tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11665483138519565132024-03-19T04:11:44.687-07:00BijibouBijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.comBlogger105125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-82032807971008797382012-12-31T13:17:00.001-08:002013-01-15T07:01:33.219-08:00How to have a Happy New Year...<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's just past midnight. You have ritually welcomed the New Year with the standard bonhomie yet, perhaps, you're beginning to sense a twinge of disappointment. The champagne, the carousing, the familiar bleating of "Auld Lang Syne" are somehow leaving you feeling let down and apprehensive. Let Bijibou advance a suggestion - dismiss all concerns and prolong the joie de vivre with the customary Scottish tradition known as "first-footing", whereby you linger excited near the front door on the lookout for the first guest of 2013. Ideally someone dark, tall and handsome - I regret, no one name rushes to mind as an example - your first visitor directly after twelve a.m., the one who delightedly puts a "first foot" across your threshold, is the one most certain to bring you good luck for the coming year. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Here, the effusive Mr. Punch and his jolly dog, Toby, bound toward the open door, eager to spare you from an unhappy New Year!</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">First Footing is a tradition familiarly associated with Scotland, although it's practiced also in Northern England and Wales, and it is a custom sustained by a fundamental belief in the potentially tenuous nature of beginnings.
As you welcome your guest, you "let in" the New Year. Why not increase your chances for a thrilling future by hobnobbing with good luck? The rules are quite specific: your visitor must be dark haired and, almost invariably, male. In some areas, it is important for him to be married, in others, a bachelor. Those with blond hair, however charming, talented and well-placed, might only stir dark memories of 8th century Viking invasions so be on the qui vive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Typically, a first-footer came laden with symbolic gifts for members of the household. Bread and coal were standard, whiskey and something "green", i.e., alive, were also common. In turn, he was rewarded with food, drink and money, making the job of professional guest quite profitable. In order for the hosts to enjoy the full benefit of his visit, he was ushered into the house through the front and bade farewell through a rear door. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Your gentle, albeit blond author is very grateful for the attention you have shown Bijibou during the past year. As a modest acknowledgement of your kindness, and in the spirit of the first-footer, as a talisman for a New Year of lightness and wit, please enjoy these few <i>Art Notes</i> from the January, 1897 issue of Punch from which the above illustration was borrowed. Bliadhna mhath ur! - Happy New Year, to you all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>WE are glad to say the indisposition of Miss ANGELINA SNOOKS
is less serious than it was at first reported to be. This talented
young lady, whose representations of windmills are so justly
popular, attempted, in a moment of aberration, to eat a cake of
gamboge*. Fortunately her nurse was able to interrupt the meal,
and it is hoped that in a few days' time she will be completely
restored to health.</i><br />
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<i>IT is said, on good authority, that Master WILLIAM JENKINS is
likely to be appointed to the Slade Professorship, at present
vacant. Some of the critics, while admitting his claims on other
grounds, are inclined to demur to his election on the score of his
advanced age. It is true that Master JENKINS has passed his
fourteenth birthday, and that therefore his best work must
necessarily lie behind him. Still, his brilliant course of lectures on
The Art of Caricature," and his portraits of schoolmasters
(executed in chalk, on wooden palings) seem to point him out as one
eminently qualified for the post, and it is said that Messrs. WATTS
and BURNS-JONES are extremely anxious to take lessons from him. </i><br />
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<i>BRITISH sculpture is decidedly looking up. We have rarely
seen finer specimens of the art than the mud-pies recently designed
by Master PHIDIAS BROWN. Should the season permit, it is understood
that this clever sculptor will produce a colossal figure in snow
during his Christmas holidays. </i><br />
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<pre><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">THE Philistinism of parents is almost beyond belief. It is said
that while Master HENRY RAPHAEL was engaged the other day
in decorating his father's drawing-room wall-paper with cartoons
painted in vermilion, that ignorant gentleman not only inter-
rupted the artist's work, but even put him to severe physical
pain as a reward for his industry. It is to be hoped that the
Council of the Academy will prosecute this barbarous parent, and
that he will thus reap the punishment which he so richly deserves. </span></i></span>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">*</span></i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A cake of vibrant yellow paint produced from a gum resin derived from any of several South Asian trees. The resin is sometimes used as a purgative.</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">While Bijibou acknowledges the timeliness of this information, she cannot endorse this as a remedy for any imminent overindulgence.</span>Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-48216792251538322652012-12-05T13:26:00.003-08:002016-03-11T14:07:08.118-08:00tongue, teeth, horns, hooves, chains, claws, Fun!<br />
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Today heralds the seasonal appearance of Krampus, sidekick to St. Nicholas
and the bearer of rough justice for children who have distinguished
themselves in some unfortunate and entirely regrettable way during the
year. While St. Nicholas dispenses gifts to good children, Krampus
roots out the bad, beating them with switches and rusty chains before
stuffing them into his basket where they may brood and sulk over their
misfortune, marking the hours until they become a tasty snack. <br />
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Krampus is that endearing yule-thug whose origin is rooted in Germanic pre-Christian folklore. His name is derived from the Old High German word for claw, <i>Krampen</i>, and with his large horns, cloven hooves and lolling red carpet of a tongue, he is indeed a terrifying sight.<br />
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On December 5th, he and St. Nicholas head out in search of children who are generously rewarded for their goodness or mercilessly punished for their appalling criminality. Today, the tradition lives on in Germany, Austria and throughout Eastern Europe as young men don their Krampus togs and rattle chains, menacing hapless victims.<br />
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So popular was this touching custom that an entire segment of the German holiday card market was once devoted to honoring Krampus. Known as Krampuskarten, these cards typically feature an amiable holiday hello - <i>Gruss vom Krampus!</i> - Greetings from Krampus! - as well as some graphic depiction of the sort of vile torment he inflicts on youthful malefactors.<br />
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Perhaps out of concerns over being typecast as a child-hater, or perhaps because he's just irredeemably bad and awful, Krampus occasionally interferes with young lovers. Frohliche Krampusnacht!Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-55295707971247663332012-11-22T07:26:00.000-08:002012-11-22T07:36:10.470-08:00Holiday greetings...<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bijibou's flag is planted firmly in the turkey's camp.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Norman Rockwell, 1917</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Wishing you all a very Happy Thanksgiving...</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Enjoy your vegetables!
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Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-71182043050534435842012-11-10T11:42:00.000-08:002012-11-12T05:57:31.795-08:00repose...<br />
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Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-5562887678454396482012-11-08T07:10:00.000-08:002012-11-08T07:10:22.526-08:00found...<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;">Prizes from the thrift shop... </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A sakura scarf from Jap<span style="font-size: small;">anese designer Hanae Mori.</span></span></div>
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Kid gloves: 1940's?</div>
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A new addition to the Floraline collection. </div>
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This timely seasonal treasure: a vintage turkey tin.</div>
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Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-5971771625683445042012-10-31T07:40:00.004-07:002012-10-31T14:28:42.744-07:00Halloween Greetings...<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ellen Leonard</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Arthur Rackham</span></div>
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<b><i>The Haunted Chamber </i></b><br />
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br />
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Each heart has its haunted chamber,</div>
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Where the silent moonlight falls!</div>
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On the floor are mysterious footsteps,</div>
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There are whispers along the walls!</div>
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And mine at times is haunted<br />
By phantoms of the Past<br />
As motionless as shadows<br />
By the silent moonlight cast.<br />
