O (Kinda Large) Tannenbaum

If there is one very good reason for owning a long mini-van, it is this:  

You can fold down the seats, and 

slide your fresh Christmas tree right in; 

  no roof-tying insanity.  

Me, wandering through a
tree farm, looking adorable.

Nowadays, we buy a fresh tree from a garden center around the corner from That Old House.  No more venturing into the vast Jersey wilderness to hack down our own specimen, followed by a hair-raising trip home on Route 80, with me convinced we'd cause a multi-car pileup when our tree went flying off the roof.  The year the tree farm guy tied a giant tree on with dental floss was the last straw.  

Our tree, hogtied in the back of the
minivan, Sunday afternoon.

No, now... we don heavy gloves (why is it always so cold on a tree lot?) and hunt the local lot.  Here's this year's victim lucky candidate, fresh out of the van and wrestled into the stand.

Late Sunday afternoon,
blue light time.

Which means ... all of our trees are UP, faux and fresh.  Some are partly finished, others awaiting their balls and bling.  The house is a tip, with still-to-be-deployed decorations and wreaths and garlands and ribbons running amuck, everywhere, but ... there's time.  And as always, what gets done, gets done ... and what doesn't, doesn't.

Fuzzy phone picture, Sunday evening.
Howard decides to do the lights another time.

I would attempt to put the lights on the sunroom tree, but I don't want to get scratched shoving strands of lights into the tree's innards; I hate pain.

Howard is a boy, so he gets to do the hard ouchy stuff.  :-)

Happy Monday morning, Tree!
(The picture is crooked, not the tree.  That's my story.)

My Dad believed that the more painful, scratchy, and fierce a tree's needles, the better it would last for the whole season.

Howard has adopted this belief, and has the scars to prove it.

Today, the tree looks happy, relaxed,

and ready for its bling.  

Last year's sunroom tree.

How do you choose a tree?

Do you cut one down, or find it on a lot?

Or take it out of a box?

Just a dozen days till Christmas Eve!

And remember:

Ho Ho Ho!  -- Cass

Visit The Graphics Fairy for a mind-boggling collection of vintage art.  Thank you, Karen!

The Slow Climb Back To Normal, And An Old Oak Table in Distress

I know.  I know.  
Normal?  Seriously?

Well, we're talking as close to normal as

That Old House ever gets.

Oh come on, confess.  How normal is your house?

So, the big fresh Christmas tree in the Conservatory came down,

the fallen needles got vacuumed up, the chandelier was re-hung,

and the table put back in place.

Notice anything odd? 

The center leg looks like it's been on an all-night bender

and can't stand up straight.  Because it can't.  Not for long.
It also goes AWOL and falls off, if given the chance.

This is a grand old oak table that was in my Great Aunt Margaret's

Brooklyn home.  Long, long ago.  It has countless leaves,

and can stretch out to about 6 miles long.

Here it is, in January 2010, in the Sunroom with the old wall color,

old carpeting, and our dear old dog Dion.

We used to be able to carefully stretch it out to accommodate 

at least several of those leaves, but now?  Everything falls apart.

Also January 2010

We managed this past Thanksgiving to put in some leaves,

but it was touch-and-go, and our guests never knew how close

they came to wearing their gravy in their laps.  I hope.

Moving the table into the kitchen for Christmas,

to make room for the tree in the Conservatory, was an adventure.

Parts fell off.  Legs.  Screws (below). 

Random bits of dry old wood exploded out of its innards.

We made a stab at fixing it, but it was at best a Band-Aid on a compound fracture.

The working mechanisms for an old table like this,

with their many moving parts, are elaborate, intricate, delicate,

clever, and completely ingenious.  Trouble is, me and Howard?

Clever and ingenious do not describe our woodworking skills.

Conservatory, Oct 2010, new carpeting, new paint.  Old table - still working.

 So now we need to decide, Howard and I, how to fix a much-loved table
that has served my family, in one house or another, for a century.

I've called a couple of furniture restorers; so far, no one's returned my call.

I suspect no one wants to tackle this table!

Meanwhile,

the table is usable, without any leaves; we don't mind the bit
of wiggle, and we're careful not to stress the dear old thing.

 Today, I realized it needed a quick centerpiece,

and had a pinecone wreath ready to help out.

