My Play Room

A peek from the entrance to my newly redecorated work and play room.

A 1970 talking Cat in the Hat puppet was the last touch on my studio makeover.

I recently impulsively bought this well used and loved talking puppet and I am completely smitten. His perfectly sly smirk, crazy yellow eyes and non working pull string compliment his ratty tatty dirtballness. He sits on top of my desk lamp.

I am so in love with my new studio.

I did an overhaul and made my messy, unorganized, work space into something more inspiring.

Something that reflects my store aesthetic and my creative side.

A place where I can work and be productive.

But also, where I can play.

My studio (which now resembles Pee Wee's Playhouse on crack) is not only where Sweet Love Vintage happens, but it's where my imagination, inner artist, closet geek side, and quirky sense of humor hang out.

My window valance is made up of old game boards and school flash cards.

My wall of books containing mainly art books, reference books, and includes books by some of my favorite artists/authors: Seuss, Shel Silverstein, Edward Gorey, Brian Andreas, Andy Warhol and Marc Johns.

Vintage toys and tiny things used for my photography props line the blue metal shelves. I wallpapered the wall behind them in vintage piano music.

Sweet Love piano music cover sheet is my welcome sign at the door and an old Cricket chalkboard is hung for little reminders.

Near the ceiling I hung white lights and a teal feather boa. I spray painted cheap paper stencils from a local home improvement store and hung them with mini wood clothespins. Sweet Love and Curious are code for my two sons. The huge bulletin board will have an ever changing display of inspiration.

The flash card with the word neat on my bulletin board is rather ironic. I am a complete mess when I work. I usually have several projects going on at once on my desk. I take stuff out and don't put it away, then I take more stuff out. Repeat. It starts to look like a landfill of art supplies, dust, post-its, and vintage paraphernalia. The state my studio is in right now is heavenly. It's so clean and organized I don't even know where to start. And unfortunately, I can't find anything because it's all put away. This is out of my element. When I wander through the door I turn catatonic. I just sit at my desk and look around as I am mesmerized and instantly inspired by all the colors and silliness. I immediately think of things I want to work on, but I'm scared to take stuff out.

I know as soon as I start one thing, just one little creative endeavor, I'm going to fuck it all up with my messy shenanigans. I am, indeed, like the mischievous Cat in the Hat, and will trash this room in an instant.

My desk will never, ever look like this again. Now matter how hard I try, I know myself better than that. I just want it to look this way a tiny bit longer. I might sit in my catatonic state while drooling and blowing spit bubbles a few more times before I start tearing it up.

If only my Cat in the Hat puppet would have come with a couple of blue haired Things and a big, red, noisy cleaning machine.

His Dynamic Industrial Renovating Tractormajigger.

To clean up after my messy shenanigans.

Much Needed

I needed today. A day with my curious kid.

Curious, myself, and my 4 wheels.

On a spontaneous antique hunting road trip.

No plan, random stops, several treats

and very intellectual conversation

like much we love Pop Rocks

and why they crackle.

Which I couldn't answer.

Here he is drooling over antique coins:

I was busy drooling over a $1500 Victorian mourning shadow box filled with an artistic preservation of human hair. It was so fascinating I couldn't get away from it.

I also couldn't get away from my strange obsession with trying to find vintage marionette puppets. Something I've been looking for since I saw some "dancing" in a perfectly decorated restaurant.

I need them for my studio.

Like I needed that weird looking plush cat with weird looking plush eyeballs. Like something from a plush circus freak show. A force took over and I purchased this lonely weird plush doll.

Maybe it's because sometimes I feel lonely and weird.

"Mom! Come! On! I gotta show you this coin!"

This snaps me out of my looking-for-marionette-puppet-hyperfocus.

Even though I'm not passionate about coins, I appreciate and understand his excitement. I enjoy sharing this with him.

He came home treasuring his new (old) coins.

I came home treasuring the time we spent together.

That kid rocks.

Rocks more than a colossal mountain of Pop Rocks.

Letters To Edith

April 2nd, 1925.

A letter, addressed to Edith, is postmarked with that date.

There were many, many, many letters addressed to her. Boxes of them. Years of them.

Edith was a major-league saver.

She kept every single note, letter, card, and newspaper clipping that she ever received.

Including sweet ephemera like this innocent love note from her classmate Keith.

