Waterloo Bridge

A very winding yarn follows.

A few months ago on my way back from a gig in Tennessee, LB and I stopped in Paducah, KY where I found this great billikin charm.

Not being from St. Louis, the woman in the antique store didn't recognize it for what it was, so I scored it for only $8. It's likely carved in Alaska from walrus ivory and has a gold nugget embedded in its belly. I was just thrilled to find it and posted this photo to Facebook.

There, someone I had never even met told me that a similar billikin charm is a recurring symbol in the film Waterloo Bridge. Wanting to check it out, I went to Netflix and ordered Waterloo Bridge. Oops, there are two versions of Waterloo Bridge, and I had accidentally requested the 1930s version, out of a collection of pre-code films. Fortunately, I'd never complain about watching a pre-code film. They're saucy! And this one even had knitting.

The heroine, a former chorus girl who now ekes out a living as a prostitute, meets a WWI soldier and resolves to change her wicked ways. To show her attempts at reform, she takes up knitting.

You can tell by her knitting technique, especially by the way she's squinting past her fag, that she's not likely to succeed. She had spoken of learning to knit socks, but she's actually working on a balaclava, a relatively sensible first project.

She knows the relationship has no future, but he badgers her into travelling to his family's estate for the weekend. Of course, he has a family estate. Of course.

His mother knits as well, and it's fun to watch the relationship between the two women. They're surprisingly frank with one another. The heroine realizes she will never really fit in to this world and flees back to her squalid little flat where she immediately snaps her yarn, rips out the needles, and unravels her project.

I won't spoil the rest, and besides, that's the end of all the knitting.

As for me, here's a teaser for a project I'm currently working on:

They're for my mother, so no spoilers please.

New Stuff!

On Saturday, in spite of having five house guests, I set up for my annual booth at the reenactor swap meet. I never expect to sell much, largely because shoppers are there bargain hunting and I charge a fair price for my knitting.

Still, I did sell some things: two shirts, a purse, a sortie cap, some used books, and a few odds and ends. LB sold a soapstone warmer.

Unlike in past years, I forgot to take photographs of my table. I did, however, photograph some of what I bought. What? You didn't think I left without shopping and spending all my profits?

I picked up these fun buckles, from a number of time periods.


I think the brass one is my favorite.


I got these two prints, titled "The Life and Age of Woman" and "The Life and Age of Man." They date from 1848, and I just love them.


Finally, I spotted this tin box. I'd been looking for a new cash box, since for years I have been using an old tin lunch pail for my money box.


Then, the seller opened it and I saw this:

Holy Smackers! It was an original japanned tin spice box. Wow, do I feel lucky.

I also set up a barter for a Prairie Traveler bed. More on that when I get it.

Ephemeral Chaos

I've got a bunch of dotty type items today, some about ephemera. Hence the title.

Here we go, in roughly chronological order.

First, here's the story of a collection. A few months ago, I went to my favorite antique store and picked up some inexpensive CDVs. In looking at them, I realized they were mostly by the same photographer, Mrs. W. A. Reed of Quincy, Illinois.

I was intrigued by the location, but even more, by the fact that the photographer was a woman. Curious, I googled her and found out how amazing she was. So when I returned to the antique store, I had to buy the rest of the CDVs. I also picked up some mother-of-pearl buttons, an ironstone dish, and some nightstand reading material.



Next, my students had decorated the classroom this week.

I made a quilt for Ann to thank her for taking me to the World Series game.


Knowing that Ann's taste in quilts is much more modern than mine, I found some great inspiration on Pinterest, which I adore beyond all reason.

Finally, I got around to cleaning my sewing machine and whipping up a cover out of an old feed sack I had in my stash.


Today, I did some major yarn stash reorganizing, which I am hoping will inspire some more projecting.

Yay!

Washington

Last Saturday, I had a rock star gig out in Washington, MO. We stopped by Bah Yarns where I got a skein of Mardi Gras-ish yarn and yet another set of Hiya Hiya Puppy Snips.


The yarn is more grey, lime, and tan, but all together it reads as a dilute purple, green, and gold.

I went junking and got another celluloid box. At some point, probably in the '70s, someone stuck a gilded cherub transfer on it. I was able to flake it off in less than 30 seconds, but some fading shows. I am hoping the color will eventually even out, and it already has quite a bit already.


I also was able to get an FO photo of the Iris Mystery Shawl. I've been getting tons of compliments every time I wear it.

Stuff, stuff, stuff

I've been thinking a lot about stuff lately. Not in the vague sense of "stuff" (as in "I hate that stuff!"), not in the verb sense (although I did just have to buy some stuffing for a knitted toy), but in the tangible sense (the stuff in my house, a house stuffed full). I am aware of my stuff, especially when I try to take photographs.

