You Can Call Me Gwen

Yet Another Strange Collection

 

I confess.

I have an affinity for the unusual.

Plus, I like collections I don't have to pay for, dust, insure, or find storage or display space for.

For the last year or so, I've been collecting unusual names.

One of the odd jobs I do at work every day is to enter into our database the names from all the state obituaries.

It's difficult to rein my mind in when it sets about imagining the lives represented by these lists of (sometimes amazing) names and occupations; so I had to set the parameters at simply collecting the names I enjoy the most.

I thought maybe I would use some of them to name my next group of handmade dolls, but I've already started using them to nickname real people I work and live with.

I call Miss Mary Mack "Alwana" now.

As in, "Alwana know when you arrive safely in St. Louis, girl."

For all practical purposes, my coworker is now "Tinky"; and don't you know it lightens our moods to use that moniker?

I am saving "Ippin", "Icie", and "Icophene" for some doll triplets.

I'm not sure who or what will be honored recipients of "Edsom Bumps", "Obie Lea", "Joed Cleave", "Alta Mae", or "Bernietta Hazel".

I love knowing that "Jot Jr." was a real-live cowboy and "Pee Wee" was a ranch hand.

And I love "Alpha Ruth", "Journey Echo", "Delpha Jo", "Clara Velma" and "Opal Mavis", whatever their occupations may have been.

But I think my favorite so far is "Thrilda B".

And that's what they call me at work now.

As in...

"I'm Thrilda B here."

The herd of swine...

 

...moved just after I last posted about them.

Miss Helping Hands moved them to the shelf over the computer area.

Two problems arose (for me) because of this move.

One: I realized how badly I want/need to replace the green plant that is supposed to live where the drawing-of-no-one-we-know is sitting.

 

 

Two: Oh-my-goodness-somebody-help-me-they're-not-in-a-straight-line-and-it's-very-very-awfully-much-troubling-to-my-eyes-mind-soul-ack-every-little-piece-of-me!!!!!!

There.

That's off my chest.

Am I the only one this would trouble?

I think not.

I think it even disturbed my little harlequin friend; just look how she's staring at them.

 

 

If she could talk, I believe she would let out some kind of primal scream.

I can talk, but I never told Miss Helping Hands.

And you shouldn't either.

What People Want

 

Recently, the Prince and I made a trip to the local office supply store to pick up some tape for my label-maker (can you say expensive?).

Happily, I scored a lot of free additions to one of my odd collections; the paper customers use to test pens and pencils.

I find the scribbles both fascinating and telling, and, now that I've read through this latest installment, I think I know what people want.

They want to love...

 

 

 

...and to be loved.

 

They want to share what's on their minds:

 

 

 

They want to do art...

 

  

 

 

 

 ...young and old alike.

 

 



  

Sometimes, they just want to be fed...

 

 

 

...or to practice their cursive.  

 

 

They want their questions answered...

  



 

...and they want things to add up.

  



They want to add their two cents worth...

 







...and they want you to listen to their advice.

  



They want to talk about themselves...

   



 

...and how they're feeling.

  


 

 

But mostly?

Mostly, people just want to know that it makes a difference that they are here.





 

 

  







 



 



 



 



 



 



 





Poor Speller was wrong when she wrote...

 

 

 

 

I care that you are here.

And every time you draw a breath, God is saying,

"It matters that you are here." 

 



 

Boom, boom, pow!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ping! Ping! Ping!

 

When Baby Girl and her brother spent the night Friday, Creative Genius was watching her perpetual motion and - noticing how she stills bumps off of one piece of furniture and into another - said we should call her 'Pinball'.

We settled on Ping, but we haven't told her parents yet (shhhh).

Today, I feel a little Ping-ish myself.

Aside from my usual hundred-different-projects-going-at-once, my mind is everywhere too; bouncing off the mental furniture of a thousand different thoughts.

Sitting on the shelf over my computer desk is a pencil drawing I did in class years ago.

I had to cut a small picture from a photography magazine and draw an upscaled version.

When I sat down to write this morning, I looked at this sketch and wondered for the umpteenth time...

Who puts a model in a pose like this?

Who on earth would ever strike this pose naturally?

Try it.

It's ridiculous.

And it bothers me every time I look at it.