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A form sits by the window,<br />
That is not seen by day, <br />
For as soon as the dawn approaches<br />
It vanishes away.<br />
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It sits there in the moonlight<br />
Itself as pale and still,<br />
And points with its airy finger<br />
Across the window-sill.<br />
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Without before the window,<br />
There stands a gloomy pine,<br />
Whose boughs wave upward and downward<br />
As wave these thoughts of mine.<br />
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And underneath its branches<br />
Is the grave of a little child,<br />
Who died upon life's threshold,<br />
And never wept nor smiled.<br />
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What are ye, O pallid phantoms!<br />
That haunt my troubled brain?<br />
That vanish when day approaches,<br />
And at night return again?<br />
<br />
What are ye, O pallid phantoms!<br />
But the statues without breath,<br />
That stand on the bridge overarching<br />
The silent river of death?<br />
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Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-60113794067139462732012-10-07T11:39:00.000-07:002012-10-19T06:58:57.133-07:00Arntzmobile...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tNujneo6hBb_F3yIBYWmW2W73GH3ApSTbS-LHVv0J-ujM8WfiammQtpwetQ0Azah11U-0BYxbesj-d1-uQquFRTizQ4reNMCSaiYeJ-0QCXVxkv04HIhLN-d8bLDPf32lV2RyZ3JvhI/s1600/DSC00289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tNujneo6hBb_F3yIBYWmW2W73GH3ApSTbS-LHVv0J-ujM8WfiammQtpwetQ0Azah11U-0BYxbesj-d1-uQquFRTizQ4reNMCSaiYeJ-0QCXVxkv04HIhLN-d8bLDPf32lV2RyZ3JvhI/s400/DSC00289.JPG" width="287" /></a></div>
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Gerd Arntz was the German artist and graphic designer responsible for creating the pictograms of Isotype, The International System of TYpographic Picture Education developed by Viennese social scientist and philosopher Otto Neurath. Isotype was a means of visually representing complex statistical information - the generic pictograms were typically used to illustrate stylized charts explaining economic and political data. Isotype marked the inception of modern visual statistics, establishing a clear means of communicating to ordinary people esoteric information that was often difficult to understand. In addition to the uniform human symbols, Arntz created pictograms for ships, automobiles, food, plants and factories. Among the over 4000 symbols Arntz designed were these, my favorites, unsurprisingly: images of animals wild and domestic. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv0XWYD-BpX7v-yuRxPqy0UmiwDAUgIafg7jm78cPDYYYC0EolR80i1Zu4jwWsHkNJ5Qo2ykYlMgijoggdnEFx6Mbmoob-TZd_tqkI8p1G7fg78JQST-B5wvmCtMaUeP_ntCJqZVeG-qw/s1600/DSC00287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv0XWYD-BpX7v-yuRxPqy0UmiwDAUgIafg7jm78cPDYYYC0EolR80i1Zu4jwWsHkNJ5Qo2ykYlMgijoggdnEFx6Mbmoob-TZd_tqkI8p1G7fg78JQST-B5wvmCtMaUeP_ntCJqZVeG-qw/s400/DSC00287.JPG" width="271" /></a></div>
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These are wonderful images, and, quite unlike the majority of human figures he created, vivid and dynamic. Not only are they examples of good design but they're cheerful and deserve to be seen. With a little cardstock and some thread, I fashioned this mobile of woodland creatures - Rabbit, Squirrel, Frog, Mouse. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghbBQV_tesplqOa5Ve-2r9UZANqCLoIuQV9PTqkXLiePV9iPR8QKHADcOD7EGCj94w34WVJFlEi6yvL-2p9CWvo6T5cZ7hTpyXIH8JGGkbH-ehbVCBqym_8yGwy9QBKV_p9a5I6wfVzaA/s1600/DSC00292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghbBQV_tesplqOa5Ve-2r9UZANqCLoIuQV9PTqkXLiePV9iPR8QKHADcOD7EGCj94w34WVJFlEi6yvL-2p9CWvo6T5cZ7hTpyXIH8JGGkbH-ehbVCBqym_8yGwy9QBKV_p9a5I6wfVzaA/s400/DSC00292.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcoyqpf9oHyI8SQyHK-obCXERrvRiNoFPa5CKAtKzWDel3ghkPf1UpFRVd7tsX2u2_xlO2CPnOsHoo84KELb_b2Jl0vTQo2uD7BX7yXydT8Ly0tDYlDy4wi1PH5-gzxRfMfUVFdFgoG0/s1600/DSC00294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcoyqpf9oHyI8SQyHK-obCXERrvRiNoFPa5CKAtKzWDel3ghkPf1UpFRVd7tsX2u2_xlO2CPnOsHoo84KELb_b2Jl0vTQo2uD7BX7yXydT8Ly0tDYlDy4wi1PH5-gzxRfMfUVFdFgoG0/s400/DSC00294.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvZ4FkqrmLq3D6LQf6N-J0hFESPjZB2hyF94ds_zyNgsgyXmPJ6QY-HuaSiLwC8kc2tmIL05kKSGYYrC2pZ2qI9nW10UPIyjXUt7Rw-lNGhhAuytf6OYmf13q5G4KdIdBAX1-QILuLW8/s1600/DSC00295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCvZ4FkqrmLq3D6LQf6N-J0hFESPjZB2hyF94ds_zyNgsgyXmPJ6QY-HuaSiLwC8kc2tmIL05kKSGYYrC2pZ2qI9nW10UPIyjXUt7Rw-lNGhhAuytf6OYmf13q5G4KdIdBAX1-QILuLW8/s400/DSC00295.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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If you're interested in seeing more of Arntz's work, the <a href="http://www.gerdarntz.org/">Gerd Arntz Web Archive</a> is the place to start. There, you can also download the Gerd Arntz Memory App which is indeed a very pleasant brain-enhancing distraction. And do spend some time meandering around the <a href="http://www.geheugenvannederland.nl/?/en/collecties/archief_Gerd_Arntz">Gerd Arntz Archive</a> from the Museum of the Hague. Here are a few images to tempt you...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pUTd9rQT4W3JwrB59QjLm0HV5m6riMONFJqLrC-W4JS8M0wUc6VYpjRA-LP1qQfs8TLgonF36kZH6lA_X9aLaYF0F4QKPfkuOy2nsygmoIkoLyPnHzypr7yLuxUORMqmued0W9TAw1U/s1600/arntz1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pUTd9rQT4W3JwrB59QjLm0HV5m6riMONFJqLrC-W4JS8M0wUc6VYpjRA-LP1qQfs8TLgonF36kZH6lA_X9aLaYF0F4QKPfkuOy2nsygmoIkoLyPnHzypr7yLuxUORMqmued0W9TAw1U/s400/arntz1.JPG" width="305" /></a></div>
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Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-73101940168985888742012-09-13T11:39:00.000-07:002012-09-13T12:34:55.738-07:00"the noblest of fruits..."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiAjSs7nmr7qfKr-Gklck0JbxlG59htVuGdu7bycdGMXKKEXjorJED11lBofjlPrtaFt_7KPRQEcnemseM9z-1fvGnEgXjHrh858ZOMceQreVShnF4asuOLZzttx_NSiG9Yha4tTegm2E/s1600/adam.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiAjSs7nmr7qfKr-Gklck0JbxlG59htVuGdu7bycdGMXKKEXjorJED11lBofjlPrtaFt_7KPRQEcnemseM9z-1fvGnEgXjHrh858ZOMceQreVShnF4asuOLZzttx_NSiG9Yha4tTegm2E/s400/adam.JPG" width="276" /></a></div>
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<span class="source"></span><span class="source"> Conradus </span><span class="source">Schlapperitzi, <i>Bible History</i>, 1445</span></div>
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...or so thought Henry David Thoreau when writing his glorious paean to the apple, entitled <i><a href="http://www.online-literature.com/thoreau/1312/">Wild Apples</a>,</i> a meticulous account of the history and habits of both
"civilized apple-trees" and those old, ungrafted trees which do not bear
the burden of domestication. Published by <i>The Atlantic</i> in November 1862, it was one of three articles commissioned by the magazine toward the end of Thoreau's life. It is fascinating to read and a pleasant reminder that now is, indeed, apple picking time. If this is precisely the sort of joy-making diversion that tempts you out-of-doors, a wonderfully helpful site, <a href="http://www.orangepippin.com/">Orange Pippin</a>, can direct you to over 2000 orchards in the United States as well as locations in Canada, the UK, India and Europe. The site also provides (!!) an extraordinarily comprehensive A to Z directory of varieties you perhaps have not heard of, from the sweet and fruity Swiss <i>Api Etoile</i>, introduced in the 1600's, to an 1885 cultivar, the German <i>Zabergau Reinette</i>, a strong russet with the intriguing taste of nettles!</div>
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Educational plate, 1902</div>
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Leonard Leslie Brooke, <i>The Three Little Pigs</i>, 1904</div>
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Arthur Rackham, <i>Hi, You Up There</i>, 1915</div>
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Apple vendor, Boston Common, 19th c.</div>
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Kate Greenaway, <i>A Apple Pie</i>, 1886</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Images courtesy of NYPL Digital Gallery & Vintage Printable.)</span>
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Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-26367824689064096212012-07-21T08:23:00.000-07:002017-06-15T17:27:34.594-07:00long live the Queen...<br />
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<b>Today</b>, we're celebrating Foof's ninth birthday. Since learning of the date a few years ago, I've created announcements proclaiming the glorious occasion - this year's inspiration is that other Queen's Jubilee. After greeting in a distinctive manner some neighboring cats who came to pay their respects, HRH tucked into her favorite repast,
a chicken and duck pate with a refreshing salad of oat grass. She accepted, with typical grace, my apologies for being unable to stage, in her honor, a stately, floating procession of gayly bedecked craft and instead, enjoyed a few moments in the bathtub. On the advent of the next year of her triumphant reign, she is as majestic, clever and beautiful as one could hope for. For a celebratory treat, she asked to hear the recitation of a favorite passage from Chaucer<i>. </i>She is now resting, having exhausted herself over a tin of catnip sardines.</div>
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<i>Vivat Regina</i>, dearest Foo Foo, long may you live!</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Mice Before Milk</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Lat take a cat and fostre hym wel with milk</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>And tendre flessch and make his couche of silk,</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>And lat hym seen a mous go by the wal,</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Anon he weyvith milk and flessch and al,</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>And every deyntee that is in that hous,</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Suich appetit he hath to ete a mous. </b></span></center>
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from <i>The Manciple's Tale</i></div>