The snowman looks silly, but he asked for a chance at stardom.

 I thought the glass with the silver balls would work.  But -- no.

This one, below, looks ... well, it looks awful.  Dreadful.

It's a bad thing to mix growing greens with plastic ones.

The winner of the world's Saddest Philodendron Award.

Finally.  Below.  Good enough, and doesn't make me cringe.

 A lantern, left over from a wedding at a country club.

We did not steal it.  Really.  No, really.  Probably.

Anyway, the gold blob inside is an LED battery powered candle, of realistic wax,

that, just like a real candle, melted into goo in the sun.

Now that's what I call realism!  :-)

Equally real -- the difficulty of getting melted wax out of the darned lantern.

Okay, done.  Wrote this piece Friday, then got distracted, and am finally

posting in the wee hours of Saturday morning.  Yawn.

Happy weekend! -- Cass

It's Feathered Nest Friday at the French Country Cottage.  Click here!

My Romantic Home is home to Show And Tell Friday.  Click here!

At The Charm of Home, it's Home Sweet Home Friday.  Click here!

A Craigslist Jaunt to Pennsylvania

As I've said before, North Jersey Craigslist
nearly always comes through for me.
But this time, it's the Philadelphia CL that

is luring me thither (good word!) with 4 chairs.

Said chairs are destined for our conservatory, 

to go 'round the old oak table.

Because it seriously needs some chair love.

I have been looking for a long time; I thought I'd found

the ones last year, but Howard hates them.

Back on the prowl.

A very nice lady who lives on Philly's Main Line

is selling two of these chairs:

And two of these chairs:

I like them.

Once again, like the coffee table we recently bought,

they are not what I was looking for.

But they leaped out from the pages of Craigslist, and, 

as my Mom used to say, they licked my hand.

I kind of hated when she used that phrase, but now I know what she meant.

I hope, when I see them, that I like them.

Because I can't wait to plop them around this table.

Keep your fingers crossed that they get the Howard seal of approval.

My sister-in-law Phyllis is joining me again today, so it's into

the Big Blue Minivan we'll go, for the wilds of Pennsylvania.

Yes, because the Main Line is so wild and wooly....

**********************

On Saturday, this past weekend, Howard and I went back to the

farmhouse estate sale Phyllis and I had gone to on Friday.  

We got something lovely, but we came

away with heavy hearts, and I am still haunted.

Full story tomorrow....

**********************

Wish us luck with today's Craigslist adventure!

There's always that exhilarating risk of ending up in

someone's basement chest freezer, but Phyllis always has her

knitting needles with her, and knows how to use them.  I think we're safe.

Cass

Sweet Summer, and A Few Reflections

This post is picture heavy, then wordy.
If you stick with me, thanks!


If the heat wave wasn't enough to convince you
that it is indeed high summer, how about this?

Sweet, fresh-picked and steamed New Jersey corn.

Thank goodness for small family farms and orchards that keep

going and going and going in our increasingly strip-malled suburbs.

Believe it or not, there's good reason to call New Jersey by its nickname:  The Garden State.

On Sunday evening, having rescued the sunroom from the plastic shrouds from the conservatory cleaning,

and moving paint cans and tools and other Howard-y things back down to the now-French-drained cellar:

We decided to share a simple summer supper with my sister Peggy and her husband Bill.

See the steam coming off the corn?  Action shot!  :-)

No snazzy tablescape.  Just the food, and the means to enjoy it.

Hmmm . . . our first customer!

Master Dion asks to join us at the table.  But as always, he is disappointed with our answer.

He looks for a second opinion.  No joy there, either.

But the rest of us enjoyed amazingly sweet corn,

steaks and brats grilled to perfection by the master of the house,

salads, and grilled zucchini.  For dessert, a peach & strawberry pie from the farm.

  

And a few lace-cap hydrangeas from the yard.

But we didn't eat those!

Ugh.  Peggy's right.  Meat does not photograph well.  Ick.

I remember when we were kids, our Mom didn't serve corn on the cob until after we'd eaten the rest of the meal;

otherwise her corn-happy kids would eat only the corn, she said.  And she was probably right.

***********************************************************************************

I haven't done a blog post since last Thursday. 

I had one planned for Friday,

but after the appalling news from Norway broke, I could not settle down to posting.