-------

 I was thinking about my left-turn-bay pennies this morning.

I don't know how it started, but I have a growing collection now.

Yes, of course this collection is completely different and separate from my Rescued Coin Collection. Of course.

 Next time you are stuck at a red light in a left turn bay on a busy city thoroughfare, open your door and see if there is a penny laying in the street.

If there is, pick it up.

Wahlah!

You're on your way.

------

Speaking of Ping's sleepover last Friday, she wasn't very happy to wake up to no Daddy...

...but she was still beautiful.

Her brother arrived carrying this suitcase:

I think he told me it was his mommy's when she was a little girl.

But, I know he told me that it says, "I'm going to Pretty's".

These parents nowadays! They lie to their children! I love it.

He was a lot happier to be here in the morning.

I wish they lived down the street, so they could come over and play for an hour when I take my lunch break.

This swing and its shadow...

...look so forlorn.

------

Speaking of shadows...

This morning I was enjoying the shadow of our one-of-only-two-blooming-tulips, almost as much as I was the tulip itself.

Perhaps it's because I'm drawn to silhouettes.

And perhaps I'm drawn to silhouettes because I like to make papercuts.

I'd like to do a papercut of this March Hare before the month is out:

And I'd like to do a few roosters...

...in case my Chicken-Raising-Seester might like to have one.

I guess the silhouette-cutting falls in line with my recent fascination with drawing blind contours; there is something nice about working with just the shapes of things.

Unless, of course, the thing is me.

------

The rain we've had recently has put the herb garden in fine shape.

(Or was it the work Miss Helping Hands and I did cleaning out the flower and herb beds this weekend?)

The rosemary is already wonderfully aromatic...

...and makes me dream of warm loaves of rosemary bread.

And butter.

The Greek oregano...

...which usually monopolizes the little bed it lives in, has been downsized by the prolific thyme plant next door.

I love the texture of the plant's leaves, but I can't really use this much thyme.

Unless, of course, you Dear Readers have some fab recipes to share with me.

And the recipes call for butter.

------

I've been working on new shelving for my studio; customizing the dimensions for the supplies I actually have and use.

I found a couple of bare-naked shutters at the thrift store awhile back and bought them because I-had-no-idea-what-I-would-do-with-them-but-I-felt-like-I-needed-to-buy-them.

They are becoming doors for two of the shelving units.

I've got the pieces all built and painted, and they've been sitting in this corner 'curing' for a few days.

 

Yesterday, I added a striped background to the open shelf I made (no door).

I didn't want to paint on the wall, so I decided to glue paper to the backside of the shelf.

I was going to use nice art paper, but when I discovered that the poster board was sturdier, almost the same color, and would only cost $1.50, well, I signed up.



(Recognize the color scheme? Kids shouldn't get all the good stuff!)

Today I am adding the catches and hinges...

...and hoping to get these units actually hung on the wall.

Gotta get out the stud-finder.

Though, I know the stud I really want is at work in a tall building downtown.

My stars! All bottled up.

 

Want to see something very kewl?

Look at this awesome old milk bottle which was just made to house my growing collection of paper prayer stars.

 

 

 

Just think how many more prayers can be written and folded into stars before I run out of room again!

Know where this bottle came from?

It was purchased at the little antique store where we browsed after our camping trip got washed away in the rain.

It was purchased because I'd been looking for quite some time for a new shelter for the stars; I was waiting for a jar that would say to me, "I'm the one. Your stars will be happy living with me."

Thing is, when I saw this jar, I was already holding the big ball of saved string and I couldn't bring myself to spend money for both items.

I pointed out the utter kewlness of this jar to my fellow soggy, would-be campers (as we'd been doing with various items throughout the shop) and then we walked on.

Monday afternoon I recieved a text message from Bro saying he had something we "really wanted" and to let him know when we'd be home from work.

We thought he'd found the (beloved old) hammer we'd lost during our breaking-camp-in-the-pouring-rain party.

No.

He brought me a gift bag.

Inside was this bottle.

And he said, "Sometimes ya just gotta do these things."

That makes this bottle...

 

 

 

...the kewlest bottle ever.

Lunch Plans

 

 

Soooooo.

