52

Ah, the Thanksgiving blog. It’s tempting to wax poetic about Pilgrims, pumpkin pies and Project Runway, or to make fun of those daring dolts who deep fat fry their turkeys in spite of newsworthy hazard warnings. Seriously, after numerous explosions involving boiling oil, trips to the E.R. - if not the morgue - and house calls from the fire department, year after year, dinglehoofers still insist on dropping 20lb birds into vats of bubbling lard? God Bless America.

Or I could give culinary advice. If you’re having menu issues, how about serving Turducken? I think that’s a chicken wrapped in a duck stuffed inside a turkey. Yep, an American tradition since 1621. On the other hand, if you don’t like to eat anything with a face, tofurkey is an option. That would be a poultry alternative constructed out of tofu, or curdling soy milk. Yummy.

The other way I could approach this week’s entry is to give a sermonette on giving thanks, but most of us already know we should do that. So instead, Inspiration is the word of the day. And Anniversary. Hey, I’m allowed more than one.

Happy Anniversary to this blog, it is officially one year old today! We have managed to post photos and text for 52 continuous weeks. That makes a year, right? I’m thankful we made a commitment and have followed through regardless of our schedule, travels, triumphs and travails.

We intended to debut our new photoblog, The Language of Light, at the one year mark, but as today rapidly approached, it did not quite happen. Instead of pouting, we are pretending flexibility and just going with it.

Which leads me back to inspiration and gratitude. Question. If a sermonette is a mini-sermon, what is a mini-sermonette called, un poca sermonito? Without fear of repetition, I am advocating, stumping, soapboxing for you to enlarge some of these photos by clicking on them and then hitting the back arrow to return to the blog. I humbly insist you do this at least for the photo of the dew drop on the branch. Amen and gracias.

Now what do these photos have in common with Inspiration and Gratitude? To make sure we’re on the same page, I looked up the definitions in the dictionary and here is the gist: It’s like breathing. Wait a sec, as soon as I typed that I took a pause and looked up the etymology of the word. Inspire comes from the Latin inspirare and means “to breathe.” Ah-hah, I’m on to something.

The pearl is that inspiration is a Divine gift; a breath of life, animation, and ideas pressed upon the mind or soul of man (and by man I mean hu-man). If inspiration is done on the inhale, then gratitude is done on the exhale. It is a continuous cycle: Breathing inspiration, exhaling gratitude. I guess that would be considered, Thanks-Living.

Plucking from the opening sentence, I am returning to the topic of Project Runway, a television show for competing clothing designers to debut their talents. The three contestants still standing by the end of the season are rewarded with a fashion show in New York to announce the winner. Along the way, they are challenged to create outfits within certain parameters such as time, choice of materials, and budget. For instance, the designers could be taken to a hardware store and given 30 minutes to select materials to create with for under $75.00 and provided only 8 hours to finish their look. Crazy fun!

One of my favorite challenges is the “look of inspiration.” The producers of Project Runway might drop the budding designers in the middle of Manhattan, a zoo or a museum and give them a few moments to discover their inspiration. By show’s end, they must reveal the origin of their idea as well as its manifestation and the judges will pronounce whose garment came the closest. It’s exciting.

After watching that particular episode, I realize that I already create that way. I was recently interviewed by the local paper about how I stay true to myself and yet design on trend. I told the journalist that I do not pay particular attention to what others are doing, but continue to design jewelry based on my feelings and my feelings are related to my surroundings.

I fill up my well, so to speak, by taking walks and capturing images wherever I happen to be. Here are some of the images that both inspire and gratitude us.

The first picture is of the Grande Dame, the Black Tartarian Cherry tree located in the Owen Memorial Rose Garden here in Eugene. It is said to be the largest cherry tree in Oregon and is at least 150 years old. I curtsy in her presence. Equally magnificent is the magical world inside the fairy tree at the Buxton Corrie House in Corvallis, Oregon.

Images three and four were taken at Cape Perpetua on the Oregon Coast and in Napflion, Greece. Five and six were snapped in Athens and at Eugene’s First Christian Church. I find the beauty of Oregon equal to the staggering riches of world-wide travel. Gratitude!

Buildings inspire texture as you can see from the ones shot in Eugene and New York. If you paid attention to the poca sermonito and clicked to enlarge, you’ll see a reflection in both the building and the dew drop. Architecture reflects architecture and nature reflects nature and then spin your partner do-si-do. Mirror images everywhere.

