Vintage Gloves

Grandma blessed me with several pairs of her fancy gloves.
I love slipping my hands into the soft fabric and prancing about the house, pretending that I am a proper lady.
I envision myself as Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly.
What happened to women like that?

I might try to start a new trend of glove wearing. These are just too dang cute to leave sitting in my dresser drawer.

And, they compliment all of my vintage dresses. I think gloves would be rather cute with the right purse, heels and a vintage dress.
I think the public is ready for gloves to come back into fashion.

This soft yellow pair is my favorite. I just love the detailing around the bottom.

Wearing the gloves thrust me into doing everything in a very dramatic way.
I walk with my head held high, saying things to Biceps like, ‘Oh, Dahling!,’ and ‘If only you knew how very much I love you,’ while batting my eyelashes incessantly.
It’s probably best that I don’t wear these out in public, on second thought.

From Midwest to Southwest…and back again

After the guys played a Music Festival late Saturday night, Biceps and I hopped into a tour bus and drove away…never to be heard from again. Unless you happen to read this blog or have contacted me by email, phone, text, facebook or twitter.
But other than that, almost no contact with the outside world.

This sweet little ride that has many miles under her belt. I have named her ‘Stripey Bus’. It’s pretty catchy, I know. I should probably look into trademarking the name.

Stir crazy after way too many hours on the bus, we vacated our ride to squat on a motel lawn, drinking wine from our red plastic cups.
We are the epitome of class.

But, as with most tours, it’s over before you know it. My only reminders of being away are photographs of the trip and a mountainous pile of mail waiting for me at home.
And a basketful of laundry.
And a wigged out cat.

At this point in the flight, I know it’s just a matter of minutes until I get to see my wigged out cat and feed him treats until his furry belly can take no more.

Things start to look familiar.

Even if they have burned to the ground.

Soon enough, I am here. I am home.
And I am probably making some sort of pizza. It’s become a rather anticipated and tasty tradition, marking the end of tour.

The Mysterious Handkerchief Box

Two small boxes, wrapped in matching snowmen paper, sat below a tiny Christmas tree at Grandma G.’s home last year. Both were labeled, ‘Rebekah or Mel’. Grandma informed us that we would have to decide who gets what box.
After a quick wrestling match, complete with a few well-placed uppercuts, my sis-in-law Mel chose her box first as I nursed my bloody nose.
Once I had recovered, I removed the snowmen paper, revealing this mysterious box.

Grandma had no recollection of where she purchased the box, how long ago she had done so or who had made it.
Mel’s box was quite similar, but the shape was more rectangular. Her box was labeled, ‘Gloves’.

Other than the hinges you see here, the box was entirely made of wood which was exquisitely decorated.

There is no ‘maker’s mark’ on the box anywhere. I have investigated it thoroughly. (They don’t call me Nancy Drew for nuthin’).

The inside lid of the box is almost identical to the outside lid, sans the hand painting.

It’s so delicate, so unique. Grandma even included two handkerchiefs which still live inside the box.

I would love to know the history behind this mysterious box-the maker, the possible time period it was created and how it was crafted.
If you know anything about this handkerchief box, please let me in on your secret. This curious kitty is dying to know.