By the time you hit your retirement years, “play with” can take on an alarming tone. The problem is that our taste in fun has not changed, but we have. So even though we used to love formula racing, our aging bodies might not be up to the split-second timing required to handle them.
Some of us collect miniatures or just plain collect. Others of us see for a less perilous path to entertainment, foregoing mountain climbing, NASCAR racing, and deep-sea diving.
Then there are the rest of us who never did that in the first place. We have to give up other things, like powerful hallucinogenic drugs which don’t work well with pacemakers.
Fortunately, there’s a whole world of other stuff to try.
I play with cameras. Photo: Garry ArmstrongGarry plays with cameras, tooI play with Robbie.I play with dollsAnd we both play with dogs!
We have tons of art in the house. I like to think we also have a fair bit of truth, but if no one seems able to define truth, how in the world do you define “art?”
Is that the stuff which is just pretty but serves no “useful” purpose … or is it anything that has a certain eye-appeal, no matter what you might want to call it.
Monochrome with red dress
I collected dolls for years and antique Chinese porcelain … and for a long time, teapots and other oddities. Some people find the dolls creepy. I love them. We have paintings and photographic prints and small items that really are pretty, but currently (in this world) useless.
Is anything that makes you feel better about life not serving a useful purpose? If it makes you feel good, isn’t that enough?
I don’t know how people manage to live in houses without any art or pictures or prints. Don’t they need the color and the motion? Something to tickle their fancy?
Each time I get one of these “Vintage” things, I think I should post pictures of Garry and I. We are definitely vintage, though today has been a yeoman’s effort at house cleaning — or at least cleaning the kitchen, living room, stairs, and foyer.
Photo: Garry Armstrong – circa 1928
It would have been less strenuous if Gibbs has not thought this was a great time to go swimming in the water bowl. Each time I cleaned up the gallon or two of water all over the floor, I’d turn around and there was another gallon there. And of course, the water bowl was all full of mud and the VERY clean kitchen floor had his muddy footprints on them. So you could say we have a thrice cleaned kitchen and hallway floor.
Qing dynasty rice bowl, typically used by field workers. The blue chicken is a cultural thing. The bowl is almost 200 years old — and it isn’t even close to my oldest piece of pottery.
This was the day I moved cabinets to get behind them (ew!) and under the feet (double ew!). Next time I have the courage of my convictions, I’ll move the piece in the middle where I store the pots and pans, as well as the dog, treats et al. It doesn’t get moved because it’s heavy. There’s a lot unloading of other things before we even think about moving it. Not an easy job for a couple younger than we and a huge job for us.
Ana McGuffey – 1946 – Mme. Alexander – Doll’s faces are intended to embody the “adorable” factor of real toddlers.
There are an awful lot of vintage things around this place, even discounting Garry and me as the primary vintage couple.
See the pictures for other vintage items and wave to us as the vintage couple who seem to collect stuff even older than we are. Old, older oldest?
What would be your ideal fantasy way to spend Monday?
You know, I’m retired so everyday is pretty much like every other day. If no one reminds me of what’s on TV, I don’t know what day it is. The only reason I know the date is because I schedule posts in advance.
Bringing me, briefly, to the subject of scheduling. Except for the little Daily Post in the morning, I schedule everything. Why? Because I am the typo queen and therefore, a ceaseless editor. There is a 50-50 chance that if I have enough time, I’ll find most of the typos and get rid of them before publication.
Reality? I miss at least half of the half and there are always typos or other errors at publication, no matter how much time I’ve left myself to edit. I don’t seem to be getting better, either. Worse, if anything. I forget to complete words, sometimes leaving out the final letter … or syllable. Most annoying, while my brain is thinking “write” my fingers are typing “right.”
How does that happen? Occasionally, what my fingers type has absolutely nothing to do with what I was thinking. I find that odd to say the least and if anyone has a scientific explanation for this phenomenon, I’d really like to hear it.
What one person that you are out of contact with would you like to say thank you to?
P.S. 35, Queens
My fourth grade teacher who told me to write more and then, when I thought I’d written enough, encouraged me to write even more than that! She seemed to think I had a bit of talent, the dear.
List your favorite toys or games as a kid?
Dolls were my personal favorite and remarkably, still are. But games to be played with others? Monopoly was the first big one. but most card games were a hot second. By the time we (my little friends and I) were ten, we were playing bridge. Not well and with a lot of cheating — we showed our partner our cards. But we learned to play and eventually, we also learned to bid and in the end, I was a not-too-bad bridge player.
Annabelle – The first and best
I played lots of board games over the years, from Parcheesi to Sorry. Clue was not a big one, maybe because it was a bit slow and I never enjoyed chess. I got so involved in planning future moves, I was usually dead be the third real move.
What did you appreciate or what made you smile this past week?Feel free to use a quote, a photo, a story, or even a combination.
We had a great time visiting Tom and Ellin.
It’s a high old time for great conversation. Really good conversation is such a rarity these days! It was also nice to see the family for the Super Bowl and even losing didn’t ruin the moment.
Three identical (almost) Margaret O’Brien dolls, from Madame Alexander, all dressed in original clothing. Hard-plastic, strung dolls from the late 1940s.
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