The Saturday Miss Helping Hands and I made all that yummy goodness in the form of pies, cobblers, muffins, and apple crisp, it was just because we felt like baking.

Me Darlin' Mither was here, and I sent little of everything home with her.

Miss Helping Hands and Miss Mary Mack took a few muffins back to college with them.

And I put a few muffins in the hands of Dear Reader, Annski, when she stopped by.

But there were still leftovers.

And we'd been 'shunning sugar'.

So, Sunday after church, I asked Beeg Seester and Bro if they had lunch plans, and when the answer was "No" I told them we didn't either, but we had dessert ready for them.

The guys went off to snag some Subway sandwiches and Seester and I came home to lay the table.

During our lovely, low-key lunch we began discussing the inchie book I want to publish, and I told Seester that I was a bit perplexed.

"Some of the blog readers really want the book to focus on the stories behind the inchies, and some of my 'art friends' are more focused on the drawings themselves", I said, "but the book would be awfully long with all those stories and awfully short with only the inchies."

"Oh, you absolutely need to include both, just not all",  she said. "Show all the inchies, but just pick two or three stories from each month. And  definitely include the story about how the whole thing started."

Omigersh.

Why I didn't think of that?

Because, if I'd thought of that, I would have missed the blessing of being helped by someone who loves me enough to give thought to my 'stuff'.

And, if I'd thought of that, she would have missed the blessing of moving someone a step closer to fulfilling a dream.

As it is, we got all that...

 

 

 

...and a stinking good piece of pie.

I like scissors.

 

I like scissors.

I like my old, small scissors.

 

 

 

I like my old, big scissors.

 

 

 

I like my pretty little embroidery scissors.

 

 

 

I like my everyday scissors.

 

 

 

And I like my decorative-edge scissors.

 

 

 

I really, really like my kewl, curved-blade scissors that were given to me by Beeg Seester for no special reason except that she is nice like that.

 

 

 

But I couldn't find any of my small scissors last Friday night when I wanted to cut something teensy.

And it made me feel very badly about myself.

I have felt so privileged to own more than one pair of tiny scissors, that I felt equally rotten to think I had been careless with them.

I searched.

The Prince (seeing my distress) searched.

In vain.

I went to bed.

And when I got up Saturday morning, I was still feeling rotten.

I told God that I was so sorry I had treated my blessings so carelessly.

I told Dennis that I could see how it seemed ridiculous to be so upset by such a thing.

Then I searched again.

And I found all but one pair.

Then Miss Helping Hands and I proceeded to make a double batch of peach and sour cream muffins, a peach cobbler, an apple pie with crumb topping, and a pan of apple crisp.

And right smack dab in the middle of that cloud of flour, Dear Reader/New Friend Annski unexpectedly dropped by.

She brought me this:

 

 

 

She didn't know anything about my 'scissors sadness'.

She only knew I had been beating back the blackness of an inexplicable depression.

She brought me scissors because she knows I cut.

 

 

 

But God had them delivered on Saturday so I would know He loves me even in my careless, scissor-losing humanness.

 

 

 

You see how He loves?

You see how He uses people to show us?

It's amazing.

Laughing in the Street

 

With the advent of (some) spring weather, I have resumed my long walks on the mean streets.

I walked up to the fabric store to get some thread last week and passed some nice fat robins on my way out of the neighborhood.

Sometimes, when the world around me seems a little scary, I take a lot of comfort in the presence and the songs of the birds.

Seeing the robins, all fat and happy, for the first time this spring, did my soul good.

 

 

 

This year, the Prince has taken to joining me on my walks occasionally.

That does my soul good, too.

The second time he tagged along this season, we were about a mile and a half out when he started thinking (out loud) that maybe we'd gone far enough.

I told him "I haven't found my coins yet. We might have to walk for quite awhile".

"Well, can we do it in the direction of the house?"

"I guess so. But we'd better take a different route home."

Now, I've told you before that I find, almost exclusively, dimes and pennies on the street.

We started talking about that, and I told the Prince my new working theory about why there aren't any quarters and nickels.

"I think it's because dimes and pennies are lighter and thinner than the other coins. They probably slip though holes in pockets and out of our hands easier than other coins. And maybe we don't hear them drop as easily because they are lighter."

"Makes sense" said the Prince.

