Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers
cydniey

I love this keyboard!

Some things are in different places, but I'm getting used to that. Scout is a little slow when she first wakes up, but who among us isn't? Even though there is the threat of imminent chaos because of my lazy hands and the active touchpad, I still love this keyboard. The keys have a nice silent, but very tensile click to them. Silent keyboard. As long as my nails are short, I could type away all day while Doc is sleeping on the couch and he would never be the wiser.

I went through the last box of secret treasure that we got from the old woman who moved out across the street. You may remember her from such treasure as the three intricate, Thai floor candle holders in three heights; a ton of vintage Christmas ornaments from the 50's-60's, many, Victorian repros; assorted wine, liqueur, and champagne glasses, including "Marie Antoinette" champagne glasses from mid-20th century, so named because the cup part was fashioned after the exact shape of her breasts; over a dozen books on Japanese society from mid-century that are no longer in print; assorted home decorations and wall hangings; and tons of other stuff. Any who . . . this last box was glass stuff. I found several vases, a couple of etched ones, and a nice deep blue one. A small covered candy dish. Now I have two on the glass coffee table. A cheese board, or casserole trivet.

And four small glasses. I'd say no more than 5 oz. glasses. Small, round, almost like spheres. On them is printed a design, with the artist's signature (which I have not googled yet), and a band around the mouth of the glass. The floral illustrations are identical, an are western in style, as in, not Asian, which all of the other stuff was. I brought them in and washed them, I have a small shelf next to a mirror in a hutch we fashioned where those glasses, nesting, would look really nice. The illustrations and bands are black. But while washing them in bright light, I noticed inside, something very surprising, they were actually sterling silver, just very tarnished. These little round glasses have been printed with sterling silver illustrations! I have never seen nor heard such a thing, in all my years of being surrounded by antiques and fine glassware. So, I am very curious. I plan to polish them tomorrow or Sunday.

The other precious find, requires a bit of backstory. When I was little, one of my chores was dusting. I loved dusting in one room, the living room. I wasn't allowed in the living room as a child, except to dust. I was a wonderland magazine cover place of flooding light and matching everything and mysterious things on dark, important looking furniture. There was one item in particular. I don't know where my mom got it, it was from Denmark, it was a molded lead crystal rabbit. Very light on detail. Just the shape of a sitting rabbit, really. It would fit in my palm, now that I am an adult. I loved to hold it and feel its weight. To hold it up to the light and watch the colors split. I just liked to look at the simplicity of it among the complexity of everything else my mother had in this room. It had no meaning that I knew of. It had no story. It wasn't an heirloom. It was just there. Maybe she got it when we went to Solvang one of those years. And I always wanted that rabbit. It eventually disappeared and was replaced by newer magazine cover living room designs, I have no idea of its fate.

So, we were looking in the box of glass wonders, you and I, weren't we? At the very bottom of the box, underneath a hopelessly disfigured beeswax candle, was a small, formed glass bird. Light on detail, just the shape of a seated bird, really. It fit in the palm of my hand. It was cool to the touch, I held it up to the light and watched the colors split. In my mind, I put down the dust rag, and sat down on the floor in a pool of sunlight and the rabbit in my memory became this bird I was holding. And this bird can't die on me, like all the other ones do. I shall call it Poe, in honor of my brave baby crow from this spring.

And thus ends the tales of treasure from the kooky old woman who lived across the street. I wish I had given her a hug. If I had only known, I would have given her a hug.
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