A win-win

One of my favorite things to do here in Mesa, Arizona is to visit the local Goodwill thrift shop.

And all day Saturday is half-price day.

This is amusing to me because the prices are so low to begin with that offering things for sale at half price seems almost silly. And besides, the whole effort is to employ people and provide goods to those who can't afford department store prices.

However, being a thrifty shopper, of course I go on a Saturday.

The fun of thrift store shopping here in Mesa is that I find items that fit into my Southwestern decor. The shelves and racks are so full that you often have to move things around and dig a little to find the real treasures.

Last year, buried in the middle of a rack, hidden from view, I found a matching creamer and sugar with the Kokopelli image hand-painted on them. Kokopelli is the image of the god of fertility, an influence of the Anasazi Indians. I later found two large canisters and a smaller canister of the exact pattern.

Well, yesterday I found more Southwestern treasures.




The lovely tissue holder and soap dispenser will go into my newly-redecorated bathroom. The hand-painted basket is for my friend, Mary Kay's screen porch.

The crystal dish isn't Southwestern, but has a Christmas angel design on it. After I remove the hardened wax candle from the inside and clean it, I'll use it as a candy dish.

The vessel will be displayed among other pots on my kitchen cupboard soffits. And the hexagon-shaped wooden box with a counted cross stitch design will be cleaned up for the bedroom.

I also found some things for outdoor display:

Won't this clay pot look great sitting among our various cactus plants
 and the white rock all around our house?

And this little gem was from a waterfall-type ornament.
It has a hose in the back that was attached to a water supply.
The water then runs down each of the three pots. 

Are you ready for the grand total of all my purchases?

Twenty-one dollars.  And ninety cents.  No tax.

Check out your local Goodwill store. Or any charitable thrift shop. The workers are either volunteer, or are employed and disabled, or are just employed when so many aren't.

Your purchases have been donated by others with charitable hearts. Some come from estates. Some items are obviously brand new. All can be cleaned, polished or otherwise spiffed up. 

To my way of thinking, this is a win-win.

Head of steam

Many years ago, my then father-in-law wrote our family a letter when we lived several states away. It was a newsy letter, many pages long. He ended by saying, “I better quit while I’ve still got a full head of steam."

I had never heard that expression before, but I now use it myself occasionally.

This morning, I had a head of steam. I breezed through many household chores, got completely caught up with cleaning, laundry, ironing, and baked Woody’s bran muffins besides, bringing some to a winter neighbor who just arrived in Mesa yesterday.

Then I sat down and paid bills, balanced the checkbook, and took care of some cards and correspondence. It is now 1:50 in the afternoon.

That’s what a "head of steam" is, I suppose. Sometimes I wish it would hit more often, but then again, I’d walk around totally exhausted if it were a daily routine.

Since arriving in Mesa, Arizona, where we will spend the next six months, escaping the pain and agony (albeit, the beauty) of a Minnesota winter, I’ve adopted a new routine. I love it.

With my freshly-brewed morning coffee, I sit and sip in a leisurely fashion. Catrina, the cat, stretches in front of me. The television is already on to the morning chat and news program from Phoenix, and I enjoy learning about all the local goings-on.

Maybe a half-hour passes and I might pick up my knitting for a few rows, or my Kindle for a few pages of reading.

Nowhere to go. No place I need to be. No certain time to be anywhere or do anything.

After another fifteen minutes or so, I can feel the caffeine in my bloodstream, like a junkie.

Ahhhh, yes, now I’m awake, ready to greet the day.

An avowed list-maker, my day is already mapped out. But I long ago learned the hard way, after being burned out on my job, to approach my to-do lists a bit differently. Instead of dictating to me what has to be done, I use it as a menu.

Choices. Pick and choose.

Now after the third cup of coffee and an hour of relaxation, still in my pj’s, I am eager to get dressed and dig in.


With a full head of steam.

Greetings of old

Since my bachelor uncle passed away in August, family members have been cleaning out the old farmhouse, homesteaded by my great-grandfather in White Lake, South Dakota.

