It can be hard to know when an object is going to take your fancy. Or why. But there a few things that appeal to my romantic ideal in a big way. They transport me to another time and place like few things can.
One of them is this old dish towel. It probably dates from sometime in the thirties when folks had an acute sense of the value of things. It's still in pretty good shape. But the fascination for me is in the contrast between the material it is made from--a flour sack--and the work put into it to make it beautiful.
The lace work on this mundane fabric was made on the tiniest of knitting needles with the tiniest of stitches. And I can't help but marvel at the person who would invest so much into so little.
It has very, very little value today except as an object of curiosity to a quirky person. Its strange juxtaposition of materials makes it less desirable to most. But I find it so inexplicably endearing.
Same thing with a very old pitcher I found recently. Its seller valued it at under seven dollars. But it is the oldest ironstone pitcher I have come across. Thick and heavy with a speckled primitive glaze that I love. It has "ice water" lettered across it, which makes me certain it came from a place like the original Whistle Stop Cafe!
It became my instant favorite among my already fairly sizable collection. . . .
I got to spend an hour pressing a few odd things and listening to the forties station on satellite radio today. Those old big band tunes with their muted brass instruments is the best feel-good music I know. I would pay the modest monthly fee just for this station alone.
Stacks of vintage linens make me unreasonably happy.
I find this beautifully scripted identification mark completely enchanting too.
Who knows why we find certain objects so lovable?
And who needs a reason?
Happy White Wednesday!
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