We were about four blocks from the house when I realized we'd really slowed down the pace, so I decided to rev it up a bit.

The Prince told me to forge ahead, he didn't want to hold me back.

I pressed on.

I'm guessing I didn't get twenty paces before he yelled out, "Hey! You missed something!"

I walked back.

He was holding out the coin I'd passed by.

 

 

 

It was a quarter.

He tried to get me to take it for my collection.

"But, I didn't find it and I just told you that I only find dimes and pennies".

I told him I thought it was sheer perfection that he'd found the quarter.

He's always wanted more money than I've wanted.

He tried to insist that I take it, but I think maybe he was just afraid he would have to walk forever before I found my coins.

We were still walking and talking about it when, mere yards later, I said "Aha! There's my penny!"

And when I knelt down to pick it up...

 

 

 

...I found a dime, too.

We both laughed.

Neither of us believed it was simply coincidence that we'd each found the coins we had.

I took mine home and added them to my other rescued coins from this spring.

 

 

 

And I still smile when I remember how we sensed the presence and friendship of God in that funny little episode on the mean streets.

Something went wrong.

 

 

If I don't have time (or energy, or focus, or inspiration) to draw my inchie at the end of the day, I will jot notes on my desk "blotter" so I don't forget my blessings.

When five or six days go by and I'm still just making notes (which is what happened last week), I start to get really nervous.

In the last four days I have drawn eleven inchies.

I don't know how it happened, but I have an extra inchie.

And dang if I don't absolutely love it and  wish I could invent another week day just so I could use it!

I think it actually belonged to February 28, but neither the Prince nor I can remember.

I drew the coin I found on the first walk we took together this spring. 

 

 

 

It will go so nicely in my collection of rescued money.

 

 

 
 

 

But I guess the inchie will have to go in my collection of inchies that didn't make the cut.

Yep, there is one. 

Postcrossing Arrivals

 

Last week, I recieved my first two postcards from fellow Postcrossers on the very same day.

One was from Germany.

 

 
  

The other was from Georgia, USA.

 

 

 

I like the postcards.

I like the stamps even more.

And I like the handwritten greetings most of all.

 

 
  

Well, except for maybe this:

 

They come addressed to Gwendolyn.

Peacock.

Yeppers.

That's me.  

What Went Wrong

See this cool vintage apern my Chicken-Raising Seester put me in the way of finding a couple of weeks ago?

 

 

With it's hand-worked smocking...

 

 

 

 

...and careful little cross stitches?

 

 

 

 

 

And see this cool vintage apern that my Cookie Seester added to my collection at Christmas?

 

 

 

 

With it's hand embroidered scene of a pig blissfully roasting...

 

 

 

...a relative?

I'm thinking these aperns were made a few years after this cookbook (which was given to me by one of my dotters-in-love for Christmas) was published.

 

 

 

 

In the introduction to this book I discovered something important.

 

 

 

And here it is.

 

 

I grew up as one of the tail-end baby boomers.

Back when sugar was becoming America's best friend.

Now, Me Darlin' Mither espoused no such philosophy as the one this cookbook implies; my earliest memories include mental snapshots of her sitting in front of the big plate of steamed vegetables she called her dinner, and today, at 85, she is still in almost perfect health and is long, lean, lithe, and lovely.

But the world around me loved, and still loves, sugar.

And though I have heard of others battling the bulge, I have outright wars with both sugar and the bulge(s) on a regular basis.

Which is why right now, when I am avoiding most sugar and trying to keep all food 'in submission', my weekday lunches sometimes come in the form of a frozen lunch.

The kind I used to eat when my co-workers and I were in the process of collectively shedding hundreds of unwanted pounds.

It makes me lonely for my co-workers.

Which is why today's mail looks like this:

 

 

I want them to know I still love them, and still hate the bulges.

But at least I know now what went wrong.

All those years ago. 

Caught in the Act of Good Times

Igotslotstodothisweek.

I may not be able to post much.

(Then again, I may post more than ever.)

Either way, here are some reading suggestions for you.

 

 

 

Two new reads came into my hands via my D'Art group recently.

My strange collecting habits prompted the loan of this one.

Look at the print on the fly leaf...

 

 

...and this page of the book:

 

 

Aha.

I am not such a freak, after all!

