Kitschy Vintage Style

I found this little gem at a Kiwanis yard sale in Sandwich, MA on the way back from visiting Mosees in Barnstable, the shop that carries my handmade jewelry.  It was selling for $2 and I couldn't resist its kitschy vintage style.

There is something about the word authentic followed by Bermuda limbo dancers in quotation marks that makes me laugh.  Obviously its authenticity made it much more valuable as a souvenir.

The hallmark on the back is from Weatherby Hanley, a British pottery that according to my online research was founded in 1891 and closed in 2000.  They did a big souvenir and commemorative business in their heyday, so there are lots of vintage Weatherby Hanley giftware items with Queen Elizabeth's face on them available on Ebay and Etsy.

I think I'm going to use my little "pin dish" as it was intended -- as a spot to plunk my jewelry when I take it off. Yes, I own a jewelry box (two in fact), but somehow a few pieces land on my dresser anyway, especially if I'm tired or talking on the phone when I take them off.  Admit it, you do the same thing.

I've discovered that organizational systems are all well and fine as long as they conform to how I will actually use them.  Sometimes a little creativity is required.  Since I finally faced facts and placed a dish near the door as a spot to drop my keys, I've never had to search for them again.  Not even once.

Words of Wisdom: Refrigerator Door Edition

Take note of this, my friends -- especially the last part.  REFRIGERATOR MAGNETS DO NOT LIE.

Deck The Halls

"Do you want to come over and help me decorate?" my grandmother would call to ask my siblings and me on a Saturday morning early in December.  And yes, as a matter of fact, we did.  It was the most eagerly anticipated day in the Christmas seasons of my childhood next to Christmas Day itself.

Boxes and boxes of decorations would come out of storage in the eaves behind my grandfather's closet.  There was a long garland of plastic poinsettias to be wound around the bannister on the stairs.  There was gold tinsel garland and scratchy white fake snow that I wasn't allowed to touch (it was probably toxic, come to think of it) to festoon the mantel, where a plastic sleigh with Santa and some wrapped gifts would be pulled by eight tiny reindeer and a Rudolph that was bigger than the rest and didn't match them.

There was a manger scene with all the usual fixings, including an angel holding a banner that said "Gloria," which when I was very little I thought was her name.  My mom has the manger scene now, which she puts up every year and enjoys at least as much as my grandmother did.  When I told her about Gloria one recent Christmas, my mother looked at me quizzically and said "Didn't you think of the carol with the words 'gloria in excelsis deo'?"  Nope.  I was a precocious reader, but more or less average in the understanding of Latin words department. 

At Gram's house, the barn for the manger scene was carefully placed on the itchy, scratchy snow.  I was allowed, as I got a little older, to place the figures in the scene -- which was a grave responsibility, both because of the fragile nature of the figures and the need for traditional accuracy in the placement -- with repeated warnings not to touch the snow (what was that stuff)?  Next to the barn was placed a white church with a steeple that had lighted stained-glass windows and tiny carolers outside it, holding hymnals with their mouths permanently painted in Os.

There were tinsel garlands to festoon doorways, and a huge brandy snifter to fill with colored glass balls and place on the kitchen table.  There were little Christmas figures for the top of the TV (what was already there was removed from its crocheted doily and stored for the season).  Decorations for every room in the house came out of those boxes.  But the scariest ornament of all -- to me as a little kid, anyway -- was the plastic mistletoe that hung in the doorway to the living room.  It was attached to a styrofoam ball decorated with beads and ribbons.

This is a bell, not a ball, but you get the idea.

It wasn't scary looking, but it was very scary to a shy little kid because proximity to it meant getting kissed.  Or having to kiss someone you really didn't want to, like your brother, for instance (on the cheek, but still).  I used to pause about six feet from the doorway, make a visual reconnaissance of the area, and then run through the doorway at top speed once the coast was clear.  I would be sternly reminded not to run in the house, but it was worth it, and in any case the grownups tended to be more lenient with the antics of excitable children at holiday time.

Despite my childhood anxieties, when I found a bunch of plastic mistletoe among the boxes of Christmas things I saved from going to  the Johnston landfill, I had to keep it.  It's hanging in the doorway between my sunroom and living room and in the unlikely event anyone tries to kiss me when I don't want them to, they will get, as my mother would say, a punch in the snoot.

