Buying a Mattress

I used to joke with Dear One that the main reason I married him was so he would be the point person if we ever purchased a car.  Pushy sales people cause smoke to come out of my ears.

But I now realize yet another reason I married him.  To be the point person to purchase a new mattress and box spring when we needed one.  And we need one.

We have this fabulous old burr walnut antique bed--complete with carved leaves and acorns covering the headboard and the footboard.  It dates from probably 1870. It certainly qualifies for a "statement" piece in the bedroom.

About 15 years ago, while Dear One was away--he entrusted me to go to a local mattress store to buy a new set.  It is an experience I never want to repeat.  Gone are the days of going to a general department store (thank you Gimbels and Dearly Departed Marshall Fields) and getting off the elevator to a sea of box springs and mattresses.  The customer would wander around, lie down on a few samples, find a salesperson and make arrangements for delivery.  Serta extra-firm?  Beauty Rest PillowTop?  I'll take that one--thank you very much.

My solo  mattress buying experience brought out the worst in me.  I entered a store and was descended upon by a salesman who could best be described as a cross between PT Barnum and Rasputin.  "Just browsing thanks," says I.  "Really--no--just looking and trying out a few sets" insisted I.  "Please, Sir, I will come find you if I have any questions."  It escalated into "Sir-GET LOST or I will go to another store to buy a mattress."  Yup.  The worst in me.

Now--15 years later--we need a new set.  Eureka.  While browsing some resort websites--I came across a site for a place we stayed over the years and loved, loved,   LOVED their beds.  AND-THEY-SELL-THEM-ON LINE.  Oh yes they do.  Four weeks order time--delivered--old set carted away.  AND NO SALESPERSON.  Happy Dance!!

The London Cookbook

This stylish new cookbook by Aleksandra Crapanzano is is a little bit travelogue, a little bit coffee table book and a great deal of edgy, modern recipes by top chefs and top restaurants in London.

This book works hard at compiling about 100 recipes that give a fresh take on some old British classics-- Welsh Rarebit, Eton Mess,  Fish and Chips and Potted Shrimp.  It works even harder on including other recipes that draw on the multicultural city that London has become--Scallops with Red Nam Yum,  Potato Chaat with Pomegranate, Mint and Rose Raita, and Cinnamon Scented Porcini Duck Ragu.

Ms. Crapanzano makes it clear that she polled her well connected chef/foodie friends to come up with the best of the best recipes-and that she tested each one several times.  The photography is stunning and the list of specialty ingredients needed to make many of the recipes is pocket book stinging.  She does include several more simple to prepare recipes--Chicken Marsala and Sea Bass with Paprika that a more novice cook could prepare.

Overall--it is a dreamy book, filled with recipes most folks will never prepare from restaurants that most will never visit.  It is a feast for your eyes--and your wishful tummy.

Blogging For Books provided me with a copy of the book in exchange for my honest review.

It's Not Only About Tiny Tim

Who knew?  Charles Dickens wrote several Christmas stories--not just The Christmas Carol.

The above is a late 19th century copy of Christmas Books--an edition of all  five of the the holiday related novellas written by Charles Dickens in the mid 1840s.

These additional stories are odd--in a sort of gothic novel kind of way.  They are filled with ghosts and atmospheric scenes and those quirky Dickens character names.  This book contains stories called The Chimes, The Cricket on the Hearth, The Battle of Life and The Haunted Man.

These stories are readily available in modern paperback versions.  Well worth your time on a snowy winter's night.

East or West Home is Best

The perfect place to live---there is no such place--let's agree to that.

But many times a person can go on a vacation--and return and think--now THERE is a place I could settle down--when I retire, when the kids are grown, when the cows come home.

Dear One and I know a few people who have travelled places and returned--pulled up stakes and moved away.  I am sure it works for some.  This is something I can't imagine doing.  I always felt that the specialness of a vacation is that is IS temporary--you DON'T live there.  Vacation is a snapshot (literally) in your life--not the reality of your life.