She bound them in pretty ribbons,

taped them in scrapbooks,

and put them in boxes.

This is Edith.

Or at least, I think it's Edith.

I never knew her. But it was neat to get a sense of who she was (packrat) at her estate sale.

All these written words clearly meant a lot to her, so in no way was I going to let those beautiful handwritten letters make it to a dumpster.

Edith would not have been happy about that.

I divided them into 4 collections and placed them in the shop.

A unique montage of letters, cards and notes to peruse, display, or use in some creative way.

I could waste an entire day reading them.

Screw the novels on the NY Times best seller list.

I'm reading letters to Edith.

Me Loves

Loves me.

Loves me not.

Loves me.

Me loves the Hipstamatic iphone camera app.

Hipstamatic iphone app loves me,

loves me not,

loves me. back.

Hipsta brings out my ridiculous playful side.

He doesn't judge my dork side. He embraces it.

I am so charmed by Hipsta's old school qualities.

and I don't mind when he over-exposes himself.

Here I am holding my Academy Award

for Best Supporting Goofball in a Self Photographer Series.

Which I dedicated to Hipsta, my biggest supporter.

He sat proudly in the front row.

Beaming though his lens and clapping loudly.

First Born Curious. The End.

I excel in procrastinating.

I also excel in obsessively working on a task until complete.

Once I decide to get 'er done.

(Larry the Cable Guy is way overrated. As is his overdone phrase I used annoyingly above.)

Here is the final product of my almost-10-year-old-curious-boy's-bedroom:

Probably the only time it will be a nicely made bed.

Curious and I both stinkaroo at bed making. Workin on it.

Well, he is. Me? Not so much.

I've never really understood the art of daily bed making.

Someday I'd like to learn it. But I've got better things to do for now.

Painted a section of black wall behind the bed to ground it in the room.

Added an old barnwood frame with a display of curiosities.

Wrote some random words around the perimeter of the paint with white chalk.

Next to the bed he has lots of places to store his gatherings:

A view directly across from the bed. His coin collecting desk area.

His favorite coins went into plain frames that he can easily access.

Fake wood clipboards are the el-cheapo version to display stuff.

No need for an expensive built-in window seat.

A set of wood and metal schoolhouse chairs does the job. Scored the whole set for $10:

His collections and curiosities are displayed on the black shelves in front of the black window wall. I wanted it dark so the objects would pop.

The 6 foot antique snakeskin mount became an unusual window dressing.

Not my original plan, but not planning is typical for me.

So is spilling food on myself daily.

I adhered vintage game cards around the window trim and Mr. Puffer hangs from Mr. Snake.

Last, but not least...

This is for the peeps who thought there's no way an old elk leg could look cool:

I know you're out there. And you still may not think dat's cool.

It's okay because I like it. Plus Curious is the only one I need to please.

And Curious loves it.

His room.

All of it.

Never Too Old

Caved on new kicks the other day.

Same as the pair I wore in 7th grade.

Only those were high tops.

And I stitched some palm tree beach scene on the sides with colored embroidery floss.

Was told I was too old to wear these.

No way. Nada. Never. Nope. Not.

When I'm 92 I'll be hobbling around in my walker.

The spray painted baby blue walker with the ribbons on the handle-bars.

It'll be easy to pick out among the sea of walkers with the tennis ball bottoms at the nursing home.

Horn on the front.

Outta my way dirty old geezers, I'm late for Bingo.

Beep beep.

Or perhaps a blaring loud air horn so their big ol' ears can pick up on it.

Hobbling.

Faster than the average old lady.

Andele! Andele! Arriba! Arriba!

I will name my walker Speedy Gonzales.

Hobbling.

In my Converse-All-Star sneaks.

Intermission

Curious?

Been feverishly working on his bedroom.

Curious. That kid. His room.

Still have some details to add.

But here is a wee peek. Pillow's eye view:

And a teeny peek next to his bed:

I always wanted to do something with that vintage red television I lugged home eons ago.

Didn't let Curious see the room for a couple days. Wanted to surprise him.

He couldn't hold out any longer so I caved.

I couldn't take the whining anymore.

He said, "Oh my gosh! It's nothing like I imagined it would be!"

I said, "Is it better or worse than you thought?"

Internally freaking out. What if he hates this???

"Way better!"

Whew.