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Geoffrey Chaucer<i><br /></i></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-29108657984792165152012-06-16T07:03:00.000-07:002017-08-27T17:02:57.655-07:00Bob...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When Bob arrived in August of 2007 it was in a dull red carrier from which he refused to move. I put in a friendly hand to say "hello" and was bitten, not severely, but decidedly. He had just endured a long car ride and fearful of a new place, was not yet prepared to tolerate a stranger. When his former mum left the following morning, poor Bob was at the top of the stairs, pulling pieces of fur from his hindquarters. Foof, who had also suffered the trip, was in hiding, sulky and petulant under a bed somewhere and of no help to him whatsoever. Gradually, he began to settle in. Some months later, both cats came to live with me. Again, he was terrified, disappearing entirely to some unseen empty space in a cabinet and causing a complete panic that prompted a preposterous outside search and then absolute incredulity when his hideout was revealed and he was discovered, quiet and baleful and forlorn. <br />
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The challenges of another transition soon passed and he and Foof took to their new home fairly quickly. I could see their relationship was primarily based on a polite mutual tolerance. I think they regarded each other as competition for resources: food, territory, my affection. They rarely argued, although on those very few occasions when they became occupied with fighting and biting, it was typically she who was the aggressor. Only once did I see Bob bully her. His choreography was eloquent. Bob's shape was unusual for a cat - he was quite barrel-chested and so convincing as a thug while persecuting her for some offense. After cornering her and looming in a large and manful way, he retreated to the berry box which she used as a nest from time to time. With that glow of serene righteousness that the wronged experience when - at last! - favored by Justice, he flooded her lair with an abundant stream of urine. Having put things right, he marched off, triumphant and as happy as I'd ever seen him. <br />
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He liked cookies. He liked pastries. He liked popcorn and potato chips. He liked hand cream. He was rarely permitted access to such goodies, but when in the presence of any of these treats, he assumed a look of hopefulness and was usually rewarded with a fraction of a fraction of something sweet or salty. The hand cream was not given as a treat, but Bob was a licker and if he could ambush you emerging from the shower he would pursue like a tiger on the prowl until picked up and kissed and lavishly complimented on being such a sweetie and it was then that he would seize you in his paws and devour as much after bath moisturizer as he could consume before being wrestled from the banquet of unguents. I also quite recently observed, and preempted, I must add, his fondness for spray starch. <br />
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I don't think any of the photos of him on this blog made clear the reason for his name. He was a bobtail - either a rumpy riser or a stumpy, I haven't yet worked out which. He had a little black stump of a tail that would blossom into a black puff at the sight of some strange cat. Along with his bandit mask and his oddly shaped feet, (he had unusually large "heels" that enabled him to stand like a human, with his enormous back feet flat on the floor), the little tail was one of his most endearing traits. That and his quiet stoicism and aura of pure and enduring goodness. In his dotage he became a talker. "Rrrrrowwww" was his favorite word but it had very many variations and it was generally only used for the benefit of humans. <br />
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At times, Bob was quite possessive, but then, so is Foof - perhaps it's the nature of cats. I have always had pots of fresh cat grass and catnip for the enjoyment of both beasties but the catnip always belonged to Bob. He would often try to prevent Foof from having any by sitting in the pot and squashing it all flat. Often, he liked to play with his toys but with one paw securing the nip. It was quite a dilemma. Bob wanted to have all the toys, too. <br />
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Last week, over the course of a few days, Bob stopped eating. He had Chronic Renal Failure and was being treated with various
nutriceuticals with apparent success. But at 21 years old, he was giving out. I've lived
with nine cats during my life and the ones who have become demonstrably sick have
done so almost overnight. They are fine one day and then the next
they're not fine at all. It was like that with Bobcat. By last Friday, he could barely walk. It was agonizing to watch. For the last couple of years I have awoken every day wondering if Bob would still be alive. Astonishingly, he always was. I had hoped he might die quietly in his sleep and I would discover him still and at peace, but instead he began to suffer outwardly and I had to finally make the decision to end his suffering. When we lose our animal friends, we are often overcome by the strength of our grief - grief that is proof of our love. That part of our hearts animals claim as theirs alone is much greater than we imagine when we choose to share their world. Bob was a kind and loving soul.<br />
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We made the trip to the hospital at noon on Saturday with Bob in his dull red carrier lined with a soft blue blanket. In the back seat of the car, I opened the carrier to pet him. He looked at me, put his paw on my hand and began purring.<br />
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<br />Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-50291394750326900602012-05-06T14:48:00.001-07:002012-11-12T08:31:40.829-08:00Morris Hirshfield's cats...<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>It seems that even in my young days I exhibited artistic tendencies...</i>begins the biography of self-taught artist Morris Hirshfield (1872-1946) who immigrated from Poland to the United States when he was 18. Forgoing his artistic calling to make way for the more practical matter of earning a living, Hirshfield settled in New York City where he found employment in the garment industry and later established with his brother a slipper making business known as the EZ Walk Manufacturing Company. Together, they produced high quality ladies' "boudoir slippers" until poor health forced Hirshfield to retire in 1935. In 1937, at the age of 65, to the amazement and consternation of his family, he returned to painting. Women and animals were frequent themes. He struggled to give form to his vision. <i>It seems that my mind knew well what I wanted to portray but my hands were unable to produce what my mind demanded.</i> His work was discovered in 1939 by art collector and gallery owner Sidney Janis, who selected two paintings to be included in an exhibit called "Contemporary Unknown American Painters" at the Museum of Modern Art. In his collection of biographical studies of self-taught artists entitled, <i>They Taught Themselves: American Primitive Painters of the 20th Century</i>, Janis describes his first encounter with Hirshfield's work; the image below - this exceptional, preternatural cat.</div>
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<i>Angora Cat</i>, 1937</div>
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<i>About to leave the gallery, I peeked at a picture whose face was to the wall. What a shock I received! In the center of this rather square canvas, two round eyes, luminously gleaming in the darkness, were returning my stare! It brought to mind the sequence in </i>Duck Soup<i> in which Groucho Marx, confronted by an unexpected image in his mirror, was taken aback, only to find the image oddly enough immobile. The image I saw was just as unexpected and the round unflinching eyes continued to stare, impervious to my sudden start. They belonged to a strangely compelling creature which, sitting possessively upon a remarkable couch, immediately took possession of me...</i></div>
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Janis goes on to describe "her" with great affection:<br />
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Angora Cat <i>is a strange mysterious creature. She is at once spell-binding and mirth-provoking. Her deep-set eyes, staring intensely, take immediate possession of the beholder, and they hold him with the suspense of a mystery thriller. But she is such a homey creature, round and fluffy, that the terror is not quite convincing, and the ripples of fear that run up and down the spine eventually turn to laughter. She is an exciting, upsetting creature, whom one cannot help but love. </i></div>
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<i>Cat and Two Kittens</i>, 1945 </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7LmRzh7TDUNkr0UpYEd9ytRtEHjdnV6WkT4MRTf0ES3ivb9n4IZyPfRNL_gETJVRc3rtYL4KOgoGgkserNTHdbSRqYbqUEjT0On1vXhmopvfbi1mrGhJE-YK9aAAh4-FI8eXzRr5cDQ/s1600/junglecats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7LmRzh7TDUNkr0UpYEd9ytRtEHjdnV6WkT4MRTf0ES3ivb9n4IZyPfRNL_gETJVRc3rtYL4KOgoGgkserNTHdbSRqYbqUEjT0On1vXhmopvfbi1mrGhJE-YK9aAAh4-FI8eXzRr5cDQ/s400/junglecats.jpg" width="380" /></a></div>
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<i>Leopard Family</i>, 1943</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBkaiIo4FRA3Q6lUQZ7saof2NvuqAsCRRJxu89kqyhysmLDNofRMOOhVAk-THZpsejBVm58EV2r09pOvbBsMXvGX4sCTv7fJjsAPb6gTaBlE6_sW0LznYNVHc0GD0pypfQrFZKO_-NvY/s1600/mothercatwithkittens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBkaiIo4FRA3Q6lUQZ7saof2NvuqAsCRRJxu89kqyhysmLDNofRMOOhVAk-THZpsejBVm58EV2r09pOvbBsMXvGX4sCTv7fJjsAPb6gTaBlE6_sW0LznYNVHc0GD0pypfQrFZKO_-NvY/s400/mothercatwithkittens.jpg" width="380" /></a></div>
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<i> Mother Cat With Kittens</i>, 1941</div>
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<i>Cats in the Snow, </i>1946<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbjTT4DAqkvM2ByN8A7XZH-Ka6eUu2qzrc7C9D_sO_7GOEGfDnqg4C6aSDYGS2auPSVlJkWyBTPHXmzstYJmdHU5gyI5dBTWQevYAKpty_8MAgSIgUoTdAXAKrHOU8z2PIYwfolyjg1gs/s1600/Tiger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbjTT4DAqkvM2ByN8A7XZH-Ka6eUu2qzrc7C9D_sO_7GOEGfDnqg4C6aSDYGS2auPSVlJkWyBTPHXmzstYJmdHU5gyI5dBTWQevYAKpty_8MAgSIgUoTdAXAKrHOU8z2PIYwfolyjg1gs/s400/Tiger.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Tiger</i>, 1940</div>
