Martha has to stand over a hot stove on a hot night.  Spent $10.00 at the Hob Lob and God knows I hate giving those cranky people any of my money.  Realized Hob Lob employees are cranky due to being around crafts all day.  Had a beer.  Called it a night.  Shells, sand and wax all over the counter mocking me.  Mocking me real bad.

 If I were only younger, I could have such a bright future……….

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When you shop on the curb you never know for sure if your vision is going to come to fruition, but with a little cleaning and waxing, goodness can make an appearance.  Big sale June 4th?  Ummmm……this hunka, hunka burnin love will not be in it.

Every morning I walk the dog.  Two different dogs, same route, 18 years.  Over that time, I’ve met a few people along the way.   

Around the corner from my street is a retired plumber who raised eight kids in a cape cod that was a better fit for a family of four.  With the weather being warmer, he’s out a bit more and so we often visit  before we both move on to the tasks of the day.  Last year I found out he has early Alzheimer’s.  I wouldn’t have known that then, but this year when he drew a blank right in the middle of a conversation, he told me that he sometimes has trouble finding the right words.  He no longer drives a car and gets around the neighborhood on his bike, which has made him fit everywhere but in his mind.

The other day he was outside puttering with his lawnmower.  We talked for a few minutes and then he looked at me and said, “You and me, we’ve got the luck of the Irish don’t we?”  Oh yes we do, kind man.  I told him I’d let him get back to work, but before I left he said, “Isn’t this a beautiful day?  This is the day the Lord has made.”  True on both accounts.

This dog of mine and I walked the last block home, and on that lovely spring morning, the wind was at our back, the sun shone warm upon our face and I said a prayer for the friend who always rises to meet me.

Fancy Nancy and I always daydream about the shop we’ll have one day.  It will be full of vintage goodness that we’ve uncovered, cleaned up and made fresh.  It will smell lovely when you walk in, there will be music playing and you’ll be able to help yourself to a cup of coffee while you spend a few stolen moments away from the business of life.

It will look like this from the street and if it ever comes to be, I think I will have died and gone to heaven.

When you talk nice to them, they talk nice back……….

With Big Daddy out of town and large item pickup going on in the hood, I enlisted Boy Child to help me with some roadside shopping.  I live for this weekend and out of three children, he’s the only one who would be caught dead picking up stuff from the curb.  Lucky for me, his semester was over this week and since he’s moving into an apartment in August, I had my own little Jethro to heft our goods into the car.

Large item pickup is THE biggest holiday in town.  It is a chance to clean crap out of your garage and basement and then fill it again with other people’s cooler crap.  We struck out days ahead of time, cruising curbs.  Our early acquisitions included a rusty wagon that made me want to cry when I saw it cast away on the street, a mid-century cabinet for BC’s new apartment, a stash of frames, a plant stand and some wood boxes. 

By Friday afternoon, everything had ramped up and the curbs starting filling up.  My neighbor directed BC to 69th St. for chairs and me to 70th St. for fencing.  A friend called to say her neighbor just put stuff out and I needed to get to 64th St. ASAP for the good stuff.  Another neighbor called to say there was a door with my name on it on 72nd St.  Traffic was crazy here in Mayberry with scavengers hunting for retro/vintage stuff, metal and building materials.  Between perusing the curb, watching for parked cars and avoiding pickups, it got a little dangerous.

All afternoon I kept an eye on my neighbor’s curb because last year was the jackpot.  Sure enough, out it came and out I went.  I got a tour of the junk piled at the curb then a tour of the house and came home with an old trunk that they hadn’t even bothered to empty of an old wool blanket, photos and books.

It was a good haul and not to brag, but somebody must have been a good girl this year because Santa delivered.  Big time.