Omg what is that? It's the broken off key to something. The key part is still there, but the head of the key is cracked off. It won't fit on a key chain like that. What the heck, what does it go to?
It says Stan.. on it. Perhaps it belonged to a guy? There is a wooden box in the bottom of our closet behind the broken microscope and the 8x10 view camera suitcase. I should dig it out and see if it works.
Cough, cough. It's dusty and rusty and splintery. I think this box is old. The hinges are leather and the box has hand chiseled dovetailed joints.
Yup, I need to put some graphite on this lock. It's a bit hard to turn. Maybe that's how the head got broken off, someone without patience took a hard turn on it.
Dear Reader, you have just as much a clue as to what will be in the box as I do. We will find out together.
Oh wow, Look at this. It's sewing supplies and patterns from the 30's and 40's. The old kind without any writing or directions on them. Just mysterious dots perforated on the paper. There is a set of old long bobbins that go to a singer treadle machine. Look at this, A silver handled wooden sock darner. A silver tailor's finger safe with no top to it. Do you know why it has no top, The true tailors do not hand stitch with the tip of their fingers only the side of their fingers, the top would not be necessary, so they don't make them with tops on them. Look at this, some vintage lace and crocheted collar premades. They haven't been in style for decades. What darling things.
A Stief Bear with handmade clothing wrapped up in a Velvet tiny cape. Look at the small feather felt hat for her head, with ear cut outs on either side. And a fur muff for her cape.
And lying in the bottom a large collection of vintage calico quilt pieces. This looks like a starburst pattern that some ambitious needlewoman cut out and never pieced together. The colors are bright as new being hid away from the sun all this time.
This quilt needs to be pieced together.
Blog Manifesto
Blog Manifesto
This blog is dedicated, as the title would suggest, to the qualities of being young. We are young writers. We are playful and sensitive, fluid and changing. We are unashamed with our art. We wonder at the world, puzzle over the meanings of things and twirl in delight at images and ideas that float by, grabbing at them as they pass. We are curious and constantly inquiring and prying concepts open and taking assumptions apart. We are on the ground, close to the earth. We have bare feet and wiggle our toes into nature. We carry our blankies still and wrap up cozy and comfy with each other and tell ghost stories and shiver at creepy things. We laugh and we cry and we take a lot of naps, drained from our outings and exertions.
We write as gifts to each other, tying them up in ribbon and leaving them around for each other to find, hiding and waiting for the person to wake up and read. Surprise! We weave our stories together to create a bond. One writes, then the other. then another again. We have a shared reality that we have crafted, bit by piece by patch, by string. We write simple, honest authentic things, with our unique voices. You can tell each one of us from the other, without knowing who wrote what. Our voices are clear and gentle and original. We whisper and our personalities roar! Like children, our feelings are strong, our passion for what we write shakes us. We are moved and sometimes left breathless, by our own words or the words of each other. We cannonball into each others spaces. We fall backward into each others writing, like into a pile of leaves or a soft bed. We gobble and grin and ask for more. (footnote kudos to JC)
Then we go to bed, wake up to a new day and do it all over again!
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