To quote Julie Andrews from The Sound of Music, here are a few of my favorite things. I’m grateful for the iconic tower Gustav Eiffel designed for the World’s Exposition of 1889. I’m thrilled with Steampunk fashion (did you notice the relationship between the Eiffel Tower and the man’s funkalicious top hat?). I purr around the friends who belong to these colorful chapeaux, designed by the talented Bo Peep. I’m impressed by the generosity of France and the brilliance of the sculptor Frederic-Auguste Bartholdi of Colmar for our symbol of liberty.

I adore letters, both the individual members of the alphabet and the cohesive form they take when written and mailed. They represent communication and friendship and I wholeheartedly appreciate those who make the effort, whether in person, through email, the phone, text messaging or a hand-written note. I love you all.

Birds, nature, the ocean... the list goes on. But like a contestant on Project Runway, I am challenged by space and time and must take leave to get my turduckens in a row. Again, Happy Anniversary, Happy Thanks-Living and I leave you with these words of gratitude.

Thank You, Merci Beaucoup, Muchas Gracias, Domo Arigato, Mahalo, Danke Schon, Grazie, Ta, Asante, Efharisto, Obrigado…

The End of a Season

“Autumn is a second spring where every leaf is a flower.” - Albert Camus

In between these poetic quotes, I am going to pause for a moment and remind everybody that some of these photos make more sense, alone and in context, when viewing them enlarged. Simply click on the image and voila! it's like magic - they get bigger. Then hit the back arrow to return to the blog.

“Love is the only flower that grows and blossoms Without the aid of the Seasons.” – Kahlil Gibran

What exactly is a season, anyway? Is it the division of a calendar by four, astronomically orchestrated by those power couples, the Solstices and the Equinoxes?

“No winter lasts forever, no spring skips its turn.” – Hal Borland

Eep, I don’t know what it’s like where you live, but in Oregon, the weather decides her own moods and a timekeeper she is not. We’d prefer to think of the seasons as being equal, the 12 pages of the calendar neatly categorized into four symmetrical periods of three months each.

Well, let me tell you, that is not how Mother Nature reveals herself around here. Winter is the longest season by far, starting in November and stretching out her stay until Spring finally pounces like a roaring kitten in April, showering us with rain, hail, snow, fitful sun and flowers from the bulb.

If brevity is King, then Summer is our Monarch, arriving in July and leaving in July. Autumn comes at his earliest convenience, unpacking in August and staying until Halloween.

And let me make this clear, Halloween is over my friends. Do I really need to state the obvious? Get rid of your putrefying pumpkins, it’s the end of the season!

“What you have to remember is that baseball isn’t a week or a month but a season – and a season is a long time.” - Chuck Tanner

In quest of defining “a season,” it seems to encompass more than weather patterns. It is a time of year dictated by certain activities, such as sports, hunting, fishing, television, shopping (oooh, Black Friday is almost here), planting, harvesting and worshipping.

Autumn-into-Winter has many overlapping seasons, the first of which is ushered in by its fashionable rule: No white shoes after Labor Day.

In quick succession, our days are governed by Back-to-school sales, Grandparents Day, Stepfamily Day, Talk Like a Pirate Day, International Day of Peace, the Jewish Holy Days, the Equinox, Johnny Appleseed Day, Constitution Week, National Hispanic Heritage Month,

Native American Day, National Children’s Day, Leif Erikson Day, Columbus Day, White Cane Safety Day, National Boss Day, Sweetest Day, United Nations Day, Mother-in-Law’s Day, National Disability Employment Awareness Month, Breast Cancer Awareness Month, National School Lunch Week, National Forest Products Week, Halloween, All Saints Day, Veteran’s Day, Chakra Girl’s Birth Day, and Thanksgiving. Phew!

Of course, there’s more, but let me sum up by saying, no wonder we feel overwhelmed.

Thus far, we’ve established that there are four main seasons, plus all the Holiday/Activity seasons, but what is the Fifth Season or the New Season? I’m still trying to sort that out.

Changing direction by degrees, to season is to add flavor, either to food or conversation. Wood sometimes needs to be seasoned, the wealthy often season elsewhere, people are seasoned by experience and this week we bid adieu to the final outdoor Saturday Market for the 2009 season.

