Hobbies, Hazards and Downsizing Tales

I love going to hazardous waste recycling. At least the three times I’ve been there have been positive experiences. The guys that work there are so happy to see people not dumping paints, thinners, spray cans, cleaners and other toxic chemicals in places where they don’t belong that they are like rays of sunshine when you pull into one of their drive-up, drop-off lanes. I managed to get up early enough last Friday to connect with them---they're only at the collection center on my end of town one half day a week---and I brought an entire box full of artists paints, inks and bottles of unlabeled liquids long forgotten. When I opened the trunk and the worker saw my box, he lit up. “This is some interesting stuff!” he said. There was well over a hundred tubes and bottles and he was actually looking forward to sorting it into their various bins. Another worker came over to see what he was so excited about and they made me feel like I gifted them with a treasure that will help them slay the dragon that’s torturing Mother Earth. 

I always knew that cadmium and cobalt colors are dangerous. We were warned about them in art classes back in the sixties. “Wipe it off your hands as soon as it touches your skin.” Artists have died from getting poisoned from certain colors. Modern testing of the exhumed bones of Caravaggio (early 1590s to 1610) revealed he died of lead poisoning and it’s believed that Van Gogh’s mental health issues came from his habit of sucking the ends of his paint brushes, giving himself lead poisoning as well. Modern science has even found a way to give Paul Gauguin a clean bill of health regarding a long-standing belief that he died of syphilis. Testing his teeth proved he'd never been treated with mercury which was standard practice for STDs back in his day. But he loved his cadmium colors so, who knows, maybe they killed him at only fifty-five years old? Cadmium based colors, which he favored and used abundantly, are known causes of cancer and kidney issues.

What I didn’t know until this week's trip to hazardous waste is that acrylic paints for artists---which I wrongly assumed were safer than oils and their mediums---release a vapor of ammonia into the air as they dry and the acrylic mediums we use to thin them contains formaldehyde. Additional research found a warning that artists are advised not to have drinking cups or food in their studios because of the vapors. The guys at recycling told me that they’d love to see artists bag up all our rags and the sludge that forms in the bottom of our brush cleaning cans and bring the bags into a hazardous waste recycling center. Yup, even paints labeled ‘safe for humans’ are not necessarily safe for the environment. I do love men who advocate for our environment and who have the brains to read looooong words on labels and understand what they mean. They told me to treat all artists paints as if they are dangerous to your health and the environment, even though some are safer than others. Write that down in your book of useful tips.

Over Labor Day weekend I had two things on my downsizing schedule, one of which was the task of sorting three boxes of teddy bear making supplies. I was dreading that because of all the crafts I’ve done over the years I loved making teddy bears the best and it was the hobby I was hot and heavy into when my husband had his stroke. It had been 17+ years since they were packed up and I wasn't sure what I'd find. To my relief one contained ten bags bear stuffing material and while it’s a higher quality than pillow stuffing, it’s still generic enough not to bother me to send it on its way.

Another box contained eight bears that had been cut out and are ready to sew together and assorted fur fabrics. Can’t sell them and I wasn't sure if I could donate something like that. But since the hardest and the most time consuming part of making bears is already done, I set two of the eight aside to keep. The box also contained patterns, joints, leather for paws and feet, silk threads for noses and findings for eyes, oh my! But the most fascinating box-within-a box that I opened was full of samples of imported furs. Some with prices as high as $78 a yard and those are 1990s prices! I had trouble trashing those, so I set a couple of samples aside to “pet” and buried the rest deep in the trash.

samples of teddy bear furs

Also unearthed in my teddy bear boxes was the cutest black leather jacket no more than 2 inches by 3 ½ inches big (shown in the photo at the top). That will make some little girl shopping for Barbie doll clothes at Goodwill happy. Unpacking one of the boxes was like going to a baby shower. I was pulling out vintage new born outfits hand over fist, meant to dress finished bears. After putting them in the washer and dryer and photographing them I had the baby clothing listed on e-Bay before the sun set. They won’t bring much money but it was fun playing with such little outfits. My favorite piece was a girls swimsuit in a preemie size. Who takes a baby that tiny swimming? I ended up keeping a 12" x 10" x 8" box of teddy bear stuff, and a large box of stuffing is ready for the auction house. I'm taking a bankers of assorted teddy bear making supplies including the cut-out bears to Goodwill. If they don't want them all bagged up and labeled like craft kits then they don't know what they're missing. 

I don't have many teddy bears anymore...only nineteen but all but five are under four inches tall and they live in a glass cube that doesn't take up more than eight inches of a bookshelf. Of the five bigger ones, I won't have trouble thinning the herd down to...four. ©

This happy guy and the bear in the photo at the top are the only ones I have left of those I've made myself.

