My unnatural love of material objects is the worst kept secret in blogland. I don't think I should have named my bike, as it promotes such maladaptive emotions. I hugged her goodbye when I dropped her off for servicing (dude: "You know your brakes don't work, right?" me: "uhhh, yeah, my commute is all downhill), cover her ears when I speak of getting a new bike that isn't four sizes too small, and feel like I'm cheating on her when I look at other peoples' bikes.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: Decaf serves no purpose in life, so I wish you'd stop making it and ruining my Friday morning by not promoting the constricting of blood vessels in my head and face. At the very least have the darned courtesy to put a Post-It on the canister of false hopes.
Spicing up work culture: plate, $.49 at Salvation Army, cup, $2.99 in Chinatown
I totally have a girl-crush on my GP. I really do. I want to be her friend. I may become a hypochondriac to achieve said goal. How do you broach that subject with the holder of the golden prescription pad?
Beyond the obvious brilliance and hilarity of the woman (she carries vitamin D studies in her purse), she's a sample maniac. Main-i-ac.
Six month supply of Fibre1 and sunblock (not pictured): $0
I love the gold-mine of treasures that invariably accompany the days & weeks following a church rummage sale. I was starting to worry that this certain church (I dare not divulge its location) was going to disappoint. First the TVs went out. Then the left over desks. But deep, deep in the crates of Christmas ornaments, I found something that was anything but! I bag of cute little yarn just waiting for me to learn how to knit!
You know how we all end up with parent issues? You know, blame your momma for everything until you're like 30? And vow to do everything differently? And then live in denial as you slowly turn into your mother? Fortunately the most tragic thing in my life is always wishing we had one of these when I was a kid.
There are beads. Then there are beads. Then there is this.
This is a two hundred year old, handmade Venetian millefiore bead.
Look at the irregularities.
Look at the chips.
Look at the canes fused lengthwise, sliced into delicious flowers.
Look at it!!!
Imagine the glass artist who made this, likely a little perma-hunched, spun over a torch, in a post-Venetian Republic world. Hopefully on Murano before the water taxis and pigeons at San Marco's showed up.
How could you not be utterly breathless?
A bead worthy of heirloom status: $?, gift from Julia (and yeah, she's pretty much sealed my friendship and love for the rest of my life), found in Australia
I love The Friend Art. Can't get enough of it. So I have to direct your attention to the right, just down a touch. I have a new addition to the roster of most brilliant women in my life - Caitlynn. She works 47" away from me. I'm serious. I measured. Go check her out.
And, my Prairie Peasant has clearly given up on her will to sleep 'cause she opened a second Etsy. She's an outta control book binder, but maybe wanted to do something with lower risks of paper cuts . . .