As one season ends, keep in mind we have others to anticipate. There’s Clean Up Your Moldy Pumpkin Day, AIDs Awareness Day, National Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day, Human Rights Day, Kimmm Day, National Regifting Day, First Day of Winter, Christmas, Kwanza, Boxing Day, New Year’s Eve…

“To everything (Turn Turn Turn), There is a season (Turn Turn Turn) and a time to every purpose, under Heaven.”- Pete Seeger and King Solomon

What Color is Your Month?

The month of Julius is said to be named after one of those famous Emperors of Rome. It could also just as easily been called Gaius, Caesar or Augustus. Oh wait, we have that one, too. Because fighting was so extra dreadful for soldiers in winter, the New Year of history began with what else, a March.

March, the first month of the ancient calendar, was named after Mars, the god of war. To soften things a bit though, the next month's name was inspired by the Latin aperire, “to open.” Aaaah, all those sweet open buds trampled underfoot.

In my personal lexicon, every month has its own color. As there’s only twelve, this won’t take long. Listed under Janus in my private inventory is white. Februalia is pink and red, while Mars has a shamrock heart beat. Aperire is rewarded with lilac, and Maia, the goddess of gardeners, is all yellows and greens to me.

Junius, well, it claims blue and crystal as in summer skies and diamond rings. Surprise! Julius is red, white and blue. Augustus is golden for the sun and the mane of those glorious Leos. Septem (which means “seven” and should not be confused with septum) is ruled by crimson.

Octo, the olden eighth month, grooves to orange and black, and Decem is gift-wrapped in red and green. Hmmm, that’s only eleven. Ah, righto, Novem.

Grey.

It’s funny how I associate November, the middle month of autumn, with dull tones: Bleak, rainy, gloomy, wintry, melancholic, depressive, SAD (seasonal affect disorder), overcast, bare and desolate. Yet that association differs wildly from the actuality.

Take a gander at this color! No wonder the abundant symbol of Cornucopia is a blessing from November. The horn of plenty runneth over with vivid hues, electric skies, tantalizing textures, fanciful flowers, falling foliage and eye-pleasing fractals.

I think we might have captured the burning bush of Moses in the first two photos, at least those leaves appear to be dancing in flame. And image number three looks like a seablossom blooming under water. Always happy to remind you that you can enlarge the images for closer inspection. Simply place your mouse over the photo and click, then hit the back button to return to the blog.

If you read the photos like a story, we placed them from the brightest image at the beginning so you can watch the colors change, the trees strip teasing out of their fall couture to their bare naked branches. The last one is a pile of their clothes, left in a heap for us to clean up.

And who’s to say what implement is best for the job? On our walkabouts we find many abandoned tools and these are some of our favorites. I’m especially fond of the stove and iron. I’ve actually eaten deep-fried (tempura) leaves in Japan, but I have not yet tried them roasted, toasted, boiled or creamed.

The photo that makes me smile the most this week, was taken by Groom, and may not have caught your eye on the first go around. But if you do that enlarging trick that I keep harping about, then click on the 20th image (or third from the bottom, or the one just before the cloud-filled sky near the end). That center leaf, caught with such clarity before its fall to earth, well, I know why I’m still in love.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere a Sign

The calories from the Halloween candy haven’t even been burned off yet and already there are Christmas decorations in the market place. Thanksgiving turkeys are still nibbling grass, blissfully unaware of their annual star status on the food chain. In other words, we are at the starting line of the holidaze, but we’re just getting warmed up, or cooled off in terms of weather.

‘Tis the season of dressing in layers, stoking fires, sipping tea, kicking leaves, planning parties, and donning our gay apparel, but the frenzy is still a few weeks away, so for this quiet lull between trick or treating and cranberry sauce, we thought we’d display a few signs from our travels.

The fog and storm images are self-explanatory and rather Novemberish, but the rest might require a little narration.

We’ve noticed that stores in other countries have a certain charm to their names. Perhaps tourists from other countries are also enchanted by what we name our shops. Yes, I imagine the lyrical sounds of K-Mart, Bi-Mart, and Walmart inspire much poetry and picture taking. On that subject, I just heard a great line, “If I keel over in Walmart, drag my body to Niemans!”

