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September 7, 2009 Dear ________, Just for you, I have chosen this vintage milk glass Christmas tree bulb in the shape of a bird. Your words, “lantern,” “passageway,” “dark,” “rocks,” and “dainty” reminded me of the phrase “canary in a coalmine.” Early coalmines did not have ventilation systems, so caged canaries were brought down into new seams because canaries are especially sensitive to methane and carbon monoxide. The miners’ air supply was safe as long as the canary kept singing; a dead canary would trigger a quick evacuation. This method of detecting poisonous air was used well into the 20th century and your little bird bulb is from around 1930. To bring a canary down into a mine is like carrying a little bit of sunshine and sky into the deep dark depths of dangerous work – a little bit of warm beating breath into an unforgiving hardness. Your little milk glass bird combines a canary and a mining lantern into one. I can see it down there glowing in its little cage - being carried by a large rough hand. I am not sure if it is there by force or its own will. To live like a canary in a coalmine might mean to be heartlessly sacrificed by those that are more powerful, but it could also mean to serve as a warning to others – to see ahead and maybe even sacrifice oneself willingly to save the rest. Or – and perhaps most importantly – it means we should always keep singing in the face of danger, always keep glowing though the inevitable darkness of being. Despite the inescapable cage, we are all capable of flight. It was my delight to choose this for you. I hope you like it. Sincerely,
September 23, 2009 Dear ________, Just for you, I have chosen this forest scene of vintage candles: three rabbits, one owl, and a pine tree. I recommend arranging them so the rabbits are happily frolicking about on the left, the tree is in the middle, and the owl is hiding behind the tree with its adorable eyes on the white bunnies. Isn’t it all just too cute? No really. Isn’t the whole scene just too cute? In fact, I find it deeply problematic; this is an issue of essences and letting things be what they truly are. The first problem is the owl – the adorable, sweet little owl with its charming eyes looking to the left. These candle-makers are doing a disservice to the owls – the real owls, the ones with talons and sharp beaks that would be nothing but delighted to tear these little pink and white bunnies to shreds, and then to swallow them whole. And then, to regurgitate the bones. I squint and try to imagine this cute little owl candle regurgitating anything at all – even something cute – but I am having trouble. Furthermore, what’s the deal with making candles in the shapes of cute creatures? Imagine: you light the wick, it’s pretty for ten minutes, and then the flame slowly moves deeper into the head of the creature. The head! Essentially, we have a cruelly drawn-out decapitation going on, with the added drama and romance of flame. In the midst of my search, I also came across a set of vintage candles that was ten little boys, each with a wick coming right out of top of his head. They were adorable – for a moment. Then I pictured them on a little boy’s birthday cake, the room full of giggles and smiles. The candle boys’ heads were quickly disappearing – pooling into little hot basins of liquid at their shoulders. Excuse me, but who on earth came up with these things? Answer: ExxonMobile. I’m not sure about the owl and the tree, but at least the bunnies are Tavern Candles. There’s a reason why they look a bit like molded chocolates. In the late 1920s, the Gurley Novelty Company – run by chemist, Franklin C. Gurley – was manufacturing chocolates in Buffalo, New York. Unable to make it in the chocolate business, he switched to candles. Business boomed when the Socony Vacuum Oil Co. of Los Angeles (today known as ExxonMobile) hired Gurley to make candles for them during the late 1930s and 40s. These were branded as Tavern Candles and were, of course, made from oil. More specifically, they were made from paraffin, a by-product of oil refining that had to be disposed of. Working with Gurley let Socony Vacuum Oil Co. turn their garbage into profit. One could find these candles at Woolworth’s, Macy’s and every dime store across the country. They were so cheap that you might even receive a 5-inch Santa candle as a giveaway at the gas station. And yet, I get this sinking feeling that there is something deeply wrong here. Let me get this straight. Socony essentially molded its toxic waste into cute candle figurines and filled homes across America with them, paid for by Americans? Huh?! It ends up that the reason why there are so many of these candles still around is that most people didn’t burn them; they were treated more as ornaments than candles. And this is a good thing, not only because it spared all of these poor souls from the decapitations discussed above. Today we know that burning paraffin contaminates indoor air quality by emitting petrochemicals. So by all means, don’t burn your bunnies! And if at some point you want to get rid of them, I recommend sending them back to ExxonMobile as a gift, maybe on Easter. It was my delight to choose these for you. I hope you like them (or at least find them interesting). Sincerely,
