10. Clara’s Kitsch

July 12 is the first anniversary of when we buried Clara and cancelled the auction of Apple Hill Cottage. So Clara, this one’s for you…)

Hello Readers,

Today we are trying something new. Reader interaction! Most of Clara’s Treasures that she sold in the Gazebo Tree House (you should read the first post–Apple Hill Cottage : the Story here) were taken away by the auctioneer when the house was being cleaned out and readied for auction. But not all! I’m undecided about what to keep and what to toss, so you get to vote! Below are pictures of some of her Kitschy Treasures. (I am decidedly NOT a seventies fan, so this is especially difficult for me.) So with your help, we can figure this out. Look at the items, read the captions, then get busy and vote. You can leave comments, too!

Clara was from Colton, a small town in California outside of San Bernardino. She met Joe, a soldier from Pine Bank, and when they married, he brought her to Greene County. Talk about culture shock! This is on the wall outside by the door.

Clara had all sorts of plaques, signs, and wooden shelves. This one was hanging above the pantry door, where else?

I think I saw something very similar to this switch plate at Anthropologie… Well, not quite…

The color don't go with our day-core… We saw a red one for sale in a shoppe for $60.

The color don’t go with our day-core… We saw a red one for sale in a shoppe for $60.

There are two of these wooden butterflies on the chicken coop–one on each corner. I don’t know, could they be painted up?

This is on the outside of the house by the front door.

This is also on the outside by the front door. I took down the high one above the door–I was afraid it might fall on someone’s head. That would really be bad luck!

This is a cast iron shelf with a metal towel bar underneath, about 15″ long. The colors are bad in this photo, but it’s orange, of course. Her favorite color. Paint it? Ditch it?

Okay, ladies and gentlemen, Go to it! The Poll is below. You may vote for as many as you like, and the poll stays open until Sept. 30, 2012. Have fun!

9. Our Neighbors, the Cows

Readers and friends — This is my seventh day in a row here ‘down on the farm’. All the oil paint fumes may be affecting my brain — hence this post. Although I’m getting the hang of IPhone posting — the photos all went where I wanted them to go, and I didn’t lose any text!

Our new neighbors moved in around the middle of June. I walked up yesterday morning to borrow a cup of milk and introduce myself. Some of them were quite friendly.

Cow

We’ve been waiting for them to move in for several months. Next to our yard is an overgrown field filled with brambles and wild berries. Michael is planning on mowing paths through it so we can actually pick the berries and make jam, but I think that is next year’s project.

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In the meantime we’ve been enjoying a few on our morning cereal, but I’ve noticed while picking them, that the best berries are always out of reach! Hmmm…think there’s a moral there?

Back to our neighbors: Next to our blackberry bramble patch was another similar patch. Last year the humans who own that part of the hillside began clearing it. They left some tall trees and fenced it in very nicely. We’ve been waiting for the cows to move in; all spring we could hear them gently lowing from fields afar. It was peaceful.

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Three weekends ago they moved in, and they were not happy tenants! The grass wasn’t green enough, it was too hilly, and it was a very long walk, uphill, to the barn! (They are just like us — the grass was up to their ears and they still complained.) Everyone was upset and many of them were very vocal. Loud bellowing, cursing, and general anger over the new digs abounded. We watched (and listened!) with interest from our back deck. It certainly wasn’t the peaceful lowing of contented cows!!

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At dusk their humans arrived on 4-wheelers to assuage them. (Yes Flossie, it IS a long way to the barn if the humans have to come on wheels.) This was only partially successful. The humans determined that no cows were actually injured in the move and left (presumably back to the barn where the cows also longed to be).

The bellowing continued into the night. Think of living next door to a train track and the train whistle blowing every five minutes — just as one has drifted off… One particular fellow was extremely bellicose. His vocalizations started out as a bass and ended as a soprano! How could I have ever thought it was pleasant? Or peaceful? It’s all about proximity.