My favorite artist purchased mini bears. I let them out of their glass cube long enough to photograph. They stand three inches tall and the stitches are so tiny you need a magnifying glass to see them. The smallest I've ever been able to make was five inches.

Another mini bear. He loves to take baths.

No self respecting bear lover would be without a Steiff. I have two. The big one is in the Federal Witness Protection Program and is hiding in my collectibles showcase.

Ants and Ancient Things

I’ve been invaded by tiny ants, or rather I should say the dog’s feeding area has been invaded. (Although in the process of killing them I found one crawling on my elbow!) It’s the second time this summer they’ve done that and I’m running out of new locations to put Levi’s food and water. This time I had to throw out the contents of his self-feeder---about three pounds of kibble. Hint: when your dog doesn’t want to eat, put your glasses on and look for ants. I don’t have any indoors ant spray because I’m guessing it’s not safe for Levi, so I used Lysol All Purpose Spray which I’m sure is just as toxic to dogs as ant spray but at least your floors get cleaner in the process of mass murdering the devil ants. Why is it that I still feel bad about killing a firefly last week but I have no sympathy for the ant carcass I just smeared all over the floor with the bottom of my shoe? He was a little scout, I presume, looking for his dead buddies that died by Lysol to drag them back to their nest to mourn or feed to his queen. Good luck with that, I wiped at least a hundred of them up with wet paper towels. I’ve seen ants carry off their dead but I made up the part about feeding them to their queen. But it sounds logical to me. It’s a cruel, hard world out there.

I’m struggling to write about something that doesn’t include the 'D' word in it. If you’ve been following my blog you’ll know which 'D' word I’m talking about. If not, I’ll give you a hint: It involves moving to a smaller home. I’ve only been at it for a month and I’ve come to the conclusion that this time around it feels different, more joyful. And I’ve further concluded that the joy is coming from a place where I have an exciting goal I’m working towards and not a painful experience driving me forward. I’ve only done the 'D' work twice in my life. Once after my husband’s stroke and once after he died. The first done under extremely stressful conditions, the second under a veil of sadness, tears falling like rain drops from Eeyore's cloud. Both times I was saying goodbye not only to things but to our whole way of life and saying hello to an unknown and murky future. However, I’m doing the 'D' work now because I will be moving on to life style that will come with very few responsibilities and I’ll be able to do my favorite things without the guilt of thinking I should be doing something else. I intend to be that quirky woman in the complex who paints and writes and knits and does the most complicated jigsaw puzzles on the planet---yes, the two-side puzzles, same picture on both side only slightly different view. My favorite one being a photograph of a pile of yellow No. 2 pencils.

I still haven’t decided if I’m going to take any quilting supplies with me but I’ve been thinking I should make one more quilt before I die. I don’t do them by machine so a box of ‘quarters’---quilters will know what those are---won’t take up much room. That box of fabric and a few quilters’ rulers, maybe some books of patterns and oh crap! I’ll need scissors and needles and thread, of my! How much hobby stuff can one fit in an eight foot long closet in my future den/hobby room and still have room for out-of-season coats? 

After my three day marathon of working in the garage and making great progress I took Saturday off to go to Goodwill, recycling and the grocery store and to stop by the pet store for more kibble. As fortunate would have it, I had a $15 rewards coupon so the dog food was nearly free which just goes to prove there is balance in the universe…the ants taketh away, the coupon giveth back. 

But before my afternoon trip to run the above errands I literally spent the morning trying to identify the above object and when Google images can’t ID something, you know you’ve got something rare. I once had a magazine article written about that very object but do you think I can remember what it said or where I put it or even if I kept it? Heck no! It’s a primitive lock---the tail/key comes out---but knowing for sure if it’s Roman or whatever can make the difference between e-Baying it for pocket change or hundreds. I’d donate it to a museum but I’d have to research museums to know which one exhibits that sort of thing which brings me right back to having to ID than dang thing first. It occurs to me that I really do have a lot of obscure information in my head; is it any wonder some of it falls out from time to time? With my last downsizing I donated a large oil and grease chart for a 1905 Reo Motor Car that I matted and framed like it was fine art for one of my husband’s birthdays and the car museum was happy to get it. It’s hanging in their research library where people who are restoring antique cars come to play. Sometimes giving something away feels great.

My house cleaner is coming today and I’ll go to my last book club tomorrow followed by a lunch date on Saturday with a very old friend, so I can almost promise, positively (well maybe) that the 'D' word won’t come up in my next post or two. But be forewarned, my husband didn’t nickname me "One Track Jean" for nothing. ©