Two Blogs, Two Etsy Pages

Let's face it: just as I have too much fabulousness for one blog, I have too much fabulousness for one Etsy page.  I'm still making and selling my handmade vintage, repurposed, and reclaimed jewelry at Sow's Ear Jewelry, and now I'm also selling fun vintage items at Carmen Miranda's Vintage & Kitsch. I seem to have an eye for kitschy vintage stuff.  Who knew? 

Right now I'm focusing on finding new homes for some vintage Christmas ornaments that I rescued before they went to the landfill.

This Vintage Koestal ornament is handcrafted with handpainted wax heads.  It's from about the 1940s.  No way was I going to let this end up in the trash.  It's even cuter in person.

This is an awesome example of 1960s beaded crafts.  It's a handmade angel ornament that's nine inches tall and can stand or hang.  What's more awesome than baby blue paillettes?

Maybe a faux-Faberge egg ornament made from turquoise flocked material and dozens of faux-pearl beads.   It's really pretty from every angle.

Of course, nothing says Christmas like a pair of demented choirboys in your floral display.  You can quote me on that.

Dear, sweet, two-pound Baby Jesus is beautifully proportioned.  It feels like you're holding a (small) real baby.  I'm actually getting kind of attached to this one, so I hope somebody buys it soon.  I might end up being the crazy lady pushing a baby Jesus statue in a pram, and nobody wants that.

Awesome Rating: High, But Conflicted

It's been a rough couple of weeks here at Old Maid HQ, with the loss of two members of my family of choice.  One I discussed here; the other was the sudden death of someone whose path and mine crossed, but not often enough.  I would have liked to have known him a lot better than I did.  His sister is a friend of mine, and although I was on the periphery of the huge group that mourned his passing, it's been exhausting.

Two of the things my friend gave me from her brothers house are these Spanish dancers.  I loved them as soon as I saw them, but I waited until others had taken things they wanted before I asked for them.  They remind me of some lamps my grandma had in her living room the whole time I was growing up, but that were thrown out when the room was redecorated.  (New brass lamps from J.C. Penney with the plastic still on the shades were involved.  You don't want to know.) 

Oddly enough, I was the only person among our group of friends who appreciated the delightful tackiness of these two girls.  They now live on a deep shelf above my kitchen sink, and every time I look up at them they make me smile.  I like to think that wherever they are, J and Gram are smiling too.

Dept. of Home Economics: Trash to "Treasure"

I've been working this week on some things I like to call "swamp yankee crafts," and it has occurred to me that my grandma would be proud since I am taking trash and reusing it. She liked anything that was gussied up for little to no money and was famous at the church Christmas bazaar for her crocheted toilet paper covers.



My first craft is a hillbilly basket. It was designed to go with a John Deere themed room at the Army Dude's house, so that's what dictated the materials and color scheme. I measured the length and width of the areas I wanted to weave fabric through, and cut the denim strips (from an old pair of jeans) about an inch longer. Then I trimmed the ends as necessary once I had them stitched in place.



I glued a piece of cardboard (cut out of a Triscuits box) to the fabric for the bottom to give it some support. I left the cardboard visible because, well, it's a hillbilly basket. If I ever do this again, I think I'll try using strips of thick paper (like magazine covers) and glue. Stitching inside a box was a pain.



My next swamp yankee craft was cat food can tea light holders. I got the idea of recycling cans by wrapping them with something new from Alyssa Watters, who was selling cans covered in prints of her original art at a caft fair earlier this summer (the Army Dude bought several). I don't know how I made the mental leap from that to tealight holders made from cat food cans, but as I'm sure you've realized by now, gentle readers, my mind is a strange and mysterious place.


I stripped the labels off the cans and cleaned them really well. I saved one of the labels as a template because I'm not smart with math and calculating circumferences due to the fact that the math area of my brain has been crowded out by show tune lyrics.

Next, I cut strips from magazine pages with pretty images and glued them onto the cans using a glue stick. Then I applied a thin layer of Mod Podge with a brush to create a lightly textured effect and let it dry.

I worked on these while watching a marathon of Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. It seemed like the right thing to do.