October 6, 2009 Dear ________ and ________, Just for you, I have chosen this vintage pair of reading glasses (3 power). They fold into a heart shape and have a chain for wearing around one’s neck. Frankly, I thought they would probably look hilarious on Josh; but there is a lot more to them than meets the eye. Given that it is your anniversary, I thought the heart shape was especially appropriate. And when they are worn around Josh’s (or Christy’s) neck, it’s as if you can see clearly into the other’s heart. Furthermore, the heart is opened when the glasses unfold and are brought up to the eyes. The type of rhinestone adorning the glasses is called aurora borealis. It was developed in the 1950’s by Manfred Swarovski. The stone is coated with thin layers of metal to enhance brilliance and reflective color quality. It is known as the “rainbow stone.” The aurora borealis phenomenon – the one with the green glow that takes place in the sky – was named by Pierre Gassendi in 1621 after the Roman goddess of dawn, Aurora, and the Greek name for north wind, Boreas. Perhaps Christy is the dawn and Josh is the wind? The Cree people call the aurora borealis the "Dance of the Spirits." It most often occurs during the equinoxes – one of which just passed. The aurora borealis has to do with large electric currents, collisions of charged particles, and magnetospheric substorms that ignite. It is a ring of fire that is often widest at midnight. Sounds like love to me! Perhaps these glasses can be a reminder of your love for each other. Or perhaps when one of you feels that the other is not seeing or listening carefully enough, you can hold these hilarious sparkling glasses up to the other’s person’s eyes – an invitation to focus on the heart of the matter at hand. The rhinestones may be cheap – and affixed with glue – but they reflect the vast sky and the glow of your love for each other. It was my delight to choose these for you. I hope you like them. Happy anniversary! Sincerely,
September 5, 2009 Dear ________ and her houseguests, Just for you, I have chosen this vintage Life Savers puzzle. I’m guessing it is from the 80’s, but I’m not positive. Kara informed me that you have a running competition to leave the most memorable surprise on the guest bed for each other when visiting. What could be more fitting than mints for the pillow? And with your interest in educational games, I thought you might get a kick out of these. I hear you are visiting Kara for a little R&R at the beach. I thought this playful puzzle could give your brain a little break from academia, but without letting your brain totally atrophy. Life Savers candy was created in 1912 by Clarence Crane, in Garrettsville, Ohio. He wanted to add a “summer candy” to supplement his chocolate business which slumped in hot weather – literally. So he developed a line of hard mints, but lacked the machinery to manufacture them. The story goes that one day he was making a purchase in a drug store and noticed the druggist using a pill-making machine that was operated by hand and made round, flat pills. He contracted with the druggist to make his mints. When the druggist's pill maker malfunctioned, they found that the pressing process worked much better when the mints were stamped with a hole in the middle. The legendary shape of Lifesavers was born. At the time, most mints were coming from Europe and had a square shape, so this was quite a revolution in the world of mints! The first Life Savers package showed an elderly seaman tossing a life ring to a girl in danger in the sea. Their slogan offered the mints as a way to improve “stormy breath.” As educators, you certainly understand the stormy state of both the educational system and the world in general that our youth are sent out into. Teachers are like the Life Savers seaman, tossing words and guidance like life preservers to provide buoyancy and prevent drowning. These life rings have a connecting line – an ever-present possibility of bringing a student that has strayed back to a safe place where he or she can learn and grow. Boats usually only have one life ring, but teachers need a whole pack – and more. Thank you for being Life Savers. I hope you enjoy your well-deserved break with your friend ________. It was my delight to choose this for you. I hope you like it (and can figure out the puzzle!) Sincerely,
September 20, 2009 Dear ________, Just for you, I have chosen this set of six vintage teardrop chandelier crystals. I used to think these things were tacky, but your 20 words have let me rediscover them as a true curio. In just one day, they have become beautiful to me and I want to run around hanging them up all over the place! Perhaps you think they are ugly? Let me explain. These vintage chandelier crystals first caught my attention when I realized they look sort of like semicolons: one round dot crystal on top and a drop-shaped crystal underneath. Or they could be periods and commas. Or upside-down exclamation points! I had William Faulkner on my mind, with his remarkably long sentences and plentiful use of punctuation marks to keep them going. Suddenly, all the chandeliers in the world became grammar experts, brilliantly displaying their punctuation know-how. At the same time, your word “manic-depression” cast a