I have not told you about another of my collections.

But, lo and behold, I am not alone in this one, either.

 

 

And, lest any of you think I take the cake for strange collections, cast your optics on this:

 

 

Framed soap shards.

Yep.

You need to see the book.

Look for it.

 

My Native American friend, What Would Happen If, suggested this book to me:

 

 

 

However, she was much more creative in her presentation.

She sent me a photo of herself holding the book up in front of a mirror, so I had to read the title backwards.

Love those creative types.

This is a guide book for "living each individual, glorious day with more intention".

You might want to check it out, too.

I'm showing you this close-up...

 

 

...just to explain Saturday's Inchie.

 

 

Maybe I will write a book.

"In Flagrante Bonus Vicis". 

It's a Small World After All

Look at this neat little addition to my produce sticker collection.

 

 

It really did come from a cute piece of fruit.

It was a hybrid - a cross between a sweet orange and a mandarin - and just the right size for little people or a little snack.

I tried to get the peel off in just one piece.

I wasn't successful.

But I was still terribly happy.

Because, as you know,...

 

 

I live in my own little world.

A Measure of Goodness

Yesterday I had one of those mornings which I can only describe as an explosion of goodness.

Early in the day, the members of my D'Art group met up to clear out and re-organize one of the members' studio.

I have as much (or more) fun organizing art supplies as I do using them, so the opportunity to do something I love, for someone I love, was a blessing in itself.

But this someone I love is an avowed "match-maker", who finds great joy in connecting friends she loves with other friends she loves.

So I had the pleasure of making two lovely new friends before breakfast.

Breakfast!

She made us a breakfast of crepes, with fresh strawberries and whipped cream, crispy bacon, juice, and fresh hot coffee.

There was so much goodness for body, soul and spirit that it was necessary to expend energy just to keep from exploding.

Off we went to work.

In a cottage studio so sweet I'm sure it's part of a fairtytale.

My friend was paring down the contents of her studio during the reorganization, and piled up the give-aways for our perusal and taking.

How blessed was I to inherit one of her collections to add to one of my (meager-to-the-point-of-imaginary) collections?

This morning (this wonderfully quiet Saturday morning), Prince Charming and I handled and discussed each new treasure.

And then we laid our new wood floor.

Jack approved.

As well he should.

Each slat is inscribed with a bit of history.

Some are so old that the phone numbers are only 5 digits long.

All have a message of one sort or another.

And the variety of color is lovely.

We didn't really lay a floor with these.

But I wish we could.

I could look at them with enjoyment for a very long time.

When I thought back over the day that brought them into my keeping, I knew I would never be able to write about it's many blessings in just one post, much less represent them on a single Inchie.

I thought about trying to draw an explosion of goodness.

I thought about drawing a cup running over.

I thought about an exclamation mark.

And then I realized something wonderful.

I did not have to limit myself to just one inch for this day.

It all adds up.

I'm noticing that a lot of the things I love the best in the world are just meant to be together.

I love ink.

And pencils.

 

 

And pens.

 

I especially love fountain pens.

Here is part of my collection of old nibs.

 

I love paper.

 

Of all kinds.

 

And I love words.

This is what I was reading in bed last night.

 

 I love envelopes.

 

   

And I love stamps.

Here is part of my collection.

 

I love calligraphy.

I tried my hand at it once.

 

I love things that are handwritten.

Especially in French.

 

 

 

I love mail boxes.

This is the one in my studio.
 

So I guess it just adds up that I love mail.

I love to send mail.

 

 
And I love to receive mail.

(Wouldn't you hang on to an envelope that said you were the best ever?)

 

 

These days there is less and less mail of the handwritten and personal kind in our world.

Sigh.

That is why, no matter what else happens in a day, if I get mail of the handwritten kind, I feel it deserves an Inchie.

Last week I received this little phone cozy in the mail.

 

It's from one of my amazing Neecees.

She is a Shoot from my amazing Seester (of Chicken-Ranch-in-the-Mail fame), and she is just learning to knit.

She figured out a black and white checker pattern all by her little old self.

Because she loves me.

And my Seester added the red button.

Because she knows me.

 

 

 

Here is the Inchie to remind me.

 

 

That I am known...and loved anyway.