The next two weekends they were gone, but yesterday morning they appeared again. “The cows are back,” I said as I jumped up from breakfast on the back deck and went to introduce myself properly. Our neighbors seem to have settled in to the back forty. This time they were quite friendly — only a few quiet moos. No one seemed to have any milk to lend though. I don’t know; is it impolite to eat your neighbors? (See post Owed to Dad for a conversation about eating cows…)

20120706-171944.jpgI’ve always loved cow books. Here are some fun books about cows:

Moonstruck: the true story of the cow who jumped over the moon Gennifer Choldenko

The Tiny Tiny Boy and the Big Big Cow  Nancy Van Laan

I Never Saw a Purple Cow and other Nonsense Rhymes  Emma C. Clark

The Cow who Wouldn’t Come Down  Paul Brett Johnson

There’s a Cow in the Road Reeve Lindbergh

What a Wonderful Day to be a Cow Carolyn Lesser

Daisy the Firecow  Viki Woodworth

Metropolitan Cow Tim Egan, and of course,

Click Clack Moo: cows that type Doreen Cronin

8. Random Mew-sings on Kitties, Perfectionism, Paint, and Freedom

I’m posting this from my IPhone so it is very imperfect! I can’t get the photos to be placed where I want them, and I’ve lost several huge chunks of text — just out there somewhere in Saved WordPress Land… Did I mention typing all this on an IPhone keypad? It’s very frustrating, but I’m here at the cottage for working, not writing.

Happy Fourth! May you think about your freedoms today …

We had several firsts with our kitty this week: He was here to greet us when we got out of the truck on Friday afternoon. Sleeping in the side yard under some bushes, he was trying to keep cool in the ninety degree plus temperatures. We invited him inside and gave him lunch–we didn’t even have to ring the dinner bell. We had errands in town and he wasn’t interested in going back out in the heat, so we left him sleeping on the cool linoleum floor. He made himself right at home–he was sleeping on the bed when we returned.

So the name Phineas T doesn’t just roll right off our tongues. Half the time I can’t remember it. If Michael calls him anything other than Kitty, it’s likely to be George or Elmo. Cats don’t really come to their names anyway, do they? Here Elmo, Elmo….

After I finally chose the color for the kitchen cabinets — Steamed Milk in a semi-gloss sheen — the painting contractor husband started with second thoughts about oil base. I’m thinking he was worried about my lack of skill in the painting dept.; he is a perfectionist. I myself have those tendencies. Sometimes it’s not a good mix; sometimes a person is needed who will just jump right in and get it done. Sometimes I can be that person, but not in the aforementioned painting dept.–there I will always defer. So we dithered. We bought a gallon of latex in Steamed Milk for the insides of the cabinets in case it was too difficult to make the oil look good. “Oil is hard to use,” he said. “It runs, it drips, it is sticky, it smells bad, it is hard to clean up.” Not to mention that it is now considered to be a hazardous material! (More on that later…)
So I have now tried both types of paint. And the verdict is…

OIL!

It looks much better than the latex. It feels better on the wood. And how wonderful it is to have the perfectionist painting contractor look at a drawer just painted by the grunt laborer and say, “Wow! That looks like you sprayed it on!” High praise, indeed, and good for the soul.

With the exception of choosing the color (463 shades of white) the main difficulty lies in the actual purchasing of oil-based paint. The big box stores don’t even sell it. In PA it can only be sold to residential customers in quarts. If I were painting a pipeline, I could get it in larger quantities, but probably not in the lovely off white color of Steamed Milk. (Isn’t that perfect for a kitchen?) I digress…

A few weeks ago my niece posted this on her crafty blog handmaden.com “Little-known-fact: You can’t buy spray paint in Chicago’s city limits. This is not good news for crafters. So we started this crafternoon with a trip to the suburban Home Depot for some metallic spray paint.”

Rant ahead : Now I get why Chicago has done this; I understand that kids buy the stuff and either harm themselves with it or use it for graffitti. In PA the law is eighteen and older to buy alcohol, cigarettes, and spray paint! (A sales clerk at HD carded me the other day when I was buying a can–I was incredulous to say the least. She told me that at WM the clerk carded her for white-out!) Where will it end? What do you think is the ratio of responsible buyers vs. those who will be using these items illegally? I guess in Chicago it must be pretty low. Since it is the 4th of July, let me just suggest that freedom always comes with personal responsibility. Can I say this is government protection on steroids? I personally want the freedom to buy spray paint and white-out and a gallon of oil-based paint. Accept no substitutes! (There is no substitute for spray paint…) and if we’re considering substitutes and personal freedoms and government regulations, I also hate those squiggly light bulbs …