I am a second-generation American, whose family all came originally from that small country.

But it was not because it happened in Norway -- it was that I could not stop thinking about the parents

of those teenage campers, and grieving for them.  Their pain is unimaginable.

Between tears I am angry with the perpetrator, and with police for their slow response.

I am not sure angry is the right word to describe what I feel, mixed as it is with frustration.

No matter how peaceful a country, in these days -- sadly -- we must all be prepared for that unimaginable event. 

A television crew managed to charter a helicopter and get to the island when the police could not.

Well, I'm going to work myself up into a weepy mess again, so ... enough.

*****************************************************************

Now for something completely different, and completely happy.

This morning, I found a very special comment on my Thursday post.  It's from a woman named Jill, who has been blog surfing for awhile, but just discovered That Old House.

In part, she wrote:  " . . .I just finished reading the whole thing! Ive been blog surfing for months since Ive become disabled and my laptop is my buddy. . . . I have told my family about some of your blogs, I am obsessed with Dion, and your house is like a dream! I pray you never stop blogging! I feel like a distant relative just catching up on the fam. . . . "

Wow.  Jill, I want to tell you that some members of our own family keep in touch with what's going on here by checking the blog, too!   Blogging, especially the type of personal blogging that so many of us do, is remarkable because it's so very much a two-way street.  

I began back in 2008, just reading other blogs, and talking a little bit to myself on my own.

When people started reading -- much to my surprise! -- I learned how to take and post pictures.

And I've read more and more blogs -- experienced births and deaths, holidays, job crises, health issues, joyful news and heart-wrenching stories, learned how to do all sorts of things, expanded my recipe repertoire, and most fun of all . . . gotten that peek into someone else's home & family, that little peek that let's me know that we're all in this together.

We may live in the North East, or the Far West, in Canada or England or the Philipines or France -- but we all -- and we are overwhelmingly women -- we all are sisters under our many-colored skins and even more colorful hair!

You know what blogging is for me?

It has given me a voice.  When I write, I'm not just talking to myself anymore.

It has also given voices back to me, especially at difficult times.

My most-commented-on posts were the ones about losing first our mom, and then our Pop.

And so many strangers become no-longer-strangers with their kind words and their own sharings.

So thank you, Jill, for reading and laughing and sharing with me.

I look forward to you starting your own blog!

And we'll all be here to give you a hand.

**************************************************************************

Today, it is raining.  

And our cellar is dry.  Sweet.

In the sunroom, Anne has left a box on a loveseat.  In it, hats she made in a millinery class.

She's off to the city again, as she is most days.

But when she returns to her apartment in August, I will miss her.  Messes and all.

On the table, gone are the dishes from last night, gone and washed and back on the shelves.

Instead . . . some Goodwill finds.

Come back tomorrow and see what I found!

So here I sit with my laptop, and at my feet a basket of sea and shore themed Beanie Babies.

They belonged to our girls, but most of their old Beanie Babies went to a former neighbor's children,

and these few are heading for the beach house.

But what's this?  The Manatee has tumbled out of the nest! 

Manatee overboard!

And please don't tell our macho Cavalier spaniel Dion that his

grooming brush basket has a pink handle.  Thanks!  -- Cass

Join Mary at Little Red House for Mosaic Monday!  Click here.

Metamorphosis Monday -- A Conservative Conservatory

It's Metamorphosis Monday -- or at least it is for the next 75 or so minutes. It was a snowy crazy day here, and my computer was held hostage by a ruthless capitalist all day long!

But I'm sneaking this one in just under the wire, I hope.... and thanks to Susan of Between Naps On the Porch for hosting! Click here for more stories of magical metamorphii. Or whatever the plural is!

My story is simple, incomplete, and I hope some of you can help write the ending!

Once upon a time... ok, last March... we bought an old house. I love all its old spaces and nooks, but one of the best spots in That Old House is not quite ten years old -- the conservatory.



Previous owners had it built, replacing an open porch that ran along the kitchen "el" of the house. You can see it here, on the right side of the house, if you promise not to look at the peeling old yellow paint and crooked shutters!



Here's my husband, last March, strolling through the sunroom, carrying some unidentified large thing -- I think a shade destined for the give-away pile -- when we were in the paint-before-we-move-in phase:

This picture was taken from the kitchen.