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<i>Lion</i>, 1939</div>
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Hirshfield subsequently became one of the most prominent American folk artists of the 20th century producing seventy-seven works between 1937 and 1946. Several of his paintings are included in MOMA's permanent collection. Although I've known of his work for many years, these paintings have become one of my newest obsessions. Perhaps it's just a symptom of my feline monomania, but I think these images are completely thrilling. </div>
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Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-59940643916572415502012-04-29T07:46:00.001-07:002018-11-15T17:45:41.267-08:00charm...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDr2bi-zxmL_fVsKd7Tzq-Sk45sPiv5RqSer1ME7GzFOIrigbai59cbNnfHKS64DtA_iE4S9aOVh3Opasl6wQiSxLbctqCfHFk7_RnT1OMUXrY0-INiZ7CVDSpjz0ZXhxOJLrbVLUV6so/s1600/DSC00241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDr2bi-zxmL_fVsKd7Tzq-Sk45sPiv5RqSer1ME7GzFOIrigbai59cbNnfHKS64DtA_iE4S9aOVh3Opasl6wQiSxLbctqCfHFk7_RnT1OMUXrY0-INiZ7CVDSpjz0ZXhxOJLrbVLUV6so/s400/DSC00241.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Inspired by those fetching Depression era plates my mother had carted home, I purchased this, an emerald green glass teacup in the Fire-King brand Charm pattern produced by Anchor Hocking from 1950 through 1956. This marked the beginning of a fairly brief but passionate interest in acquiring as much Fire-King glassware as I could afford. I now have a lot of it. If ever I needed to preoccupy myself with the sort of purposeful wish-fulfillment that might bring down to a simmer a roiling cauldron of deeply seated uncertainties seasoned with existential dread than this was it. Isn't that why people collect things?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6fMcu9QIIt9tbsqkZ7A_TiGzfvrSRk5FgppZlaw-XuDCG_EoVXPoqsrWbxqsGvYjKB6Y9ubcv9cBSrQP2IMcTM541a_MeT32w8fn4-ZcZx6WVSi-Aet6kgfxJe5FOpssKl7Nq6amh5c/s1600/DSC00243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6fMcu9QIIt9tbsqkZ7A_TiGzfvrSRk5FgppZlaw-XuDCG_EoVXPoqsrWbxqsGvYjKB6Y9ubcv9cBSrQP2IMcTM541a_MeT32w8fn4-ZcZx6WVSi-Aet6kgfxJe5FOpssKl7Nq6amh5c/s400/DSC00243.JPG" width="306" /></a></div>
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Anyway, I properly fell in love with this. This green color was known as Forest Green and was never officially designated as a part of the Charm line which was typically associated with the colors Jadite and Azurite. Fire-King was inexpensive and utilitarian. It was given away in bags of flour as a promotional item or could be purchased at the grocer's or the gas station. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOtmOvNvhsbJVKRZerpX1ROIW-RwlljLABuDLhakfusyDz1a0DphUuSjJXbTeVwEq1wv5t0M96ApSN0ntvugXOMCZazsIL9a9g0E8x4XevaWfEgWEvEFdzIfaTVM7TfWqoTAR3LcWfKTU/s1600/DSC00244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOtmOvNvhsbJVKRZerpX1ROIW-RwlljLABuDLhakfusyDz1a0DphUuSjJXbTeVwEq1wv5t0M96ApSN0ntvugXOMCZazsIL9a9g0E8x4XevaWfEgWEvEFdzIfaTVM7TfWqoTAR3LcWfKTU/s400/DSC00244.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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There were eleven pieces in the Charm pattern. Above is the dessert bowl. I'm not entirely sure why I was so taken with this green. I almost never use it. I know some collectors put this out at Christmas, but I have never been susceptible to the arbitrary social constructs that require me to wear red for Valentine's Day or green for St. Patrick's Day, so I will not be exhuming this for festive holiday use. </div>
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Here's an example of the same pattern in Azurite, an icy barely-blue. I do find this rather more appealing than the green.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTS6oYKTcapuM991mBBeKlAhRM_pXas_gEByS9MTkmgYFdL6b3SH10740wzJwCvqM-u5jFqLl2OSW_Cn_znu2zBxPY9gqzAaRrCOQvRFQak2pfuC6kVF-f3hCiBP6pCIspApS4iAC8mv4/s1600/DSC00238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTS6oYKTcapuM991mBBeKlAhRM_pXas_gEByS9MTkmgYFdL6b3SH10740wzJwCvqM-u5jFqLl2OSW_Cn_znu2zBxPY9gqzAaRrCOQvRFQak2pfuC6kVF-f3hCiBP6pCIspApS4iAC8mv4/s400/DSC00238.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Charming as Charm was, I was fairly quick to spot the design flaw. It's not always a simple matter to drink from square teacups. I graduated to the conventional form with this Turquoise Blue line produced between 1956 and 1958. It was promoted as dinnerware but marked Oven-Ware which meant you could pre-warm your glass before serving, as you do. There are sixteen pieces in this line.</div>
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A Fire-King mug with the "D" handle. I believe the "C" handle is somewhat more collectible.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA9P8zc4sGBoRJh_bOEENoh46rD-9g6LUrqfKx57qi3EmRdtGTdZKm-BE-_gxQ1mRrIIi6aq_wKkstAAcwHH1Ch15vX8mXbXS33Eu9YhuroCF505b980YrbWQet2FUr-q1BUWyeNCY41c/s1600/DSC00229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA9P8zc4sGBoRJh_bOEENoh46rD-9g6LUrqfKx57qi3EmRdtGTdZKm-BE-_gxQ1mRrIIi6aq_wKkstAAcwHH1Ch15vX8mXbXS33Eu9YhuroCF505b980YrbWQet2FUr-q1BUWyeNCY41c/s400/DSC00229.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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I really do love this, the cup and saucer from the Restaurant Ware line made from 1948-1967. I have several sets. This is real hairy-chested man stuff, heat-proof and made specifically for mass feeding establishments. It was billed as "highest quality restaurant ware at popular prices" - $2.00 for a box of one dozen cups, $3.30 for one dozen dinner plates.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Lc5t8BDMenEUK-har_VoWLSNrAX6ANVOgR-nLRzRBGYeK9QItmVYbRqDMn2Uy3Amqj0cNjVyFR_WR_h8VsBDgIRrYJkZMbxqE6MBHW_LEyccaz-JblYYCvKnpdwTDuOxGyuXQnHE_4A/s1600/DSC00228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Lc5t8BDMenEUK-har_VoWLSNrAX6ANVOgR-nLRzRBGYeK9QItmVYbRqDMn2Uy3Amqj0cNjVyFR_WR_h8VsBDgIRrYJkZMbxqE6MBHW_LEyccaz-JblYYCvKnpdwTDuOxGyuXQnHE_4A/s400/DSC00228.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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I know what you're thinking - why does our gentle author have so many cups and saucers?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjhjADo4T9syzsoQ5Y0Do5vvlrZEGcbyEAVdDFXwgQrJzp37S1GDmJtX6VhAkrQODcKhTUWzxdWbA_vyOVx8I7fa0L_ugXqaM5X919TMo9W_fzD4OT0fZGADu6X9a0hSguziLA0iACFp4/s1600/DSC00247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjhjADo4T9syzsoQ5Y0Do5vvlrZEGcbyEAVdDFXwgQrJzp37S1GDmJtX6VhAkrQODcKhTUWzxdWbA_vyOVx8I7fa0L_ugXqaM5X919TMo9W_fzD4OT0fZGADu6X9a0hSguziLA0iACFp4/s400/DSC00247.JPG" width="283" /></a></div>
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I suspect that this has something to do with it - this is just a fraction of my grandmother's collection of quaint porcelain teacups. She had an astonishing number of these, all beautifully arranged on a cupboard that spanned the width of a wall. She collected these as well as porcelain shoes and vividly glazed pottery turtles. I suppose my impulse toward collecting is genetic and nostalgic in equal measure. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0fmXFgD32uMztln0VDn4ozL7HKMoKr4nUEmUeuy0QcFqJjXIRUrh75SqrN9yAgyrUcX6U1yR1xJmM1H0fBiInRiALB-1dfZBTMucK94rMt75qEcPc5mCGDKhF6it7dKH7KURQiZLQoo/s1600/DSC00250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0fmXFgD32uMztln0VDn4ozL7HKMoKr4nUEmUeuy0QcFqJjXIRUrh75SqrN9yAgyrUcX6U1yR1xJmM1H0fBiInRiALB-1dfZBTMucK94rMt75qEcPc5mCGDKhF6it7dKH7KURQiZLQoo/s400/DSC00250.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Here, a lovely piece of Dresden. Compared with the modest Fire King, this is a radiant Leslie Caron in a hat. On the Champs-Elysees. With Louis Jourdan, <i>naturellement. </i></div>
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Then, there was this - Swedish Modern. Yes, Charm was charming but why settle for charming when you can cosy up with irresistible? Oh Swedish Modern, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. You're beautiful, you come in this gorgeous robin's egg blue, your design is perfect, you elegantly do the job you were designed to do, if life consists of pouring batter into a cake pan, then yes, you make life easier and you're called <i>Swedish</i> Modern, which just <i>breathes</i> "mid-century" and decorates the mind with images of beautifully handknit apres-ski togs, and Arne Jacobsen Egg Chairs, even though he was Danish, and young, fresh uncomplicated people who enjoy life and eat full-fat dairy products. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwh0qYrIpEUACJlH72iuxlMRdsjKl2eVpFCwbVYegJfqekGQHxPhlfwG-WGIMHPulW4kShFdzYUKTK13rE93pNo3waxsEpVCBEKxWjnGUwtSBnumD9PSknYQ8BsBbBCwDHQeQw4eIvGw4/s1600/DSC00260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwh0qYrIpEUACJlH72iuxlMRdsjKl2eVpFCwbVYegJfqekGQHxPhlfwG-WGIMHPulW4kShFdzYUKTK13rE93pNo3waxsEpVCBEKxWjnGUwtSBnumD9PSknYQ8BsBbBCwDHQeQw4eIvGw4/s400/DSC00260.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja3wK8uQQnmUssLuFxLycBDZTfMbY2h-Ys5miyHhlDdQHszPYyLTboHwdmvcQ6JCdTf5zatcUmhNX3bY2dPu8URgkyi07cZBzN-oBrK3ukvWEPBEb6iyln-J89LqGIBy2DF4Z4BUiYeXM/s1600/DSC00264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja3wK8uQQnmUssLuFxLycBDZTfMbY2h-Ys5miyHhlDdQHszPYyLTboHwdmvcQ6JCdTf5zatcUmhNX3bY2dPu8URgkyi07cZBzN-oBrK3ukvWEPBEb6iyln-J89LqGIBy2DF4Z4BUiYeXM/s400/DSC00264.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrnWc_VAcsDF6UTPWduqHGseo3z6tGOVeQQren1Z7cGUcoskNsF_KvjqjXuoUiTM8WJ3AGRQu_GNe0mP1Yz6_DWSQ4ZDsIv6JUCmdxrl6hC1uTguaetikdA3dZ7q3_GuJ0VOLEdQd6JCw/s1600/DSC00266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrnWc_VAcsDF6UTPWduqHGseo3z6tGOVeQQren1Z7cGUcoskNsF_KvjqjXuoUiTM8WJ3AGRQu_GNe0mP1Yz6_DWSQ4ZDsIv6JUCmdxrl6hC1uTguaetikdA3dZ7q3_GuJ0VOLEdQd6JCw/s400/DSC00266.JPG" width="307" /></a></div>
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A mixing bowl in the Swirl pattern. It's back to America and the
Ohio River Valley with this - more prosaic, less design-y and inspirational,
but delightful nonetheless. More Betty Crocker and less Liv Ullmann.