Who knows what “Mimi la Sardine” in Paris sells, or what could be found at “Funky Fish” in Naflion, but if it turned the contents of one’s stomach, beware of ever throwing paper down any toilet in Greece. “Twould be a faux pas of major proportions.

However, the soothing pepto bismal pinkness of the next three shops should sooth any upset tummy. “Piiiiiiiink…”

Mona and her enigmatic smile have fascinated peasant and nobility alike for over 500 years, so it should not come as any surprise that La Gioconda still woos the customers, whether she is hawking a sidewalk café in the City of Light, promoting “The Groovy Store” in The Peloponnese, giving out free pumpkin fudge samples in California, or representing Humboldt Carpet.

Speaking of celebrity endorsements, there are many ways to achieve Point Relax. In this sign, apparently Buddah is suggesting a cocktail. I’m getting mixed messages from Monsieur Van Gogh though. In one hand, he’s holding up a bottle of Absinthe, but he seems to be shaking his head back and forth in a dazed confusion. Does he want us to try the green fairy or is he warning us off her nasty sting?

Another way to achieve Point Relax is through retail therapy or, gasp! How did that sign get there? Honest Mom, it’s just a traffic sign, I had no idea.

Any helpful narration has come to an end, for the next few remain mysterious and they found their way into our cameras because of their baffling nature.

I’m super confused by NeOVADIAL. What’s it supposed to do? I mean, the poor woman is obviously in bad shape. She’s wearing some sort of brace or corset on her neck, and her hair stylist appears to have been in the throes of PMS or on an Absinthe trip gone awry. Come on, look at those butchered bangs and the gap of skin peeking out from her scalp above her ear. The cream cooked up in the Vichy Laboratoires has not eliminated the woman’s crow’s feet, yet she’s staring complacently as if she’s had a few of those Buddah cocktails.

As an aside, please remember that you can enlarge any of the photos by clicking on the images and then hitting the back arrow to return to the blog. For details, it helps muchly. I insert this handy dandy public service announcement here, so you can be sure to read the fine print at the bottom of the next one…

What? Persians for sale? Can we do that now? Again, confused. Are they new older Persians, or are they older new Persians? Regardless of their age they have been “examined by U.S. Customs and Border Patrol.” At least that’s what the green tape says. Attention attention - No more red tape, everybody’s going green.

Avast and ahoy, the head exams are free. Is this part of a kinder, gentler bureaucracy, the new health care plan, or a courtesy we now offer foreign tourists, otherwise known as homey land hospitality?

In New York hangs a sign with the words, “Fur and Furgery.” Oh, pray tell, what does that mean?! Perhaps I should give one of the Wanks a call and ask. Really, if you’re a wank, you’d hang out a shingle and advertise? Well, maybe the honesty’s refreshing. “Hello, Babe, I’m a wank, give me a call sometime.”

Ai yai yi. It’s all Greek to me. Anywho, see ya at Point Relax.

Shock a Body, Shock a Body Body...

Halloween is the apex of extremes, the blending of horror with beauty, juxtaposing Summer Winter Light Dark Good Evil Saints Ghosts Spirits Goblins Demons Angels

Fear Laughter Orange Black Tricks Treats Jack O’Lanterns Candles Skulls Fairies Ghouls

Spooky Scary Funny Magic Eerie Wicked Witches Spells Incantations Brooms Cauldrons Black Cats Skeletons

Cadavers The Undead Crypts Mummies Vampires Bats Coffins Dracula Frankenstein Cemeteries Cathedrals Doin’ the Monster Mash

Candy Apples Razor Blades Wearing-coats-over-costumes-because-it’s-often-cold-and-raining-outside Grave robbers Zombies Shrunken Heads Blood Stitches Spiders

Scarecrows Werewolves Nightmares The Macabre Boo! Moonlight Pumpkin pie Bobbing for Apples Haunted Houses

Damnation Salvation Torment Enchantment Pagan Christian Insulted Wiccans Day of the Dead Night of the Living…

Ah, the evocative images this time of year brings on its cloaked shoulders.

A chilling wind blows the thin veil between worlds as All Hollow’s Eve approaches. It is time for the prisoners of the underworld to fly their freak flags a little and party down before the solemn Holiday of All Saints Day arrives on November one.

As disguises are carefully selected, they reveal more than they hide. Groom and I have made our appearance, can you spot us?