I don't read decorating books and don't subscribe to any decorating magazines, but to me stuff is charming. I like stuff, except when I try to take photographs.

I've never understood people who don't decorate their homes. Not your place, of course. Your place is lovely.

LB and I knew a couple for many years and visited three of their homes, each singularly lacking in even the smallest bit of charm. Everything was tatty and thrown together, and there was nowhere to rest one's eyes and take in beauty. It's like they went to Goodwill and grabbed the ugliest, dingiest example of everything, then threw it all into one house.

It's totally possible to buy great stuff used, but it takes patience and a practiced eye. Notice, also, that I said we "knew" them, not "were friends with." They were drinkers and enablers, shouters, close-talkers, not to mention the series of thong incidents. Not fun people to be around. LB is far kinder than I am, however. Anyway, their place reflected themselves: shoddy, abrasive, chaotic.

There is great beauty in the absence of stuff. I've been following Anna's blog for ages, through at least three homes as well, and she has a spare aesthetic that takes my breath away.

I, however, tend towards the cabinet of curiosities approach. As a teen, my favorite room in the Walter's Art Gallery recreated a private museum, with every inch of wall space covered in art. I like the Venice Cafe, House on the Rock, and Haussner's Restaurant, places not meant to be seen through a tiny viewfinder, but places in which one immerses, gazes about, explores.

Unfortunately, it's almost impossible to photograph such places. The point is to stand in the middle and look around.

So, with that in mind, here are some photographs, funnily enough not taken in my house.

Steuben and I went camping last weekend, and I knew he'd be wet and muddy most of the time. I also knew it would be cold, so I'd taken a down duvet.


A pale blue, down duvet.*

Fortunately, since I have plenty of stuff, I took an old queen-sized sheet of LB's, folded it, stitched it, and added twill ties to make a duvet cover.


My late cat Double had ripped several holes in the sheet as she got old and had trouble jumping up onto the bed. So I took some fabric scraps and patched the holes.


I imagine I'll keep adding patches as Steuben adds his own share of tears. Since it was cold (we woke to frost), he would pick up the duvet cover with his teeth, then kick at it until he'd made a perfect nest for himself.

When I got home, in fact, I added two more patches, which I could easily do ... because we have stuff.


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*Grammar tip of the day: Confused about when to put a comma in a series of adjectives? Technically, you need to distinguish between cumulative and coordinate adjectives. Cumulative adjectives add to one another: "pale" modifies "blue." "Pale blue down duvet" would mean that the down was blue. Coordinate adjectives each modify the noun: "blue duvet" and "down duvet." Basically, if you can put an "and" between the adjectives, stick in a comma: "the duvet is blue and down." Now you know stuff!

Stuff & Nonsense

A few photos of some recent acquisitions:

• a notions case I bought when I was on a rock-star road trip last weekend.

• some vintage rick-rack I hope to use as trim on some underpinnings, a set of antique knitting needles and case, an odd Limoges disc that caught my fancy.

• some presents from LB: a nineteenth-century glasses case and a celluloid jewelry box

• I've sort of become obsessed with these boxes of late. I had one, from my great-grandfather's second wedding ring and suddenly found myself picking them up at yard sales for a quarter or at antique stores for a lot more. They're a lot harder to find than I thought, which is why I only own four.
  



• a Civil War CDV, three knitting post cards, a leap year post card I didn't yet own in spite of owning several hundred, and a Cavalier King Charles cigarette card.

Sock and Stuff

Just a quickie post.

I went junking and found this ivory stiletto and bodkin:

I am knitting a sock:

I love this sock.

Hi There

I'm letting go of any resolutions to blog regularly. I've got some other writing stuff going on right now. That fact, plus my lack of regular internet access, has always been a major challenge. Right now, challenge doesn't begin to cover it.

Here's a bit of randomness until next time, whenever it may be.

Last month, LB and I hit our favorite local antique store (favorite because they have stuff we can afford). The haul: paper flowers and chenille cattails for bonnet dressings, 4 mother-of-pearl buttons, a silver spoon (LB picked this one), and an 1850s gift book--Words of Cheer for the Tempted, The Suffering, and the Searching. I don't expect the stories to be as juicy as the last gift book I found, alas. I knitted a pair of socks out of yarn I got in the 2009 Day of the Dead swap: I started my next pair with yarn I got in the 2010 Day of the Dead swap: I'm feeling a major sock kick coming on. Want some actual research? Something to make your visit worthwhile? How 'bout an 1841 reference to knitting with angora rabbit fur.

Yep. For realz.

First, the quotation:

• "I venture to conclude with a request that I might be so happy as once more to be put in possession of an Angola waistcoat, knitted by your hand.*"


• "*Angola rabbits, or silk hares" (original footnote)

The source was published in London in 1841 and is a collection of Beethoven's letters. Obviously, the fact that the editor chose to footnote means that "angola" knitting was not widely known, but do notice the reference to hand (not factory) knitting.