Who was Norwegian. </div>
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Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-21576751838443208582012-04-20T11:06:00.000-07:002012-10-19T06:55:45.900-07:00desire...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDQv2Ez9wMQSUZuedm6uBXep_qAagC89TG1BHOyaCSXT8OHh_iWVMDYFEFrhwMQXCeoExeACn1qtXhaRlc8JiJBSavQ-yDEfjWa4qUaXoz-cxqCKspNuaNwULW5ifXRB749BjZCU2xsTw/s1600/DSC00223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDQv2Ez9wMQSUZuedm6uBXep_qAagC89TG1BHOyaCSXT8OHh_iWVMDYFEFrhwMQXCeoExeACn1qtXhaRlc8JiJBSavQ-yDEfjWa4qUaXoz-cxqCKspNuaNwULW5ifXRB749BjZCU2xsTw/s320/DSC00223.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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It didn't take long for me to fall in love. Years ago, my
mother had purchased a set of six depression glass plates from a local
antiques shop. I am quite certain that until that point, I had thought
of depression glass, if I'd thought of it at all, as rather kitsch and
cloying. But, as it can be with love, all it took was just one look in a
more generous state of mind and I was very quickly seduced. I still
didn't find it especially attractive, nonetheless, I felt possessed. I remember heading home and settling in
with my computer to figure out precisely what sort of thing she had
found. Yes, I did spend several hours in feverish research which is still the sort of pedantic preoccupation I relish and which was unquestionably part of the attraction at the time. Very quickly, I became a collector, albeit one without a proper collection but, despite such a minor detail, compelled by an obsessive determination to acquire one. For months, I would scour antique shops, wake at 4:30 in the morning to drive hours to a yard sale or an auction preview and stay up entirely too late at night prowling around on Ebay. I worked in a bookstore at the time, one which allowed me a very generous discount on any books I might feel the need to purchase and purchase I did, establishing a perfectly respectable library on depression and mid-century American glass. Without question, a significant part of the appeal was the fact, and this is still largely the case, that the stuff was so unbelievably inexpensive and there was so much of it out there. </div>
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It was an affair that lasted only several months. It ended as quickly as it began. One day, I just stopped being interested. I still feel no need to add to my collection but while rummaging around at my parents' recently I ran across some of my family's pieces and felt the slightest twinge of lust. The<a href="http://www.brimfieldshow.com/"> Brimfield Antique Show</a> is coming up and as is always the case at this time of year, I find myself vulnerable to the allure of some strangely irresistible thing.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUE_rQXt7ipkzI85su8CPKZw1tjs8TfJhkYW8sPTEIA_dYo6sABrKcicVb_tfN4f3Knkm7qToJF5Ev9813bKK9NrG-cm686H61CnE9W-fLolrfck1AUawzKyxH8Xgk7sWdohy8kIG_2UU/s1600/DSC00207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUE_rQXt7ipkzI85su8CPKZw1tjs8TfJhkYW8sPTEIA_dYo6sABrKcicVb_tfN4f3Knkm7qToJF5Ev9813bKK9NrG-cm686H61CnE9W-fLolrfck1AUawzKyxH8Xgk7sWdohy8kIG_2UU/s320/DSC00207.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Here, a picture of that first object of desire, the Patrician pattern designed by the Federal Glass Company in Columbus, Ohio. Also known as the "Spoke" pattern, Patrician was produced between 1933 and 1937. It quickly became one of the most popular designs in the Federal line. These plates are amber, sometimes referred to as "Golden Glo", but Patrician was also manufactured in clear glass as well as green and pink, colors which are somewhat more difficult to find. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTyNhgJmC0FtHZ3i3AtEcMBmrg07T5ryG3Xl-uHlhDXY87XIKLvHZYvJK1s7SjTPDdpNReSTPfje5M98LzkLB51XUCMdqpzo_UUB6uIAHefxY5ET6SgdiV567AGzQN790NEnug5_FMqw/s1600/DSC00205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTyNhgJmC0FtHZ3i3AtEcMBmrg07T5ryG3Xl-uHlhDXY87XIKLvHZYvJK1s7SjTPDdpNReSTPfje5M98LzkLB51XUCMdqpzo_UUB6uIAHefxY5ET6SgdiV567AGzQN790NEnug5_FMqw/s320/DSC00205.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB9lilT9x-2tSITyX-FLZltYfAOR4DWDl1z0GpZePRrOL6clMXlUw8RP1nDSkafRVYugr9QGkTnRVzf1dPDebTdGlpuHDRD6JxE_aG5xySDMthsLNj_7apijmJ1gOXvLgvcEgASQXZgso/s1600/DSC00219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB9lilT9x-2tSITyX-FLZltYfAOR4DWDl1z0GpZePRrOL6clMXlUw8RP1nDSkafRVYugr9QGkTnRVzf1dPDebTdGlpuHDRD6JxE_aG5xySDMthsLNj_7apijmJ1gOXvLgvcEgASQXZgso/s320/DSC00219.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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As it turns out, my grandmother had a small collection of the same pattern. The pink example is a largish compote. The fruit cup below is a piece I found after the original plates appeared. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_jeHn684-9cr_H0phD-_xcomb_oEapkz-pZptnFYCQH1bgrmPh3yoPyn064ZMMFUzS_JgKEghkI2OvIf1xXKZk4J2AltPFwPyGCswpFEL5CtHmUtAXqd-SebpNbWYPlLiYcvU7HlEmE/s1600/DSC00200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_jeHn684-9cr_H0phD-_xcomb_oEapkz-pZptnFYCQH1bgrmPh3yoPyn064ZMMFUzS_JgKEghkI2OvIf1xXKZk4J2AltPFwPyGCswpFEL5CtHmUtAXqd-SebpNbWYPlLiYcvU7HlEmE/s320/DSC00200.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm not sure where I picked this up, but I gave it to my mother as a gift thinking somehow that it was a part of the Patrician line. It is not. This is an example of the Cameo or Ballerina pattern manufactured by The Hocking Glass Company which subsequently became Anchor Hocking in 1937. Cameo was produced from 1930 to 1934. The ballerina - you may need to call on your imagination here - can be seen in this cartouche which is repeated on the plate's rim. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkumgcze-lx5vsCdq7nxT1y6BB2fmUkdr1fUGb7vrhGcdCNiwjoYlz3LgSguIGvzZAH2ZhTb5U0XFTwbN8HuRmpMFUd2ZMlCSE0VS64MMy_Fk2wR7VyXbCVC658YJkx9zKSCBbbXvVgU/s1600/DSC00222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkumgcze-lx5vsCdq7nxT1y6BB2fmUkdr1fUGb7vrhGcdCNiwjoYlz3LgSguIGvzZAH2ZhTb5U0XFTwbN8HuRmpMFUd2ZMlCSE0VS64MMy_Fk2wR7VyXbCVC658YJkx9zKSCBbbXvVgU/s320/DSC00222.JPG" width="248" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzX1WdSvTFqtO0MdV5CxLKsho1xOmGyB-YQEe8ofk_UZPQt251Gcn-6kGIqFxBPrFCCffU0eB8c2RMXDy0Rppra2D8BLnJhrqGsODyhm3A7-xxtdOeg1CcOZR0yioeAhGZ3UdBrsJ_Os/s1600/DSC00213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzX1WdSvTFqtO0MdV5CxLKsho1xOmGyB-YQEe8ofk_UZPQt251Gcn-6kGIqFxBPrFCCffU0eB8c2RMXDy0Rppra2D8BLnJhrqGsODyhm3A7-xxtdOeg1CcOZR0yioeAhGZ3UdBrsJ_Os/s320/DSC00213.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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This is the Madrid pattern also produced by Federal from 1932 to 1939. This pattern was re-released in 1976 under the name Recollection Glassware. Those pieces are marked with that date and should be fairly simple to distinguish from the originals. Madrid came in the standard colors as well as what was called Madonna Blue, a quite vibrant and very pretty blue topaz. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmqzq6JN6lS2QYlwO3BlZ7hiq50uKnjhKzIqGtfTC9A1qhzgzpzTtrSHwbRMjmwFVoC6jifxG04CjKhjoHpCPDjN59qOXWokOFiOlwYsO2DyZzFsWyPaAEEreS7dvvpwR9axPXLDn2F8/s1600/DSC00204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmqzq6JN6lS2QYlwO3BlZ7hiq50uKnjhKzIqGtfTC9A1qhzgzpzTtrSHwbRMjmwFVoC6jifxG04CjKhjoHpCPDjN59qOXWokOFiOlwYsO2DyZzFsWyPaAEEreS7dvvpwR9axPXLDn2F8/s320/DSC00204.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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This is the comparatively stark Decagon pattern produced by the Cambridge Glass Company in the 1930's and 40's. These belonged to my grandmother. Decagon came in a very attractive icy Moonlight Blue which is fairly common.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMhwZ4FeYPDNMWDsD5oFdhz8PgKttMdLF9OETXrjQ46PLYf-fiOIJWLCCi3E4jUWm2jsmcOBBEE2JYeKukPfEIM8NLwn1F5JO9HABjtJU6tl7D6a_nGEjNc1-fCAE_KeMd2f7bj_-Mn0/s1600/DSC00209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMhwZ4FeYPDNMWDsD5oFdhz8PgKttMdLF9OETXrjQ46PLYf-fiOIJWLCCi3E4jUWm2jsmcOBBEE2JYeKukPfEIM8NLwn1F5JO9HABjtJU6tl7D6a_nGEjNc1-fCAE_KeMd2f7bj_-Mn0/s320/DSC00209.JPG" width="243" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidny1hoQdHZnQeaAQhnuMDpEa5X5rknSih8GhJ2XQhBaPgbzGPkNwv0kx7gQnm61z_g_MrVMf2Z_nxWTwg7ynarCZgL7N5lN0hAoXhVzTMtqFV1djLZpbMxm4DM3EP0CdcfWdW5hmH3-Q/s1600/DSC00211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidny1hoQdHZnQeaAQhnuMDpEa5X5rknSih8GhJ2XQhBaPgbzGPkNwv0kx7gQnm61z_g_MrVMf2Z_nxWTwg7ynarCZgL7N5lN0hAoXhVzTMtqFV1djLZpbMxm4DM3EP0CdcfWdW5hmH3-Q/s320/DSC00211.JPG" width="286" /></a></div>
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This art deco pattern known as Manhattan was produced by Hocking between 1938 and 1943. This piece is also part of my grandmother's collection.</div>
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Although the few pieces my family and I have collected were found inexpensively in antique shops, the obvious source for this glass is Ebay. Ebay is where I began learning about depression glass and it's still a good starting point for viewing the wide variety of patterns available. While I treasure this small collection, it's not mine. My collection is rather more modern and primarily includes pieces from the mid-century line Fire King by Anchor Hocking. The pattern I became completely besotted with and which I will share with you later, is known, appropriately, as "Charm". </div>