darkness upon my search, so I was attracted to the fact that this particular chandelier crystal style is called “teardrop.” Suddenly, all chandeliers began weeping. Perhaps these six particular drops are the tears of David Foster Wallace (depression, suicide), Francesca Woodman (depression, suicide, very young), and William Faulkner (alcoholism, heart-attack) – three creative souls that left the rest of us behind as abruptly as a period. I wondered if Francesca dropped tears out the window before she jumped – little dangling packets of a highly punctuated life. Being a photographer, Francesca Woodman was certainly interested in light – and dark. Light and dark. Up and down. Fire and ice. Manic-depressive people are known to be some of the most creative among us. Like chandelier teardrop prisms – with their fire-polished surfaces reminiscent of icicles – they can slice light into its constituent spectral colors. They are rainbow-makers – the Watery Ones – who can suddenly, sometimes, explode into color and scatter it about. Light comes in waves; life oscillates. And this is true for the bulk of us, really. I’m imagining you might like to hang these crystalline punctuation marks/tears on a string across a window in your home. Or maybe you might turn two of them into a pair of earrings and tell people the story when they notice them and ask. It was my delight to choose these for you. I hope you like them (even if you thought they were ugly at first.) Sincerely,
October 25, 2009 Dear ________, Just for you, I have chosen this vintage dice toy. It says, “Germany, US Zone” on the underside, so it was made in the 1940s. The top is glass, not plastic, so do be careful with it. On the one hand, it is simply a dice toy: push the silver button and watch your results spin and tumble into place. On the other, it is a miniature solar system. Or galaxy. Or even universe. Notice how the sun is embossed on the green disc with eight rays extending from the center? Eight is also the number of officially recognized planets in our solar system; the dice are like planets orbiting the sun as they spin and roll around the disc. Or perhaps the dice are stars – one of them ours – and they are part of a swirling galaxy. Or, since eight is also the number for infinity, maybe the dice are galaxies themselves, afloat in the vast universe – each white pip on a black background being a sun in the midst of an ever-expanding darkness. Our galaxy, the Milky Way, is one of probably more than 100 billion galaxies in the observable universe. And these are spread over a space at least 93 billion light years across. Furthermore, in the “bubble universe theory,” it is deemed possible that there are an infinite number of universes. But what I really want to know is: Given all these numbers that are too big for our brains, what is the probability that there is life out there beyond our little blue orb? What sense can we make of this big toy we live in that we are told goes on forever? Who or what pushes the big silver button that keeps everything spinning? This little hand-held dice toy – this galactic curio pieced together by human hands – exists in the midst of all these numbers. It is well-designed, painted red and green, and in perfect working order after sixty-some years. It is precious and unlikely – just like us. But I am hard pressed to believe that we earthly creatures are the only ones in the universe that make such lovely things. In fact, I’d bet on it. It was my delight to choose this for you. I hope you like it. Sincerely,
October 25, 2009 Dear ________, Just for you, I have chosen this antique ice cream mold in the shape of a book. It is from the early 20th century and is made of pewter. To make your own ice cream book, I imagine that you just soften some ice cream, pack it into the mold and freeze it. To release it from the mold, I’m guessing you can either let it sit out for a little while, or maybe run it under warm water until the surfaces have melted a little and the book can easily slide out. If made with vanilla ice cream, the surface of the open book would be like a snow-covered landscape, glinting in the lamplight of your kitchen. To walk – or write – across the surface would be like leaving footprints in the snow – a trail of shadowy letters across the shimmering page. And to sled down the page would be like a sudden insight – a rush of wind and quick beat of heart. Each turn of a page would be like a new day – a fresh layer of snow in the morning waiting for the ink of your steps and the snow angels in your heart. It was my delight to choose this for you. I hope you like it. Sincerely,