Breaking BVM News

Okay, it's not really breaking news because I bought this icon a couple of months ago. But it's news to you, since I totally forgot to tell you about it.

This is Our Lady of Vladimir, which was painted in Constantinople in the 11th or 12th century -- long before Constantinople became Istanbul. (Why'd they change it? I can't say. People just liked it better that way.) The icon was moved to the city of Vladimir, where folks built a cathedral to house it. It was later moved to Moscow, where a monastery was built to commemorate its arrival. It's an important icon in the Russian Orthodox church, is what I'm saying.

My particular icon was decoupaged onto a piece of wood by an unknown person and then given to a convent in the south of Rhode Island. I guess the nuns were doing some heavy spring cleaning this year because I bought it for six bucks at a consignment shop in Wakefield.

The original is credited with saving the Russian people time and time again. My copy probably isn't that powerful, but I still feel pretty confident that if any rude Tatar invaders show up, I'm good.

Mary In The Kitchen

This is my kitchen window, which holds two more Blessed Mother images. It's also home to a soap dispenser, the delft blue girl I brought from Holland for my grandmother (which I got back after she died) and a little blue and white bowl that holds my rings while I do dishes.


The candle is a Sacred Heart of Mary votive that I got at the grocery store. It says "Sagrado Corazon De Maria," and it's made in Mexico. It has the Mary's Magical Open Heart Surgery (With Flames) motif that totally freaked me out when I was a kid. But you know, you grow.


The other image to the right of the candle is more visible in the photo below:

It's a bread press. You press it down onto a slice of bread, and then once the bread is toasted or grilled, the image appears. Voila! Holy Toast.

The Other Grandmother's Blessed Mother

This was the first of my collection of Mary images. It belonged to my father's mother, and I took it (with permission) from her home after she died. It hung in her bedroom for as long as I can remember, so it's got to be at least 40 years old.

I'm sure it was a shock to poor Mary to leave my grandmother's house -- where dust was afraid to fall, and if it did, it was attacked and eradicated immediately -- and come to my house, where she is a little dusty more often than not. But I figure after everything the stories say she's been through, she's probably tough enough to handle it.

Awesome Rating: VERY High

This statue of the Blessed Mother with baby Jesus recently came to me from my aunt. Before her, it belonged to my grandmother and great-grandmother. We're not sure of anything before that. Traditionally, it has been handed down to the eldest daughter in the family, but none of my cousins wanted it so my aunt sent it to my mother to see if any of her daughters wanted it. I got first crack at it because I am the eldest, and oh yes, I wanted it.


What my aunt didn't know is that I collect images of the Blessed Mother. The collection began with an image that belonged to my father's mother, so of course I am delighted to have the statue that belonged to my other grandmother. Interestingly, both grandmothers had images that are of a mother with a baby -- not Mary with a halo or Mary and a grown Jesus wearing halos. Just a mom with her child. I particularly like that this is a very young woman whose hip is cocked a little to accommodate the weight of her baby boy. She looks like every young mother, everywhere, throughout time.


When my brother and I went to the Mexican marketplace in LA, I looked for just the right image of Mary to add to my collection. I was a little disappointed not to find the right thing, but now I understand that it was because the right one was already on its way to me. There's a life lesson in there somewhere.

Christmas In Rhode Island

You've got to love people who go the extra mile with their Christmas decorations. The Army Dude sent this photo to me yesterday morning and I immediately forwarded it to my brother and sister. It's what we do.

Awesome Rating: Very High

This tackle box was made by my maternal grandfather long before I was born. My Aunt Grace, who is an artist and weaver (you can check out her site here), used it as a paintbox so it has leather tacked inside to hold brushes and a few paint splotches here and there.

Auntie was cleaning out some stuff in her house and very kindly asked my mom if anyone wanted the box. I jumped at the offer, which I guess people found surprising. Hell yes, I wanted something made by the grandfather who died while my mom was still a teenager. Hell yes, I wanted something old and paint spotted and well-used. I knew before I saw it that I would love it and I do.

I use it to hold finished and almost-finished jewelry pieces. Every time I open the box to put something in it, I think of the grandfather I never met, of my aunt, who makes her living with her art, and of my mother, who never met a needlecraft she couldn't master. And I smile.