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Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-85465524828186369712012-04-06T06:09:00.001-07:002012-04-06T06:10:39.277-07:00vintage Easter greetings...<p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAycKIEPuwLMAgbSpXGrcxGnrNq_17LMmfhJ37uxnHEtygM2MklWeYoIteWeHl2VR1ygNR2T0Zt4HfwDMvDc-CbbEkbUdfSfK8L8zfZ_eO0Eq3DifHJjHAYaR2rRwkhE6gIoZyA-VfsI/s1600/DSC00114+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAycKIEPuwLMAgbSpXGrcxGnrNq_17LMmfhJ37uxnHEtygM2MklWeYoIteWeHl2VR1ygNR2T0Zt4HfwDMvDc-CbbEkbUdfSfK8L8zfZ_eO0Eq3DifHJjHAYaR2rRwkhE6gIoZyA-VfsI/s320/DSC00114+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">April 14, 1911</div><div style="text-align: center;">...<i>from Aunt Sadie to Miss Susie Wilcox</i>...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsiRoLCkt_DhXrRhOjqVV6AWerJWKHBHRK323gYGZn4ACdhneuj3nEjo8X0FQ9Lh6iirRWdfr0JIxB2SkvhB6GU9wLuOloM3hQAjWniVInSNyxqyLOYZzt4bPCjQo7cpnab5kYJ4VL4So/s1600/DSC00115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsiRoLCkt_DhXrRhOjqVV6AWerJWKHBHRK323gYGZn4ACdhneuj3nEjo8X0FQ9Lh6iirRWdfr0JIxB2SkvhB6GU9wLuOloM3hQAjWniVInSNyxqyLOYZzt4bPCjQo7cpnab5kYJ4VL4So/s320/DSC00115.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">1910</div><div style="text-align: center;">...<i>Dear Ruth, Your card came last night. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I was at the Grange.</i>..</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zr0bdlQOHmsg8SodWEjUbjM1Ev879eZ7jfUjHYha8_kHCydqJMPjyNZXlDMbRV6fLuhS9HV2Hj0LswcQDYe0kR2wCJbbWPRB1ESEyGovu_akXh01hvLuJNwBpc5PSndHKrB4SJ26zk4/s1600/DSC00117+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zr0bdlQOHmsg8SodWEjUbjM1Ev879eZ7jfUjHYha8_kHCydqJMPjyNZXlDMbRV6fLuhS9HV2Hj0LswcQDYe0kR2wCJbbWPRB1ESEyGovu_akXh01hvLuJNwBpc5PSndHKrB4SJ26zk4/s320/DSC00117+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">1911</div><div style="text-align: center;">...<i>Dear George, This is a nice Spring day. Got your </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>letter this morning. Wish you were coming home </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>tonight. With lots of love, Father & Mother...</i></div><br />
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...<i>From Nellie to Master Donald Jones...</i><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Each sent for the very agreeable sum of...</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH28XHqySVR2L7bLqEIzuZfzsQmyWrAkzhCnmk0BFx1Ox7UMmpN_9jEuAqOye5nJ4NxRfSSyZWjSfGN2f3QysEdAjpjWqLMTSGXTE7VvYdy2GvtZQ-DY9MPjmORBrsMP_gK-1toQ4-j1M/s1600/DSC00108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH28XHqySVR2L7bLqEIzuZfzsQmyWrAkzhCnmk0BFx1Ox7UMmpN_9jEuAqOye5nJ4NxRfSSyZWjSfGN2f3QysEdAjpjWqLMTSGXTE7VvYdy2GvtZQ-DY9MPjmORBrsMP_gK-1toQ4-j1M/s320/DSC00108.JPG" width="253" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">...one penny.</div>Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-36353921406417530152012-04-02T11:58:00.002-07:002012-04-03T08:03:37.583-07:00John Griffiths...<p>..that illustrator responsible for some lovely images for the Autumn 1969 edition of Time and Tune, (see March), has, sadly, died recently. In addition to the Time and Tune illustrations, Griffiths created some fantastic covers for Penguin beginning in the 1950's. Some truly stunning shopfront illustrations as well as a few examples of his other work can be seen if you click on the links in his <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2012/apr/02/john-griffiths">obituary</a> published in today's Guardian. In addition, several of those covers can be seen <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/gallery/2012/apr/02/penguin-book-covers-john-griffiths-in-pictures">here</a>. I'm a Penguin collector and I dearly wish I had some of those in my modest library. In lieu of Penguins, I can share the illustrations from that T&T booklet. I hope you enjoy them. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreBS6a53ybMxy2G5woc9ZqyFXSnbTnO_k_kZxZxL9iE-fLhT3BEl-5kwH0sODeiMJLRcdcAa4RDW3XUuIn5lZ8um-BhU8K4P3h5Xx-D9CXtb_PPEk-0IlvcoFOXTrdY8FWy-EfnvdhRM/s1600/SCN_0008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreBS6a53ybMxy2G5woc9ZqyFXSnbTnO_k_kZxZxL9iE-fLhT3BEl-5kwH0sODeiMJLRcdcAa4RDW3XUuIn5lZ8um-BhU8K4P3h5Xx-D9CXtb_PPEk-0IlvcoFOXTrdY8FWy-EfnvdhRM/s320/SCN_0008.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-9050816651063670892012-03-26T05:36:00.000-07:002012-03-26T05:36:55.325-07:00Time and Tune: the 1960's<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><a href="http://www.broadcastforschools.co.uk/mediawiki/images/c/c0/Time_and_Tune_cover_autumn_1969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="http://www.broadcastforschools.co.uk/mediawiki/images/c/c0/Time_and_Tune_cover_autumn_1969.jpg" width="320" /></a>Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-990175935358907742012-03-13T11:46:00.007-07:002016-03-11T14:12:19.904-08:00Time and Tune: the 1950's...<br />
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In 1951, BBC Schools's Radio launched the music appreciation program <i>Time and Tune</i> for primary school children ages 7 through 9. The program offered children an opportunity to listen to and sing along with the musical selections that appeared in companion guidebooks. Although the initial illustrations are quite basic, the <i>Time and Tune</i> books soon began to feature some quite good illustrations which colorfully hinted at the theme for each program. At least three booklets were produced for every school year and between the bright covers were the words and tunes of several songs, each accompanied by more illustrations from the cover artist.<br />
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<i>Time and Tune</i> is still broadcast today and the booklets are still produced, although my feeling is that the illustrations appearing from the 50's until the early 70's are the most appealing. While the use of color is still restrained, the illustrations from the 80's begin to seem frenetic. After that, it's all lots of colors, bold outlines and a slickness that does not necessarily inspire esthetic delight.<br />
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I'm going to take this in parts. Today, it's the 1950's, when these booklets featured some of the most inventive design. I have a few from 1969 and 1970 - I'll share those later this week.<br />
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I love the absurd, mildly surreal nature of this image even thought I'm not entirely sure what's happening here. Nor can I quite imagine what might have been going on in the minds of seven year olds who saw this. Perhaps the pigs have been scrimping and saving and have decided to pool their resources to start up a bakery, but something tells me things are not going to end well for our porcine chums.<br />
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Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-87409734625594750322012-03-07T06:54:00.001-08:002012-03-07T06:54:36.289-08:00the future of American politics...<p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUke5X4I3fb1NNV4OHJycdIVWoTm7QqdcZivXW_bDlXe7nRaMI3_tzQWtQP1hUWOZFKcf-oDLxisIKJUgV2j-GHYwNJ90GrVMe5fA5SQeCM8yT5Wxm7SoL5qdCFamgpSH-bxpNAhNvy9k/s1600/imageshank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUke5X4I3fb1NNV4OHJycdIVWoTm7QqdcZivXW_bDlXe7nRaMI3_tzQWtQP1hUWOZFKcf-oDLxisIKJUgV2j-GHYwNJ90GrVMe5fA5SQeCM8yT5Wxm7SoL5qdCFamgpSH-bxpNAhNvy9k/s320/imageshank.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
With Virginia Senator James Webb on the verge of retirement, a Fairfax County Maine Coon has recently launched his <a href="http://hankforsenate.com/">campaign</a> for the seat. One can only hope. Friends, today things are finally looking brighter for all Americans. <br />
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<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_6z5zC8W2Mk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-80928563662872726012012-01-31T10:39:00.000-08:002012-02-15T08:55:49.726-08:00et al...The last few weeks spent obsessively reading and writing have left me feeling somewhat dislocated, but nonetheless, I have managed to find a few spare moments for a little creative work...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis2Q_a_cX_YmAlvyEihmlR_mqv5Eyo8AFFegVa1HuyImnH80DN5uo7unqYUTXclUJMsGC1bpI8Wy6gEA2f18PYVq0LcCrIWyDuDJo4merCCK39mT3FLbzGx5SdHWy40c__JBHAl3KaMm4/s1600/DSC01231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis2Q_a_cX_YmAlvyEihmlR_mqv5Eyo8AFFegVa1HuyImnH80DN5uo7unqYUTXclUJMsGC1bpI8Wy6gEA2f18PYVq0LcCrIWyDuDJo4merCCK39mT3FLbzGx5SdHWy40c__JBHAl3KaMm4/s320/DSC01231.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6kv1KfRRuFCZEb48AsgeenEpuV2WqPEUC4eO1dW2WVPTS0WFJqDYXksuhBEw0qpdKrt5vIbwjFsyYCW6nO0tB9AK6wY_yWTiYNph6QvyZ7zaJH67xr7kpMWk7Lmc9gDU2EwLGiPScqY/s1600/DSC01227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6kv1KfRRuFCZEb48AsgeenEpuV2WqPEUC4eO1dW2WVPTS0WFJqDYXksuhBEw0qpdKrt5vIbwjFsyYCW6nO0tB9AK6wY_yWTiYNph6QvyZ7zaJH67xr7kpMWk7Lmc9gDU2EwLGiPScqY/s320/DSC01227.JPG" width="271" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/hinagiku-hat">Hinagiku</a> Hat</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wgv2ldR9HHCRMA37psJRCps9NKOu5uABCtbEEm9E5vN5rgJivpSin5C_QbMeLOukXdhavL7qP39TfcsyIG-nz-82Wrb78m6KQyIon2P7nCnZSTdieTcgWviymtOBErgxQZE47iPQumg/s1600/DSC01244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wgv2ldR9HHCRMA37psJRCps9NKOu5uABCtbEEm9E5vN5rgJivpSin5C_QbMeLOukXdhavL7qP39TfcsyIG-nz-82Wrb78m6KQyIon2P7nCnZSTdieTcgWviymtOBErgxQZE47iPQumg/s320/DSC01244.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/gossypium">Gossypium</a> cowl<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Two posts in one morning are a sure sign </div><div style="text-align: center;">that I am being enticed by sloth. </div></div>Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-91517423573448440712012-01-31T08:15:00.000-08:002012-01-31T16:12:40.907-08:00Emil Orlik...A fantastic course on the Victorian novel has occupied much of my time this month, so, in a modest effort to share something with you during January 2012, here are the illustrations from my copy of Lafcadio Hearn's <i>Lotos</i>, beautifully illustrated by Czech printmaker, Emil Orlik (1870 - 1932).<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Source: Wikimedia Commons</span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://art.findartinfo.com/images/artwork/2006/12/a001019508-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://art.findartinfo.com/images/artwork/2006/12/a001019508-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">Still Life with Fruit, Azaleas and Pheasant 1905</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Source: findartinfo.com</span></div><br />
