I've been meaning to post some of my pretty things, lest you all think it's mud-grubbing, light-saber-rattling, ball-chucking, steel-toed, testosterone-infused boyness around here. I have a few carefully placed fragile (must be Italian!) knick-knacks that I haven't donated to the thrift shop (because I mostly think knick-knacks are annoyances to dust).
These came from my paternal grandmother. I remember seeing them in her house throughout my childhood and when she died, no one wanted them. They now sit in my bathroom, the one on the left holds shells gathered at the sea, the one on the left holds some matches.
From my maternal grandmother--this little sweetie was made in "Occupied Japan." Interesting.
She sits in my living room on a high shelf where Nerf darts or baseballs cannot knock her down.
I bought this creamer at Kylemore Abby in Ireland years ago--those are foxgloves painted on the front. Someday I hope to travel back and buy a complete tea set, but for now this single piece sits on a living room shelf near the goose-girl where it can't get banged around.
My BFF Sarah gave this to me on my birthday years ago. Isn't it gorgeous? I keep it on a high dresser in my bedroom storing spare change.
Yep, that's the real deal. In the library because what feels more literary than those gorgeous plates of Princess Elizabeth, her parents and a lace doily? They really class up the joint.
I've no collections, nothing of great value, but each of these possess sentiment and beauty, so I keep them safe and well-dusted.
In other news, last night I got flipped onto my back by a black belt classmate whilst grappling. The sound of my vertebrae crackling made me think of when milk is poured over a bowl of Rice Krispies. But the feeling? Was marvelous. Somehow this kid managed to achieve the same results as a chiropractor.