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If you follow my blog, you know that I collect Quimper pottery from Brittany, the Breton region of France. Here they are beside a penny so you can see just how tiny they are! Can you see that it’s a tiny bee, cricket (grillon) and grasshopper? I grew up fishing with him and wanted to give him a little reminder. They were a little gift from me to my Dad from my days at the University of Dijon in France waaay back 1971.
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These tiny fly-fishing flies (mouches) and bobber have special meaning. This vintage wicker-wrapped demi-johnwas a fabulous Goodwill hunting find at $3.63! Whaaaat? Yes! I had been wanting one for a long time but was unwilling to pay those hefty prices! I believe it dates from the 1950s.
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On either side of her you can see the cross of Lorraine.the region of France that she called home and the same area where I lived! It truly is a tiny little treasure…only about an inch and a half wide. It dates from around 1910 and represents my favorite historical figure… Saint Joan of Arc…dressed for battle in her armor and holding her banner and her coat of arms. This fabulous antique Jeanne d’Arc brooch is another favorite find. That’s my mom’s baby bonnet in the background. It’s made of vegetable ivory… the tagua nut from the ivory-nut palm, a popular material during that time period. They have a sheen that modern thread doesn’t have! And the little antique acorn-shaped measuring tape is from the late 1800s. I love these wonderful spools of thread…a gift from a sweet friend. Yes…I have loved France and all things French for that long! Some are tiny and some are very old…but all of them have special meaning! Warning! Warning! The French teacher in me may be just about to come out! lol
Antiquing is how i know you are gay meme plus#
If you happen to spot my glittery, dishevelled carcass sprawled somewhere on Oxford Street come Sunday morning, don't forget to pay your respects.I am excited to join the Country French Design group for our monthly share…this time with an emphasis on vintage French! So today I am sharing my favorites with you…my French treasures that I have collected over the last 40 plus years. I'll dance like I'm not tired or aching, indulge all the vices that can be indulged and search for love and meaning in all the wrong places. So this weekend I suppose I'll attempt to go out with a bang. In retirement, you sit around a dining table and share a bottle of riesling among four. As a young man, you throw up in the Stonewall bathrooms and go home with some guy from the central coast. What good could our 30s possibly bring? If age is wisdom, give us ignorance and youthful beauty any day.Ī fellow "friend of Dorothy" this week admitted he was hosting a dinner party - a sure-fire admission of seniority if ever there was one. Battered by bigotry, self-hatred and the acid tongues of countless drag queens, we've developed a sense of cynicism par excellence. Gay death, then, ain't so much of a stretch. If you don't, it's a special kind of hell. And maybe it is - if you've got money, a partner and a plan. Of course, you can't complain about these feelings to any older and supposedly wiser folks, because they've lost all perspective and reckon your 20s is a decadent decade of carefree bliss. So consider this a very public wiping of the slate. I started fudging my age a while ago - shaving off a year or two, no more - and I've lost track of who I have and haven't lied to. It has taken quite a dose of vinegar for me to admit all this. In the musical Avenue Q, the seminal text about being in your 20s, there's even a song about it: I wish I could go back to college, in college you know who you are - you sit in the quad and think "oh my god, I am totally gonna go faaaaar!" But you have to be pretty famous to pull that off.Īnd with each passing year it becomes harder to go back to university in a hopeless attempt to recapture those heady days of yore. Of the decade's remainder, only the "27 Club" has any romantic value the age Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse shuffled off this mortal coil. And if "nobody loves you when you're 23", one can't imagine how they feel two years later.
Antiquing is how i know you are gay meme windows#
I'll never be a tennis pro, model or pop star - those windows of opportunity have shut. My natural impatience means I feel it more acutely the clock ticking constantly down and life's options ever thinning. No matter your stripes, being in your 20s is an agonising procession of self-doubt, existential crises and regret. Indeed, gay death cuts to the fear of ageing that festers somewhere in all of us.