The farmhouse is a museum in itself, containing rich treasures of the past. My grandparents and my uncle threw away very little. It's all still there!

Although lamenting the large task that it is to go through everything, I was the recent recipient of pieces of history and stories through a very large box packed full of hundreds of old letters, Christmas cards, and assorted greeting cards, wedding and birth announcements, and photos that haven't seen the light of day in years.

I am told there are more boxes of the same, and I am itching to get my hands on them. Everyone else seems glad to let me have at it.

Anyway, as I opened greeting cards from the 1950s yesterday, it struck me how wonderfully cute and innocent they all were, and the stark differences between cards of then and now.

No obscene cards in the bunch, no off-color jokes. Just ridiculously sweet with corny, sappy verse. Absolutely delightful.

Many of the cards are embellished with glitter, ribbon, and other decorations that you don't see anymore.



This one featured fluffy, tickly feathers on the angel's wing,
and glitter on the stars.



On a birthday card, a woman is holding a plastic rolling pin on her  arm.
Real plastic!

This little charmer has a real black net veil.
Believe it or not, it is a birthday card.

Another thing that struck me was the sheer volume of letters back and forth from aunts, cousins and friends.

Letter writing was expected and an almost everyday occurrence. Either a message was scribbled and dropped in the mailbox at the end of the farmhouse driveway, or a newsy letter from Aunt Hattie would be received. My Grandma even noted the date it was received and the date she answered it.

But think:  No e-mail, texting, Facebook, or phone calls. Long distance was very expensive, and it wasn't until the 1960s when they even had a dial phone on the farm. No instant messages. Rarely even a typewriter to make the job a bit easier.

No, letters were scrawled on sheets of linen lined paper, sometimes pages and pages long. I have saved the ones from my great-aunts and -uncles because after I put them in chronological order, I'm convinced there's a story that weaves itself together. 

I can hardly wait for the next batch to arrive. Stay tuned!

Thrift shopping

How many of you like a bargain? Okay, okay, I see all of you are raising your hands.

So how many of you love to snoop around in thrift shops?  If you have never done so, you just don't know what you might be missing.

Forget garage sales.  You have to drive around to find them, park two or three blocks away, and then discover all they have are dirty children's clothes, odds and ends of dishes, small appliances that may or may not work, or puzzles with pieces missing.

But at most thrift shops, donated items are cleaned, tested, and tend to be in sets, like dinnerware or kitchen canisters. Really gross stuff gets rejected as this gives a good thrift store a bad name.

My friend and I ventured to the charming town of Cambridge, Minnesota, one day last week. This was a half-way meeting point for both of us, she from St. Cloud and me from Lindstrom.  Our purpose in meeting was to catch up on our lives as we don't get a chance to visit very often, and to treat ourselves to lunch and a good visit.

We accomplished our goal with a two-hour lunch at Hermann's Bakery and Cafe on Main Street that was absolutely wonderful. A cozy table by the window outlined with lace curtains and looking out on Main Street decorated with yellow autumn mum plants provided the ambiance for a yummy spinach salad, freshly baked cinnamon bread, and creamy Chai tea.

But our minds during lunch were fixed on the view directly across the street: the Shalom Thrift Shop, which beckoned as we ate and demanded our attention. Neither of us were about to resist.

Like most thrift shops, it is staffed totally with volunteers. One of the nicest thrift stores I have seen, it's more like a department store - neat, clean, spacious aisles, well organized, and with professional-looking displays.

The shop started in 1981 with a ladies' church group offering free clothing in a parsonage basement one day a week to those in need. It quickly grew from the basement to a grocery store parking lot, to space in an entire house, to a shoe store, to its present location, an old Ben Franklin store on Main Street.

All items were spotless. Dishes sparkled, clothes were clean, books were categorized, and Halloween costumes and decorations were prominently featured.

There was even a quiet library sitting area where you could take a break and peruse the books on the shelf before making the decision to purchase a book.  Hmmm, a paperback for 35 cents? Or a hard cover book for a dollar?

Greeting cards were ten cents each. Again, categorized by occasion and neatly lined up with matching envelopes.

