Well, moving on…
Yes, I could teach workshops on firmly repressing your feelings.
I was surprised that Rebecca likes this corkboard covered with odd things. It is so not her – she’s very tidy.
Tea time in Estonia
An embroidered name tag – I’m sure she’ll like it again when she’s 16.
Medals from…? My family was full of compulsive liars. Or storytellers.
my clutter board
Unfortunately, like many people who make things out of recycled materials, I like to have them out where I can see and brood over them, with predictably cluttered results. Here, among other things, I have old wooden spools; wrapped in multicolored thread, they’re….spools wrapped in multicolored thread. But they’re cute! I’ve given them as Christmas ornaments to people who either liked them a lot or are excellent actors. Jane liked hers.
The picture of the cat wearing a head scarf is something my daughter won (plus a cookie) at the Islander store. The other postcards, with the rustically posed trees, are from the town in northern Minnesota where my mom was from. I’m not about to use them in a collage; I just like to look at them sometimes.
There are various supplies in bags – embroidery thread, flowered beads from a broken necklace (a gift from my daughter’s friend :( very sad), and silver buttons and hooks from a Norwegian sweater.
There’s a felted tag I embroidered, to the best of my ability; my daughter used to wear it on her backpack. Now she hates it, but she loves the ruffled scarf that she hated a year ago when I knitted it…mothers get used to these things.
There’s a silver vial on a chain that I hope held something exotic or dangerous, and two medals belonging to my uncle by marriage, Josef Hrabek. I was told that they were Russian, Tsarist-era medals, but someone who sells these things on Ebay told me they were actually Polish. I should have known, because I can sort of read one, about St. Michael, so they’re not in Cyrillic. Strangely, I love this evidence of their unreliability. As I said in one of the captions, that side of my family was apparently full of compulsive liars, or storytellers. My mother’s family also abounded with storytellers, but they didn’t expect you to believe them.
Someday, I’ll tell you about the bootlegging. And the baby beauty contest.