Lastly, while on the subject of various body parts, here’s a little season appropriate snippet from Willie the Bard.

"Eye of newt, and toe of frog,

Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,

Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,

Lizard's leg, and howlet's wing,--

For a charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble."

-Macbeth

And speaking of Groom, he discovered this Malt Liquor pitcher of rubber noses and has judiciously decided to call it, “A Snoot Full.”

On the Road Again

Seven days ago, before buckling up for our last out-of-town show for the 2009 season, I imagined this week’s photo blog would be all about Half Moon Bay. After all, the coastal town 20 some odd miles and four hours (ha ha) south of the Bay area is charming enough to showcase all by itself.

However, after having experienced the road trip, it’s more accurate to call this week’s entry The Medford Jacksonville Mt. Shasta San Francisco Half Moon Bay Madera Fresno expedition edition. Fresno? Yes, that’s exactly what I thought, but I’ll tell you more about that later.

First stop, Medford and what iconic image better represents the old Middleford of yore than the scary Monster Bird? And while on the subject of yore, these next three shots were taken in and around the old mining town of Jacksonville.

Goat Mama (not to be confused with Llama Mama coming up shortly), from a few episodes back is the friend we stay with in the Rogue Valley and she’s been a professional photographer for about 456 months now and seems able to speak camera. She uses fancy words like aperture, exposure, F-stop, shutter speed and edge lighting while I know words like lens cap and button.

After spending the day taking photos with her, we left early enough the next morning to capture this sunrise over Mt. Shasta, which we’re calling Fire and Ice.

That put us going through San Francisco via the Bay Bridge during lunch hour. I was awfully tempted to ask Groom for a side-trip pilgrimage to the oft-dreamt about John Fluevog Shoe store, but I behaved myself and kept a self-imposed vow of silence. I’m sure I would have had much more fun buying two good shoes than being a goody two-shoes. Oh well...

We finally made it to Half Moon Bay, named for its crescent shaped beach. The weather was stunning and we enjoyed a leisurely Friday watching the waves roll in and perusing the upscale shops in this affluent community, contented to be ignored by Llama Mama for the third consecutive year. She’s got attitude and ain’t afraid to show it.

For the weekend and the purpose of our trip, we anticipated the feeding frenzy of the purported 250,00 eager shoppers that would clog every arterial and vein from the surrounding areas, and a day and a half into the two-day Pumpkin Festival we were still anticipating…

Now this is the part that perplexes me. Hordes of people risked life and limb to traverse the steep windy roads into town, crowding bumper-to-bumper, and then paying $10 to park once they arrived, only to walk right past the art booths, staring straight ahead, their only view the back of the person in front of them.

Disappointment leaked into the next day as we coaxed our exhausted selves from bed at 2:45am by the promise of coffee and the desire to get on the road ahead of the commuters, heading toward Fresno to spend the day with my cousin.

If you don’t drink coffee, what happened next will not impact you, for you will not be able to relate to the loss. But for those of you with the caffeine gene, you’ll understand and commiserate.

While I was checking out of our hotel (you would weep from the bill), my travel mug mysteriously overturned and my precious liquid gold spilled all over the floor of the van. The vehicle wasn’t even moving, the mug has a flat bottom and a lid, and yet when I climbed in, the carpet was soaked and my mug was empty.

I looked at Groom with his full, steaming cup and he shrugged. No coffee shop was open at pre-four in the morning, we had just turned over our card keys and I knew it would be hours before I would have another chance for chemically enhanced wide-awakeness.

I was in a foul mood. What occurred next did not help matters at all. Two hours into the drive, we pulled over for gas and a powder room. I saw a neon sign advertising what I was jonesing for, so Groom had barely rolled to a stop before I was out and heading for the golden door of coffee land.

Until I saw it. A giant rat with an even longer tail skittered across the floor, it’s unmanicured nails making that haunting clicking sound as it scurried from view. Not that you would have been able to hear it over my girly screeching sounds anyway. The attendant looked at the rat running away and then at me squealing and simply shrugged.

What is it with men and their shrugs??!!

I sulked for the next hour as we drove along in the dark, but the mood lightened when I saw a highway sign for “Los Banos.” Isn’t that Spanish for toilet? I’d heard Fresno called the armpit of California, but I didn’t know it was located so near the toilet of California.