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More information and many more magnificent examples of Orlik's work can be found <a href="http://www.orlikprints.com/home.html">here</a>.Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-76448572466029217552011-12-31T15:52:00.000-08:002011-12-31T15:52:44.803-08:00Fox Fires on New Year's Eve...<p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V9qOm5uowEo/Tv-QHPpYh3I/AAAAAAAAAxQ/2uSJ7RO56_w/s1600/Art-Asian-Woodcut-Moonlight-Asian-foxes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="580" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V9qOm5uowEo/Tv-QHPpYh3I/AAAAAAAAAxQ/2uSJ7RO56_w/s640/Art-Asian-Woodcut-Moonlight-Asian-foxes.jpg" width="380" /></a></div><br />
This print, <i>Fox Fires on New Year's Eve Under the Garment Nettle Tree at Oji</i>, from Ando Hiroshige's <i>100 Famous Views of Edo</i> depicts the New Year's Eve assembly of fox spirits known as <i>kitsune</i>. According to Japanese legend, kitsune from the neighboring provinces gather beneath a particular tree near the Oji Inari Shrine on the last day of the year. As they proceed toward the tree, they breathe fire, which is understood by local farmers as the means by which to judge the success of their crops for the coming year. <br />
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Dear readers: Bijibou wishes you all a happy, healthy, safe and peaceful New Year. Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-73515282988479943312011-12-22T11:09:00.000-08:002012-01-06T06:05:40.610-08:00busy...I have been beavering away in a veritable Santa's workshop of industry lately, making catnip toys for many of the cats in the neighborhood, finishing Foof's stocking and beginning a knitted hat for myself. Supposedly, cats can see the colors green, blue and yellow. <br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mice - one fat and colorful, one lean and suspiciously ratlike - both looking well and truly dead.</div><br />
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Foof's stocking. I need to add a tab for hanging then I'm done. I'm not completely happy with the way I embellished this one - with a line of red soutache running through a strip of vintage tatting. I think there may be a better alternative. There's still time to change it.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">The <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/hinagiku-hat">Hinagiku</a> Hat</div><br />
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My Neep Heid is complete. My ambitions to turn it into a Radish Heid were foiled by the overly loud Plum color I had originally chosen. This was replaced with Mantilla which made it more beetlike, hence, <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/projects/ikwig/neep-heid">Beetish</a>.Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-80538548991891548312011-12-10T07:10:00.000-08:002011-12-10T10:58:51.953-08:00making...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdvQ-AwhZk-KkrayNOdTGH-OHQrQjjmN3s6KeVbTGUMi9QUXtJm7PfqKsLXc_pT5HST7dNNuGkgRLFsLSofe7KC15S3yKWzVPGVxyhHKB-Vuy1FfaZxPJSCsOtma8tib4bonLWFfQukK0/s1600/DSC01053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdvQ-AwhZk-KkrayNOdTGH-OHQrQjjmN3s6KeVbTGUMi9QUXtJm7PfqKsLXc_pT5HST7dNNuGkgRLFsLSofe7KC15S3yKWzVPGVxyhHKB-Vuy1FfaZxPJSCsOtma8tib4bonLWFfQukK0/s320/DSC01053.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Admittedly, I may have trespassed into crazy cat lady territory, but so be it - I've been crafting some Christmas stockings for my cats. I have coveted this wool from <a href="http://www.osgoodtextile.com/">Osgood's Textile</a> for years and finally found a perfect use for it. I used a few treasures from my cache of linen and trims and created some cross stitch initials discovered on <a href="http://patternmakercharts.blogspot.com/">this</a> brilliant site. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Bob's stocking is complete; Foof's is next. </div><br />
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For The Two Bishops of Trondheim, it seemed like a perfectly ordinary day. The wind blew, the snow fell, just as it had all week. But as the hours passed, something odd began to happen. The bishops sensed a sinister presence. By the end of that day, one thing had become horribly clear - Norway was in danger. Strange shapes appeared in the mountains, then scattered across the tundra, quickly spilling into the valleys below. Huge bands of marauders began swarming into the foothills, laying waste to the land. They marched into the fields, devouring corn and haystacks. The whole swaggering mass seemed to rise up in a moment of Nordic atavism, roving and raiding like a crazed troop of Berserkers then moving down into the fjords. This was an infiltration so wondrous and terrifying that when recalled later, it was likened to that Biblical plague of locusts. To the bishops, this was a most curious form of heavy weather. The only reasonable explanation for the sudden appearance of these deranged and pestilent creatures was that they had fallen from the sky, spontaneously generated from 'feculent' clouds. This belief was nothing new. The miraculous appearance of fish, frogs, toads and other animals was familiarly understood as an aberrant form of precipitation. When the account of this remarkable phenomenon was published some ten years later,in 1532, by that "natural philosopher" and cartographer Jacob Ziegler of Landau, it was The Two Bishops of Trondheim who were credited with the idea that the clouds were raining lemmings.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> Wikimedia Commons - johsgrd</i></span></div>
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That's the perpetrator, the Norwegian Lemming, <i>Lemmus lemmus</i>, a winsome ball of fluff. Lemmings are part of that Superfamily which includes rats, mice, hamsters and gerbils. As herbivorous Arctic rodents, lemmings typically feast on shoots, leaves and grasses. They do not hibernate during winter but instead remain active, foraging for food. Like other rodents, they have a high reproductive rate and experience periodic population booms which seem to follow a three to four year cycle. It is during these "lemming years" that the mass migrations occur, phenomena to which observers have historically attributed various and colorful motives. First, it was the clouds. The clouds were responsible for disgorging from their wisps and billows the looming mobs of four-leggers who terrorized the frosted valleys. It is in his geographical masterwork known as <a href="http://books.google.com/books/about/Quae_intus_continentur_Syria_Palestina_A.html?id=PU4VAAAAQAAJ"><i>Schondia</i></a>, that Ziegler shares the speculations of the bishops and refers to the "four-footed insects" as a pestilence ushered in by storms or sudden showers. He describes them both as a plague in a moral sense which threatens to corrupt Norway, and as vectors for an infectious plague which physically undermines Norwegians. The biological plague Ziegler refers to here was known as Lemaensot or Lemming-fever, most likely tularemia, an infectious disease carried by rabbits and aquatic and other small rodents.<br />
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If anyone found this meteorological theory incredible, they needed to look no further than Swedish historian and geographer Olaus Magnus' 1555 work, <i><a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=O9lEAAAAcAAJ&dq=inauthor%3A%22Olaus%20Magnus%22&pg=PP5#v=onepage&q&f=false">History of the Nordic Peoples</a></i>, for irrefutable proof of lemmings raining down from the sky. There it was, in a woodcut identified as <i>The Migration of the Lemmings. </i>The lemmings, which look suspiciously ratlike, are superimposed over storm clouds and shown falling to earth. Once on land, they move inland from the coast, and are immediately carried off by much larger predators with sharply pointed ears and long, striped tails.<br />
