We have snow. Lots of snow and as long as I don’t have to
make an emergency trip for me or the dog, I’m okay with getting trapped by an eighteen inch wall of snow at all but one doorway. Levi, however, was freaked
out by the fact that the mistress of the house fell down on her duties to
shovel him a path the first few days. What can I say, I got side tracked moving
miniature furniture around on a blueprint and photographing stuff I hadn’t
planned on selling on eBay until now. I had to open up the overhead garage door and let
Levi pee and poop in the driveway. I finally dressed myself for a trek to the
Yukon---the temperature outside was seven degrees---and I made him a path one
shovel wide across the deck and into his pen. Watching him go there for the first
time I realized he couldn’t turn around at the end of the path and he backed
himself up the entire way. If he’d been a truck he’d been beeping out a series
of little yips the entire twenty-five feet. So I dressed myself for the Yukon.
Again. And gave him cul-de-sac circle at the end of his path. By the way, it's been so cold Levi has been peeing popsicles.
New Topic: I can’t tell you how many times I thought I was finished
with selling stuff on e-Bay---two, three, four---but turns out I wasn’t. The
first time was when the guy who owned the auction house where I’d been sending
stuff to sell died and the place closed. The son-I-wish-I-had found another
place but they charge about double the fees we'd been paying so it’s just isn't a viable choice anymore and I guess I'm too stubborn (or cheap) to donate one-of-a-kind things to Goodwill. We’re talking about
having an on-sight auction of our own in the spring where we’d combine his,
mine and another widow’s stuff he’s helping to downsize. The other widow is ten years
older than I am and quite the character. She still runs an antique store in a
small town, the sight where we’d set up the auction. Tim tells me stories about
her and tells her stories about me and she told him he needs to get us together
and he says, he’d be scared for his life to do that. Why? Because we’re both
strong democrats and as a Trump supporter---still---he can handle one of us at
a time but he’s not sure he could keep up if we tag-teamed him.
Some of the stuff I’m selling on e-Bay now are things I thought I’d keep for my new place but I realize I'm keeping too much. For example, I had a set of forest green shakers made for Hoosier cabinets circa 1905 that I thought would look great in my future kitchen but I finally admitted that I won’t have a lot of space on my counter top for non-functional decorative things. The listing closes tonight and I was rather disappointed that it’s getting bids. Too late now to change my mind. I also have a 1915 tourist plague up for auction and the silly thing has a bid of $22 with several hours still left for bidding. It’s one of those plagues made out of a slice of a tree with the bark still around the outside. I’ve always loved it but with its horse theme I had to admit doesn’t fit with the beach cottage look I want in my next living space.
I also sold a childhood doll on e-Bay. He had holes in its cloth body and I wasn’t sure anyone would want him. But the woman who won the bid said my beloved “Jimmy” will become a donator doll to two others. She runs a doll hospital and fixes old dolls for resale. Jimmy still has his rubber fingers and toes intact and original eye paint and I guess that's rare in dolls like him. I have another doll that I’m not selling but she sure could use a trip to the doll hospital. I almost took her about fifteen years ago. Some of her toes, fingers, one eye lash and her hair/wig are missing. She’s a composition doll, made during WWII when normal doll materials were scarce. Over time composition dolls flaked, cracked and crumbled and look like something out of a horror movie but I’m keeping her, so there! She’s wearing a coat that was made out of the suit my mom got married in. I can’t imagine a mother’s choice to cut up the suit she got married in to make her daughter clothes for Santa to bring.
Over the years I’ve forgotten the name of my composition doll---gash, how could that happen?---but I’ll never forget the day I caught our dog eating the hair off her head. Blackie was already the main suspect to explain the missing eyelash, fingers and toes, but my mom also left room for pinning the crime on mice that came into the house through the coal bin. I eventually forgave the dog and kept on loving him and the doll. I have to keep her now. No one else could love with all her flaws except for maybe my blogger friend Dawn, who no doubt would put her head in a large mason jar for her vast display of curious and macabre collectibles. Holy cow! I just remembered my doll's name is Jane...as in Jane Doe. Dawn's severed doll head collection helped me remember! ©