We love to travel and have been very blessed to have had vacations in places that have touched our hearts.  We usually bring home a suitcase of reminders--maybe a local product-or foodstuff-or special book--and most likely a vintage something that we found on a "poke around the vintage shops kind of day" that we like.  I might even come home with visions of repainting the kitchen that JUST PERFECT shade of sky or sunset or stone or flora  or shutter that I saw on a vintage home.

What makes the perfect place to relocate?  I think many do it to move closer to family (I always wonder what the family thinks of the idea)  Some do it to leave behind a life of memories or a perceived staleness in what exists and a searching for the freshness of what is ahead.

I have always been haunted by a quote from Blaise Paschal (b. 1623)

“What else does this craving, and this helplessness, proclaim but that there was once in man a true happiness, of which all that now remains is the empty print and trace?

This he tries in vain to fill with everything around him, seeking in things that are not there the help he cannot find in those that are, though none can help, since this infinite abyss can be filled only with an infinite and immutable object; in other words by God himself”

[This is from page 75 of Blaise Pascal’s Pensees (New York; Penguin Books, 1966).]

Your Kiddos Don't Want Your Tchotchke

This weekend, the Wall Street Journal had a front page article on bric-a-brac and baby boomers.  It seems that baby boomers are downsizing their homes and "gifting" family treasure on their kids and grandkids--who just do not want it.

I hear that story all the time.  Friends who own and sometimes decorate with family heirlooms and hand-me-downs are lamenting that their kids do not want "that old stuff" even if beloved Granny owned it or used it or touched it.  I particularly hear that about sets of dishes.  No one seems to want Granny's Havilland or Auntie's apple pattern dishes.

I understand that angst.  I am sentimental and love this old stuff.  For me, the greater connection to a family member, the better.  But, as I have no children--all my stuff will someday be owned by people who do not share my last name.  But heck--I have a house full of treasures that were owned by someone else's granny. I am treasuring them and taking care of them.  Such is the life of antique recycling.

Miss Nameless

Who are you Miss Nameless?

We sell many paintings at www.odanaantiques.com and at antique shows.  We try to search out appealing pieces--some in oil, gouache and watercolor.

I heard once that paintings are the jewelry of a room.  It is difficult to pick out a piece of jewelry for another person--it really is so personal.  But we sell paintings often--so maybe selecting paintings that will appeal to others is an easier task.

Who is the woman in this painting?  I haven't a clue.  The piece is not titled and not signed.  It is clearly a 1950s/60's vintage and framed under glass.  The woman is seated and pensively staring at the viewer.  I like to take a few moments and reflect on the paintings we buy.  What is their history?  Who if anyone sat for the portraits?  Sometimes there are answers--often not.

Mid Century Mad

For several years now, decorating, clothing, recipes  and television viewing has been crazy about mid century modern--the snappy phrase that means the stuff us baby boomers grew up with in the 1950s and 1960s.  Now add to the mix the newest book by Bob Kealing, "Life of the Party--The remarkable story of Brownie Wise and the Tupperware Empire."

Ok--now stick with me on this.  Tupperware parties were popular in the 1950s and 60s as places where women could escape from their homes and meet at parties and eat jello desserts, and play games and yes--buy plastic boxes to store food in.  We've come a long way baby.

This, at times interesting book,  follows the careers of Tupperware founder Earl Tupper (who knew?) and the woman he hired who quickly built the empire of home parties and the legions of hundreds of women who raised money selling to their friends who sold to their friends who sold to THEIR friends.... You get the picture.

This book is overly stuffed with facts that just, well, don't matter.  Aren't there a million stories of partners in success who have messy falling outs?  What makes this interesting is that Brownie Wise was a cracker jack salesperson at a time when the career choice for women was mother, secretary, nurse or stewardess. The owner of the company flipped out, canned Brownie and then the book is over.  The book reads slowly--and is well--not very compelling.  Save your $26 and plug in a dvd of Mad men instead.

Thanks to Blogging for Books who provided me with a copy of the book to reveiw.