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The <i>History</i>, an otherwise invaluable source of information about the culture and customs of Scandinavians, added little to the lemming migration theories. Magnus, having purportedly plagiarized Ziegler's <i>Schondia</i> for a description of the creatures and their mysterious behavior, simply corroborated the lemming creation myth and confirmed the sense of unease brought about by their invasions. For their destructive ways with crops and generally foul temper, the lemmings were understood as a portent of evil, a divine punishment sent to make the sinful repent. They were so reviled that the Norwegian clergy devised a special curse in an attempt to exorcise the supernatural vermin. It was full of the usual hellfire sentiments.<br />
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<i> I ban ye, pestilent rats, in the name of the Holy Trinity! (signs the cross.) Haste away then from these our fields, vineyards, and waters. March thither where ye are no man's bane. In the name of the Holy Trinity and the host of heaven, and the Church of God, I curse ye that in all your goings ye be cursed: Wasting day by day: waning till no remnant be found. May He who will judge the quick and dead by fire grant this. Amen.</i></div>
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And of course, the lemmings appeared to do just that, wasting and waning until the next surge in population a few years later. <br />
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It wasn't until the 17th century that the belief about lemming origins began to shift. New, and more importantly, accurate information was being appended to the current knowledge about the animals. After receiving the preserved body of a lemming from the Bishop of Bergen, Danish anatomist and naturalist Ole Worm published an anatomically correct drawing of the creature, providing convincing evidence that the lemmings were rodents who were produced by other rodents rather than clouds. The results were republished two years later in Worm's masterwork, <i>Museum Wormianum</i>, a scholarly catalogue showcasing his extensive collection of natural history specimens. <br />
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While 16th and 17th century theories about lemmings addressed the problem of where they were coming from, theories developed during the 19th century focused on that other curious matter: where they were going. For a summing up, let's turn to a passage so richly purple it defies belief. It was published in 1883 by Moncure Daniel Conway, an American minister.<br />
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...<i>nothing I have heard seems to me so suggestive of a literal lost <span class="gstxt_hlt">Atlantis </span>as a fact concerning the Norway <span class="gstxt_hlt">lemming </span></i><i>(Myodes lemmus, a sort of rat). The migratory instinct of these lemmings every now and then—every twenty or twenty-five years—leads them to plunge into the Atlantic, and swim till they drown. It is the teaching of evolution that no animal has any organ or instinct which either is not, or was not once, of use to it. It is difficult to suppose that the migrating instinct of the <span class="gstxt_hlt">lemming </span>was always simply suicidal. It looks as if they must once have found land where it exists no more. These little creatures would seem to be the last believers in that wonderful island the tradition of which allured the voyagers of the world for centuries, painted as it was with colours of the sunset, and whose last fabled enchantments are spiritualized in Bacon's New <span class="gstxt_hlt">Atlantis </span>and Shakspeare's Island of Prospero. The faith of man painted <span class="gstxt_hlt">Atlantis </span>with all the glories of a lost Paradise. To read the rumours of it is to know the sorrows which our race wished to leave behind when it made the sea-change into something rich and strange. There was the land of the lotus-eaters where men might eat a nectar which stilled all desire to return to their homes; and if they returned they were not to be recognized even by their own families. They were ever young and happy. It looks as if the medieval man was as eager as his humble co-voyager the <span class="gstxt_hlt">lemming </span>to migrate away from his wintry old world. </i><br />
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The "Atlantis Theory" was a popular one and it had a long list of adherents, including English entomologist and zoologist William Duppa Crotch who moved to Scandinavia and wrote extensively on lemming migration. In his paper<i>, On the Migration and Habits of the Norwegian Lemming</i>, published in 1876, Duppa Crotch begins to advance, somewhat cautiously, his suspicion that the lemmings are seeking an ancestral homeland. He first observes that the migrations are always directed westward rather than south, where there is an ample supply of food:<br />
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<i>They are, however, always directed westwards; and thus the theory that they are caused by deficiency of food fails so far, that these migrations do not take place in a southerly direction, by which a larger supply might be obtained. </i><br />
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Then comes the explanation. The lemmings are driven to seek something more important than food:<br />
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<i>There is, however, a solution of this difficulty, involving a subject that has always seemed to me of the deepest interest, and which led me to spend two years among the Canaries and adjacent islands. I allude to the island or continent of Atlantis. </i><br />
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<i>Is it not then conceivable, and even probable, that when a great part of Europe was submerged and dry land connected Norway with Greenland, the Lemmings acquired the habit of migration westward for the same reasons which govern more familiar migrations?</i><br />
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<i>I am therefore inclined to assume that in former days the lemming had a climatal motive for its migrations; and it may even be supposed that some, at least, returned to their northern home; otherwise it seems hard to account for the persistency with which they cling to a suicidal routine. </i><br />
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This is not the first stated connection between lemmings and suicide, but perhaps the 19th century date will put to rest the popular theory that Walt Disney's 1958 documentary <i>White Wilderness</i> is responsible for the lemming suicide myth. This Academy Award winning nature documentary was exposed as fraudulent in the 1980's. The lemmings, which can be seen hurling themselves from a cliff, were in fact herded onto a rapidly spinning turntable which launched them to their deaths. Here's the August 13, 1958 <a href="http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=9E02E4D7163EE43BBC4B52DFBE668383649EDE">New York Times review</a> of the film. The reviewer mentions the lemming sequence in which the audience is treated to a glimpse of the "traditional, mysterious 'death march' to the sea".<br />
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Since the vernacular view of lemmings as mindless conformists is wrong but persistent, let me do my part to end this benighted and disagreeable fiction. I return to Mr. Duppa Crotch and his lemming paper...<br />
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<i>Nothing stops them, neither fire, torrents, lakes, nor morasses. The greatest rock gives them but a sight check; they go round it and then resume their march directly without the least division. If they meet a peasant, they persist in their course, and jump as high as his knee in defence of their progress. They are so fierce as to lay hold of a stick and suffer themselves to be swung about before they quit their hold. If struck, they turn about and bite, and will make a noise like a dog . . . They are the dread of the country. </i><br />
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For more current thinking on the matter, seek out Dennis Chitty's enjoyable and very readable <i>Do Lemmings Commit Suicide: Beautiful Hypotheses and Ugly Facts</i>, Oxford University Press, 1996.Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166548313851956513.post-79433977635698630762011-11-25T08:23:00.000-08:002012-01-06T06:08:12.125-08:00dragonfruit...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSplErmIRZ96AARYPsvoVObT-d4fuq3vzqxckMQbVCvdI2TzbRVe_JjKZqby529F0kVo13vY9O0grqqG5GEKQVU9JDiqvR8iW6yJmvOSwlkTAOHcG9o703hmB9x9yTRLskVN2-8bdPXzs/s1600/DSC00979.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSplErmIRZ96AARYPsvoVObT-d4fuq3vzqxckMQbVCvdI2TzbRVe_JjKZqby529F0kVo13vY9O0grqqG5GEKQVU9JDiqvR8iW6yJmvOSwlkTAOHcG9o703hmB9x9yTRLskVN2-8bdPXzs/s320/DSC00979.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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...or pitaya, as it is less commonly known. Dragonfruit is the fruit of several cactus species grown throughout Asia and Central and South America. For all its exoticism and show-stopping look-at-me-ness, the flavor is comparatively disappointing, rather like a bland, mildly sweet melon. I would, however, happily try one again, unlike the esoteric, fruity treat I tried last year, the ill-natured and hideously repellant Durian, a food I might taste once more, but without so much happiness.Bijibouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08741141122203623297noreply@blogger.com0