October 28, 2009 Dear ________, Just for you, I have chosen this vintage aniline tin with a hummingbird on it. The brand is “Colibri” which means hummingbird in Spanish and the tin is from Argentina. As fitting as it seems to put a colorful creature on a tin related to dyeing fabrics, the choice of a hummingbird is actually a little odd because it ends up that the color of a hummingbird is structural, not pigment-based. The iridescent colors of its feathers come from special cells within the top layers. Light is broken apart when it hits these cells and vivid colors are revealed only when the light hits the feathers just so. A hummingbird can shift its position just a little and a color will come or go in a flash. It is a disappearing act of sorts – now you see it, now you don’t. I’m not surprised that Columbus called them “flying marvels.” We humans, on the other hand, our top layers of cells aren’t quite as exciting as a hummingbird’s, so we have developed elaborate ways to alter our surfaces and be as marvelous as we can. Cloth and a tin of dye powder will have to do. This little “Colibri” tin opens and closes like an eye-lid – like ours do every day in our many states of wakefulness and sleep. Science tells us hummingbirds have better vision than humans. Spiritual traditions tell us they can see things that are invisible – that they mediate between the visible and invisible realms. Guidance from winged beings can help a shaman travel to the spirit world – to leave his or her body behind and become an all-seeing eye, seeing the things the rest of us are blind to, but need. The museum doors swing open. In the storage room, the collection is full of archival boxes that open and close – open and close – as exhibits rotate. They protect pottery shards and old stuffed birds from things like light and dust and fingers. In one sense, objects in museums are sealed off from the world – trapped in a sterile bubble. But if we enter in the right spirit, it doesn’t have to be this way. Rather than watching from outside, we can step right through the glass – into a swirling complexity of possibility. The whole thing can be a sort of shamanic journey – a waking dream full of winged messengers. Bubbles pop. Boundaries blur. Surfaces shimmer. Now you see it, now you don’t. As much as I value the tactility of things, I don’t think we have to touch to be touched. We can let each object be – give it the space to teach us its dance – and then carry these visions home with us. It was my delight to choose this for you. I hope you like it. Sincerely,
November 19, 2009 Dear ________, Just for you, I have chosen this antique sterling silver fish fork. Not only is it good for eating breakfast or brunch; it is also the Yuba River in miniature. The headwaters of the Yuba River are in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California and consists of three forks, or tines: the North Yuba River, the Middle Yuba River and the South Yuba River. They all run east to west – each in their own way – making a shape much like the tip of your fish fork with its three uniquely shaped tines. The three streams meet at Englebright Reservoir. Do you see the silver swirling eddies and waves there on your fork? The waters eventually make their way down the neck of your fork as they flow into the Feather River and then into the Sacramento. When the waters don’t end up in aqueducts, they make their way to the San Francisco Bay where they pass through seaweeds on their way into the Pacific Ocean – the “mother of pearls” that is your fork’s handle. The environmental history of the Yuba River is long and complicated, from gold mining pollution in the 1800s, to a citizen group’s 16-year struggle to stop new dams and obtain Wild and Scenic designation in the 1990s, to today’s work to restore wild fish populations. The Yuba River is one of the last strongholds for wild, self-sustaining salmon and steelhead runs in the San Francisco Bay Watershed. The 24 miles of the Yuba below the Englebright Dam provide spawning and rearing habitat for multiple threatened species. In October of 2006, for the first time in over 150 years, the traditional Maidu salmon ceremony was re-initiated: Calling Back the Salmon. On the banks of the Yuba, a Chinook is speared and relayed in a 15 mile “spirit run” around Englebright Dam. The ceremony includes blessings, drumming and dance. All are welcome and the ceremony will continue every year for as long as there is a fish to spear. I like to think of your antique fish fork as a healthy version of the Yuba River. It is a free-flowing version that is friendly to salmon and steelhead. Each bite of fish that you eat with this fork is your own mini ceremony – your own mini “spirit run” as you carry the morsel from your plate to your mouth. Every bite counts. Every morsel radiates out. Calling back the salmon is not just an activity for once a year; it is something for every single day. And a fork seems like a perfect reminder. It was my delight to choose this for you. I hope you like it. Sincerely,
October 25, 2009 Dear ________, Just for you, I have chosen this vintage Art Deco “brain” lampshade. The lamp it goes to is in the shape of a gondola with a woman sitting at one end and a man playing a lute at the other – a bit of an odd juxtaposition with the brain shade in the middle. If you ever desire the lamp that goes with the shade, you are likely to find one on eBay, but be prepared to spend a few hundred dollars. It would also be fairly simple to build some sort of base for just the shade and insert a cord with a light bulb. In this glass brain, a light bulb literally lights up. It’s that simple. Of course, the metaphorical light bulb is not nearly so simple. Where on earth do good ideas come from anyway? Here are some of the places where I think they dwell: • under layers of assumptions Though it would be neat to, whether you connect an actual light bulb to your brain shade or not is actually irrelevant. What really lights up a curio such as this is not literal light, but the light of imagination. In fact, perhaps it’s more interesting to not put a bulb in it, but to repeatedly fill the inside with your own thoughts and visions. In this way, the empty shade becomes a constant invitation to cultivate bright ideas. It was my delight to choose this for you. I hope you like it. Sincerely,