Entertaining as it was, and notwithstanding the wonderful time spent with my dear friend, I approached the checkout line with a full cart. A tissue holder in a southwestern design for our home in Arizona, a cake pan, a pair of slacks, a book, a Tupperware picnic set, a wooden salad serving set, three boxes of hardware for our Arizona bedroom, and nightlight bulbs.

Grand total?  Seventeen dollars!

The real value, however, came from realizing that my purchases were a vehicle for helping someone in need in the local community. All donated, with pleasant volunteer staff that sort, clean, fix, stock, and ring up a sale, that $17 might go into a gas tank for someone searching for a job, buy a clean blanket, pay for bus fare, or furnish a child with school lunches.

Next time you see a thrift store, check it out. Bargains abound for you, and benefit a neighbor as a bonus.

Spending an afternoon with a friend?  Diane and I can attest to the fun an afternoon of thrift shopping can provide.

Kristina

Last evening, I had the most wonderful experience when I attended a breathtaking performance of the beautiful musical, Kristina från Duvemåla (Kristina from Duvemåla), held at a local church with local talent.

You would think you were at St. Paul's Ordway Theatre, or Orchestra Hall in Minneapolis, or London's Albert Hall. Or even in Stockholm. It was that good.

The musical is based on Vilhelm Moberg's epic, The Emigrants, a suite of four novels written to commemorate the arrival of Swedes to the Chisago Lakes area of Minnesota. The novels' main characters are peasant farmers, Karl Oskar, his wife, Kristina; Karl Oskar's brother, Robert; and a friend, Ulrika.

Famine, rocky soil, and religious persecution brought them from their home, Duvemåla, in Småland, a province in southern Sweden. Landing in New York after a 10-week voyage, they slowly made their way by boat to Stillwater, Minnesota, and then up the St. Croix River to the landing at Taylors Falls, and finally on foot to Lindstrom, Minnesota where they settled, enjoying rich soil to farm.

The musical, written by former ABBA members Björn Ulvaeus (Swedish lyrics) and Benny Andersson (music), is magnificent and emotional. Last evening's performance did them proud.

In 1996, my mother and I were fortunate to attend a performance of musical selections from Kristina, with Björn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson in attendance with members of the original cast.

This was offered at our local high school during the Swedish Jubilee year and was one of many events held to celebrate our area's Swedish heritage and the arrival of many Swedish immigrants to Lindstrom in 1856.

Last night's performance was another commemoration. It also brought to mind loving memories of my Swedish grandmother, Ragnhild, who emigrated from Gavle, Sweden to New York in 1912.

And with my grandmother came her Swedish customs and culture, passed on to our generation to appreciate. How rich we are in our Swedish heritage, and how fortunate I am to live in this area where it is celebrated.


Tack så mycket (thank you) to Trinity Lutheran Church in Lindstrom, Minnesota, and to our very own talented local musicians for bringing us this historic and emotional remembrance in such beautiful form.

More farm treasures

While in South Dakota recently to attend my Uncle Marvin's funeral, my Aunt Lois, Aunt Norma and I spent a day cleaning the old farmhouse.

We barely scratched the surface, but it gave us a chance to look through some old farm treasures in the house. Reminiscing as we went from room to room, we uncovered one object after another, each with wonderful memories attached.

I remember Grandma having a crocheted and starched teacup and saucer on her coffee table. I assumed she made it, since she did crocheting.

As a farm wife, Grandma awoke when the rooster crowed to announce a new day, and I am certain she didn't sit down until dinner was served, dishes were done, cows were milked, cream was separated, chickens were all in their coop, children were tended to, and the house was in order.

Then I can imagine her relishing a few moments of contentment to sit in her rocker, crocheting on her lap.

My aunts and I discovered the teacup and saucer I remembered, along with a delightful pair of crocheted high-heel shoes, upstairs, put away with other trinkets. A bit dusty, but oh, so charming.

But, said my aunts, Grandma did not crochet them.  Aunt Johanna, Grandma's sister, did.  Grandma crocheted more practical things like towels, pillowcases, and some decorative throw pillows.