An impromptu meal at a temporary table in the "eating" end of the room.
My girls home for spring break, and roped into house fix-up.

Hey, they went to Alabama to work on Katrina homes! Fair's fair.

:-)

Next picture .... moving day, May 2008, in the pouring rain. Ugh.
And, this room has off-white wall to wall carpeting.

Say it with me now, ladies and gents: "What were they thinking?"

By the end of this day, the room was full of boxes, mud,
exhausted wet people and dogs, and very dirty carpet.

I took down the lace curtains, decided we were not ready to replace the
off-white carpeting just yet, and decided to keep the gold color paint for the time being.

So we did a mini-metamorphosis.

In our book-lined family room at the last house,
we had two leather love seats. They are now in the conservatory here,
along with a club chair we moved out of our study when my husband
decided that he wanted (no, deserved) a recliner in the room with the TV.

Presto! A place to sit and chat:
And at the other end of the room, a wonderful old oak table.
Because, ummm boy, we do like our meals, and
so do our friends and family!

This old oak table has a very interesting past. . . but that is a story for a different post!
(Hint: I didn't have to pay for it.)

Don't you love the toe nails on the big feet?

This amazing table has endless leaves, and expands to about ten feet long. Wonderful for holidays, and thankfully there's enough room in the conservatory to let it stretch!

There's still a long way to go in this metamorphosis from empty shell to comfortable sunroom/family room/room off the kitchen.

Big decisions -- what to do about the floor? You walk right into this room from the patio, and it's the entrance most used by everyone, family and friends. Carpeting this pale is a nightmare. The kitchen next door has stone-look ceramic tile, and we'd never be able to match it. Wood? Pricey. Laminate? I worry about moisture with everyone using this entrance right from ground level. More carpet? Aaarrgghhh!!!!!!

The other thing... window coverings. We have none now. What should we get? Any? There's a limit to how much we want to entertain the neighbors, plus the windows get this reflective spooky-black-hole look at night.

See what I mean? Those black windows and ceiling are a little creepy.
One of my possible ghost sightings was in this room. . .
but that story, too, is for another post.

I don't want heavy drapes or shades, and the windows need to swing open, but I'd like something that would give at least the illusion of a bit of privacy when wanted.

What do you think?
Any inspiration?

And why am I so late with this post?

We got about 8-inches of snow today in my part of New Jersey, so my husband decided not to trek to Manhattan, and worked instead from home on my computer.


Sadly, he actually works when he says he will, so I didn't have computer access all day. Hence, the very late post, just squeaking in for Met Monday.

But, boy -- that snow is sure pretty. Howard took these pics; I stayed in with the conservatory heater keeping me nice and toasty!

And about that recliner Howard says he deserves? He is right.
But that doesn't mean he gets to pick it out!

People Who Live in Glass Houses . . .

. . . always know when it is raining.

Howard and I looked at this old house several times before signing a contract to buy it. It was always in clear weather. The day we took possession of it, it was raining. Pouring. Noah-style, cats-and-dogs weather.

We went right from our lawyer's office to our new house. Dashed from the car, down the old stone steps, splashed through the puddles on the patio, and fumbled with the keys to open the French doors into the conservatory.

Ah, inside at last, where it was dry and ... and ... and ... noisy! Incredibly noisy. There we stood, in the house we had bought just an hour before, shouting in order to be heard.

You know that glass ceiling that feminists talk about? We live under it. And boy, when the rain starts falling, every drop is audible. A drizzle sounds like a downpour, and a downpour sounds like an overzealous firing squad.

But we love our conservatory. So do our guests. At Alida's college graduation party, which was planned for outdoors, it (of course!) poured rain. 80 guests retreated into the house, with a surprising number of them opting for the sunroom, despite their having to shout at one another to be heard.

It's raining today. Everywhere. Raining and raining and raining here in Rockaway Boro, and all over the Eastern Seaboard, from New England to the Deep South. Start building the arks, people!

(Above, a picture of the conservatory on moving day, which also was a day of relentless downpour. Note the cardboard, placed near the doors in a vain attempt to absorb the wet and mud. Notice also the Cavaliers banished to a pen to keep them from dashing out the open door.)