Q is for Quack

This morning I traded my indoor workout for my first real bike ride of the season.

The sky was so blue.

The temperature was perfect.

The people I passed were cheerful.

It was exhilarating.

And...

I found a Q.

Q's are hard to come by in the world.

And if we didn't have them, we'd have to quit asking questions.

We'd have no quacks.

No quintessential.

No quid pro quo.

So, I rescued the Q from the mean streets.

I've been collecting for my "found alphabet" for several years.

I was so inspired by finding the Q, that I came home and got out my tin of other rescued letters and played with them for a few minutes

Really.

Just a few minutes.

I'll be right there to play a game with you Miss Mary Mack.

Really.

But I just...

 

 

...my rescued letters.

 

Score!

There just aren't a lot of similarities between Naomi and me.

But one thing we have in common is neither of us like to go to the grocery store.

So I was proud of Naomi when she forced herself to go there yesterday.

Then she unpacked the groceries.

And I was very proud of her.

She scored three new additions to my produce sticker collection.

And one of them was a real beauty.

 

I love this Victor orange label.

It was scored-for-easy-removal in eight different places, so I had to use some finesse to get it off in one piece.

But, yowza, I'm glad to have it!

The avocado sticker makes me happy, too.

Wouldn't that be a pretty little Inchie?

And, of course, anything that says 'Jazz' (especially in such a cool typeface) is alright by me.

The stores have been carrying a fabulous variety of apples this year, and even Prince Charming knows to buy a different kind each week.

Partly for our eating pleasure.

 

But mostly for the label.

I collect something.

I have been thinking about the things people collect.

Over the years I've been tempted to collect various things, but the thought of dusting them usually keeps me from it.

However, (and you knew this was coming) I do have a collection.

Of found grocery lists. 

And I'd like your help to make it grow.

Because I'm planning to make something with them.

It's a strange collection, no?

But I like them for what they tell me and for what they leave me wondering.

Here are some of the Found Grocery Lists  I've collected:

I find them thought provoking. For instance:

I thought Mr. Redenbacher's name was Orville.

Are they really buying cats?

"There's something about an Aqua Velva man."  Sing it.

What are Bud Bones?

I'm sorry about the wasp problem.

That stings.

 

Not particularly fascinating, but it seems to say, "Thanksgiving dinner."

I also wonder if this person came down with something during the planning phase.

Notice how orange juice and echinacea took prominence?

Does it hurt and have a temperature?

 

I'm thinking,"Thanksgiving dinner" again.

I'm also thinking, "I wonder if I'll ever be able to buy a ready-made pie crust?"

 

Sometimes, it's just the variety that gets me.

Gloves, milk, cantalope and eyeliner in the same shopping trip.

I'm loving that "L. Johns".

Is that short for long-johns?

I'm also thinking, "Hmmm. 42-30. Better make that skim milk."

 

Don't have to wonder what we're feeding the kids.

 

Now, I'm not positive this is a shopping list.

But it could be.

And you have to love the paper choice.

 

Sometimes you can tell the shopping is quite narrowly focused...

 

...and you just wish you could join them for dessert.

 

What does "both" mean in regards to toilet paper?

All those vegetables...and only one noodle.

I'm so sorry Gary is hurting.

Maybe he needs to lay off working on his boat for awhile and kick back with a dish of tapicoca.

 

 

Um.

Fungus cream and gum.

Back-up and apples.

Quesadillas, blue coral, and an oil filter.

Okay. 

 

 

 Sometimes they are nicely labeled "Grocery List".

Even though there is nothing to eat listed on them.

 

Sometimes the list is straightforward, and I'm just left wondering where they work.

Hospital?

Doctor's office?

They snagged the pharmaceutical rep's give-away note pad.

 

Body wash A.

A bread.

Is "A" a person? 

I like blueberry bagels and Prince Charming hates ham.

And that's the end of that.

Now.

I want you to hang your head and keep looking down.

While you shop, that is.

And send me your Found Grocery Lists.

I will send you something in return.

These are the little bookmarks I made for the Finder in Oregon who just sent some coastal grocery lists my way:

 

 
  
 ( This book is a good read.)

Look at other unusual collections here.

Or stand on your head.

Doing either thing will change the way you view the stuff in your world.

Go forth.