At 6:01am I was in line for coffee in Los Banos. Never mind the translation, the coffee was good. By this time, however, as the joke goes, I was ready to order a café mocha vodka Valium latte to go.

By 7am we were at my cousin’s doorstep in Madera. She welcomed us in her lovely home and we spent the day toodling around the area. I had no idea The Armpit had such edgy and lovely art and architecture.

Notice the Gothic lettering of the Iron Bird Lofts, and what’s with Fresno’s fascination with bees, nipples and rosebud figleafs?? I’ve heard of bee-stung lips, but… ouch!

If exploding hearts and nipple honey isn’t your thang, then avert your eyes and look across the street. A full scale Amazing Grace at thy fingertips.

But my very favorite I’ve saved for last. Click to enlarge so you can take in all the details. Do you see the crow sitting on the statue’s head?

I know, I know, while surrounded by so much beauty, don’t cry over spilt coffee.

Treasure Hunting

A friend sent me an inspirational card this week and enclosed two flat glass stones with the words “strength” and “passion” etched onto them. Which is perfect since we are combining two passions this week, photography and yard sales. Both offer the thrill of the hunt.

We’re not ones to limit ourselves to yard sales, though. Garage sales are good, too, as are flea markets, estate sales, rummage sales, thrift shops, antique stores and bazaars. There’s so much fun stuff to look at and instead of feeling the impulse to buy, we get a contact high just by clicking the shutter and saving the funky junque for posterity.

Well, that’s mostly true. The other day while in Corvallis, I escaped the booth with my trusty Canon and iPod, the white earbuds affording me some personal space and groovy tunes while I took a walk. In other words, I was by myself.

Uh-oh.

I stumbled across a yard sale. No, bigger than that - a Church fund-raiser. Hallelujah, shopping for Jesus! When I finally made it back to the booth, I told Groom I needed a Hamilton (I must be related to the Queen of E. as I rarely carry cash), because I just bought a box of stuff from a yard sale.

He thought I was joking.

When I came back a bit later hefting the box he just shook his head. “But look,” I said, “a tin box I can collage for only ten cents. Ooh, and here’s a hanky that’s genuine linen from Ireland.” I pointed to the tiny oval gold sticker with black lettering on the back that said, “Genuine Irish Linen.”

“If you say, so dear.”

“I also bought some Christmas presents,” I justified and proceeded to show him the cool hand-carved wooden mug for our nephew’s Tiki room.”

But mostly we just enjoy taking photos at yard sales.

It seems I say this every week, but I’m still surprised when our eye is drawn to something similar, but we see it in such a different way. Groom noticed a box of dolls and the macabre collection of heads, body parts, and shivering figurines in bathtubs hit a particular tone. He captured it and the photo deserves a click of your mouse to enlarge for full appreciation.

Their expressions haunt me. Did you take note of the Kewpie doll in the lower left-hand corner? Yikes, looks like dried blood on its skull.

Speaking of skulls, while Groom went for the big picture, I zeroed in on a detail, focusing on this doll’s cracked one.

This next one, well, I don’t want to meet the person who needs these delicately painted jars. Boric acid and nipples? What kind of freak collector is that? Good thing we ran across this timely playscript, Calm Yourself. Could come in handy.

One of the things I adore about yard sales is that you never know what you’re going to discover. At this particular one, two children accosted me. By “accosted,” I mean they both ran over to me, grabbed my legs and begged to take a picture.

I looked at my new toy and then at their faces and how could I say no? I gingerly placed the camera around the boy’s neck first, keeping a tight grasp on it. The camera, not his neck. He was all wiggly with excitement wanting to push every button willy-nilly. Speaking calmly, I diverted his attention to the scene around him and asked what he noticed and what did he want to take a picture of?

He pointed to his sister. Aaaaah. So the little boy took a portrait of his sister and then it was her turn. She wanted to do the same thing, so here are the pictures they took of each other.

Sometimes a surplus of vegetables are on offer, so Groom baked a delicious loaf of zucchini bread with this squash.

The last photo is one we should call “Full Circle.” Imagine our surprise when what should we discover but one of our own stamp pins for sale by somebody else? It’s the one in the very back row, far left. As the story goes, one of our customers passed away and the pin ended up in her estate sale.

Oh well, you can’t take it with you.