November 12, 2009 Dear ________, Happy birthday from your mom! Just for you, I have chosen this antique set of icing tips. They speak of days gone by – of celebrations galore and occasions for cake. This set of icing tips is shy at first with a plain and unassuming box, but it holds a complex interior – the marvel and magic that hides within each of us. When I first opened the lid, I felt I had discovered a collection of ancient sea creature skeletons – each from a different region of the world and with its own wild specialization. Swirl. Slit. Flower. Like you, they are very verbal. Patterns and colors of icing flow like ink – like language upon a cake or cookie. With a steady, careful hand and eye, they can reveal strands of thought and feeling that are as refined as the best granulated sugar. And with 54 different tips, this set has quite the vocabulary! It is like a dictionary or an anthology. Swirl. Slit. Flower. In fact, the word “anthology” comes from the Greek, “anthologia” which combines “anthos” (flower) with logia (collection). And “logia” comes from “legein” which means “gather.” In Greek, “anthologia” originally denoted a collection of the “flowers” of verse – small poems or epigrams by various authors. So this set of icing tips is also a gathering of flowers – each with its own thing to say. For a skilled baker, it is almost as if the flowers pop up on their own, from seeds embedded in the cake. I believe this set of tips holds the capacity for both manicured gardens and fields of wildflowers. It can make a statement as simple as the white squiggle on a Hostess cupcake or as complicated as intricate swirls, dots, and blossoms on a wedding cake. Both have their charm and moment. Sweets are ultimately about generosity. Heaven forbid we eat a whole batch ourselves! I imagine you might bake cookies and write on them with icing – edible poems or stories for your friends. Out of all the curios I have chosen for people thus far, I wanted to keep this one for myself more than the rest. When my mom was visiting and saw it sitting in my studio, she begged me to give it to her. But this one was chosen just for you. And it was my delight. I hope you like it. Sincerely,
October 29, 2009 Dear ________, Just for you, I have chosen this vintage mermaid fishing lure. It is from the 1950’s. Of the many novelty fishing lures out there, a mermaid seems more appropriate than the rest – a true lure. The word “lure” goes back to the German for “bait,” so the complicated terminology we use today to describe attraction and temptation actually began with simple things like fish hooks. Mermaids – the seductive, enigmatic creatures that have long lured men to dangerous places – are as real as our imaginations let them be. Long ago, men on ships would mistake manatees and dugongs for mermaids. I’m sure they swore by it too. Sometimes we can only see what we want to. And we want mermaids to be real. We want to live in a world that is that magical and mysterious. There is a very old tradition – carrying through to today – of fabricating hoax mermaids. They are often made by stitching fish parts to monkey bodies and were common features of 19th century dime museums and circus sideshows. Of course, to find a real mermaid is to kill all mermaids. The reason why the fake mermaids are so disappointing is not just because they are fake. It’s that a mermaid in one’s possession is actually no longer a mermaid at all. It’s that the mermaid, in her essence, is lure itself. Being more experience than object, she is not something that can wash up on a beach during a tsunami, be stuffed with poly-fill and put in a glass case. In fact, to let a mermaid truly be a mermaid, I feel like I shouldn’t actually send you your curio at all. Instead I should email you rare “sightings” of it: a quick flash of the little green plastic tail, a curl of red hair, a bit of cleavage. You might start to wonder if your curio is just a figment of your imagination – if you actually placed an order in my shop at all. On the other hand, just because we have something doesn’t have to mean we possess it. To possess something is to force it into being a mere lifeless object through lack of imagination and wonder. Like seeing mermaids, if we want to truly see a curio – no matter how common a thing it might be – we have to pay close attention and keep our eyes peeled. We must let it draw us in and radiate us back out into a world that is transformed. If we can do this, the world can be as magical as ever – fish hooks, light bulbs, paper clips and all. It was my delight to choose this for you. I hope you like it. I thought perhaps you could use it to catch yourself a mer-mate. Sincerely, P.S. I can’t help but laugh when I picture a pair of hands wrestling with a big wiggly fish trying to remove this mermaid lure from its gills, unable to not fondle her while doing so.
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