I love the idea of a guy in a fluffy angora vest. It's gotta be more comfortable than one out of dish cotton, right? Never say never.

Vacationing with a Vengance

For an academic, the end of the semester is simply brutal, with no way around it. The benefit, however, is that once grades go in, we're done. Completely. No unfinished projects, no meetings, no anything.

I took advantage.

LB, Steu, and I went to visit our friend, Rhys, for two weeks and watched his four-year-old open presents. Can you spot him?

With no television and almost no Internet, I knitted and knitted and knitted, finally finishing the cashmere sleeping socks I'd started in June of 2009.

I went to three different LYS and bought souvenir yarn.

I went junking.

I returned refreshed.

____________

Coming soon: New Year's resolutions.

Pacific

Yesterday, all three of us headed out to our friend Ann's new place.


It's adorable, with room for her beautiful white Arab, Air; her chickens, Little Brown Betty and friends; and her Angora rabbit, Sweetpea. There's a pond and woods and a gorgeous view.

I got to meet Ann's knit group but didn't get to knit much. I was too busy convincing Steu that the bunny did NOT want to be his friend. A few weeks ago, Steu met a bunny, and after grooming the bunny's ears, Steu decided he loves bunnies. Loves, loves, loves bunnies. Lovesbunnies lovesbunnies OMG! lovesloveslovesLOVES!!!!!! bunnies.

A bit like Lennie Small, actually.

We worked on it and by the end, Steu was able to sit by the bunny crate and look at the bunny longingly but without shouting out to the bunny, "OMG BUNNY!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!! SOOOOOO MUCH!!! I LOOOOOOOVE YOOOOOOOOU!!!!"

The bunny, being ever aware of his prey status, seemed relieved.

Afterwards, we stopped at an antique store where I found this nifty little dealie:



Perfectly timed for Thanksgiving, it's a thimble case made from a wishbone, a bit of ribbon, and lots and lots of crochet thread.

I love it. Just not as much as Steu loves bunnies, of course.

In Which Our Heroine Gets Stuff (Part 2)

The same day my Day of the Dead package arrived, I got a smaller package from my mother, who occassionally sends relevant newspaper clippings and freebie office supplies she picks up at conferences.

No complaints about the aforementioned (and not just because I know she reads the blog), but this time the package was exceptionally cool:

an assortment of vintage hankies (I am particularly fond of map hankies)

including some exquisite hankies from France.

And an awesome knitting postcard.

Thanks Mother!!!

A Full Tank of Gas

On Saturday, LB wanted to check out a reenactment at the Lewis and Clark museum near here. It ended up being the world's smallest event, the highlight of which was one astounding example of boobage (as in one boob; the other seemed tidily in place) attempting to escape from being painfully squashed. I'm not an expert in late eighteenth-century corsetry, but it didn't seem practical to me, let alone aesthetic. All I kept thinking was, "Wow! Is she going to get an awful sunburn!" Actually, I also kept thinking, "Do boys really like that? Really?" Maybe I was the only one who noticed.

So we left, and realizing we still had a full tank of gas, kept going until we found another random reenactment an hour north.

On the way, I found this great little knitting tin (missing its lid). I already own one with a lid, but for 50 cents couldn't pass this one up.

The next reenactment was a sort of Old Settler's Days and community wide yard sale. There was a petting zoo, a guy doing a bullwhip show, firemen running a fried carp stand, and a buckskin-clad guitar player with a "Don't Blame Me; I Voted for the American" bumper sticker on his case.*

Having gotten stuck by the drawbridge on the way up, Steu got to go on his first ferry ride on the way home.

On Sunday we took him to the Canine Games where he barked at the diving dogs, excelled at lure coursing, and completely flopped at fly ball. He also watched an agility tournament.

He says he might like to try it sometime, as long as he only has to listen whenever he feels like it.

__________

*I didn't get close enough to actually detect a semi-colon. I suspect my editorial license is more grammatical than the original.

I Own a $500 Book

I would have thought my rarest, most valuable books were my four-volume first edition of the Idylls of the King, illustrated by Gustave Dore (1859).

They're lovely: folio-sized, one bound in morroco, gilt spines, embossed covers, tissue paper protecting each engraving.

Nope.

I own some nineteenth-century dance manuals, a school reader from 1847, a few soldiers' reminiscences published just after the Civil War, a first edition Joyce Carol Oates complete with author signature and slightly tattered dust jacket, and a Margaret Atwood (ditto).

None are as valuable as this book I picked up in my LYS a few weeks ago:

It's now retailing on Amazon for around $500. I've no idea why.

Oh never mind. That was for the hard cover edition. I guess I can't retire as a rich bibliophile after all.