They must have seen the look of longing on my face, and said I could have them.  I was thrilled!

When I returned home, I gave the high-heeled shoes to my sister, Joan, and decided to keep the cup and saucer, which were slightly out of shape from years of being put away or just being handled. I wondered if I could gently wash them and re-starch them.

I remembered Grandma telling me they were starched using sugar water. So I Googled.

Voile! I found a recipe:

Old-fashioned starch used for crocheted pieces

1/4 cup water
3/4 cup granulated sugar
Mix water and sugar in a small pan. Stir the mixture over low heat (do not boil) until clear and not sugary. Remove pan from heat, and let mixture cool.

Dip pieces into mixture. Gently squeeze out excess starch, then shape and allow to dry.

So, I used a lingerie wash and gently moved it through the water; then placed the cup over a small china cup, and the saucer over a small glass bowl to dry.

I then made the sugar mixture and let it cool.  Holding my breath, as I could well imagine this being the ruin of these cherished pieces, I cautiously dipped them into the mixture, and placed them back on the china cup and glass bowl to mold them back into shape.

Success!

After brushing off some of the excess dried sugar, I now have a much cleaner cup and saucer, a remembrance of my beloved Grandma, crocheted by my Great-Aunt Johanna.

Little could these two women know then how their pieces of art would become heirlooms, and how much these would mean to me someday. 

Treasures of the heart. ♥

Farm treasures

If you recall my farm series (May 2011), you may remember reading about my Grandma's garden, her preserves and canned goods, and her sauce spoon (Taste a little of the summer).

I mentioned I would love to have a sauce spoon like hers. It was unique to Grandma's era and you just don't see them used anymore.  Grandma would empty a jar of home-canned peaches (or plums or pears), stored in her fruit cellar, into a glass bowl and serve them with this silver sauce spoon.

A sad occasion, the recent sudden and unexpected death of my Uncle Marvin, brought me back to the farm in White Lake, South Dakota.

Uncle Marvin, a bachelor, bought the farm from my grandparents when they retired and moved into town in the early 1960s. But what was unique is that the farmhouse remained furnished with all of Grandma and Grandpa's furniture, dishes, silverware, utensils, pictures, wall-hangings, doilies, decorative items and linens. My uncle replaced very little and moved nothing from its designated place. So a visit we made there through the years was like a trip back in time. 

All that was missing was Grandma and Grandpa.

After Uncle Marvin's funeral, I stayed for several days to help sort through things, do a little cleaning, and be part of setting a plan in motion for what was left. His Will set forth legal direction for disposal of assets, but not all the furnishings in the house, barns and out-buildings.

These are not just furnishings. They are our treasures from the past. Dividing them among two surviving sisters, a sister-in-law, and nineteen nieces and nephews is a daunting challenge. Though not a materialistic family, these treasures represent the love we feel for our grandparents and we would each like a memento or two, irregardless of its value to anyone else.

Like the sauce spoon, for instance.

When I mentioned this to my aunts, and told them how a simple sauce spoon linked me to my grandmother, the memory creating a warm place in my heart, they presented it to me, saying, "From Grandma with love." 

It was found way in the back of an all-purpose utensil drawer with potato mashers, assorted knives, ice cream scoops, meat forks, and pastry cutters all heaped on top of it.  It was dirty, dusty, and black. I am certain, without a single doubt, that my Grandma was the last to use it.

After several attempts with Hagerty silver polish, I decided to seek out a professional silversmith to try to restore it to its former lustre.

So as I stood there creating a scene with my profuse gratitude and tears, my cousin's husband went to the fruit cellar in the basement and produced one of Grandma's fruit jars to complete this wonderful gift. The jar had a zinc cover on it and some very old dirt inside. Although I even treasured the very old dirt, it did get washed.

All of Grandma's canning jars are still in place in the fruit cellar. I liked this one over the old blue Ball jars because of its waffle pattern on the outside.

I am so happy to have these two treasures. They are all I need. My Grandma  resides in my heart, but I will use my jar and sauce spoon to honor her memory.

Thank you, Grandma.