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.

Irons, Tea Cups and Teddy Bears

I don’t read a lot of Dean Koontz books but I’m glad I read his Seize the Night simply because I was able to get one of my favorite quotes from that book:

“My mother’s favorite things were not my mother---they were merely her ‘things’---yet, though we like to believe that memories are as permanent as engravings in steel, even memories of love and great kindness are in fact frighteningly ephemeral in their details, and we remember best those that are linked to places and things; memory embeds in the form and weight and texture of real objects, and there it endures to be brought forth vividly with a touch.”

That quote gives me permission to be sentimental about objects that I enjoy having in the house. For example, I have a child’s size electric iron---about five inches long---that actually works plus the ironing board that goes with it. Can you image giving a child a toy like that today? It was mine when I was a kid and my parents can thank the gods of good luck that I didn’t burn the house down while ironing clothes for my paper dolls. Back when I was a kid girls were around nine-ten when we graduated to ironing with our mother’s irons doing pillow cases, handkerchiefs and other flats. The bigger I got, the more ironing became my responsibility and back then everything needed ironing. There was no such thing as iron free or wrinkle resistant cloth. When I was older and became a “career woman” I took all my ironing to a widow woman who pressed it perfectly while I was at work and I’d pick it back up on my way home. I hated ironing, still do and I base my whole wardrobe around that fact.

I’ve always credited the grandmother of my best friend growing up for my love of old objects. She had such beautiful tea cups and other things and each came with a story. My grandparents were all dead by the time I was two so my friend’s grandmother became the prototype, in my mind, for what all grandmothers should be. Now I’m the old woman with interesting objects that all have stories. Generation teaching generation. When Mrs. K. passed away after having had dementia for several years the person who did the eulogy said something I’ve never forgotten. He said that even after she lost her memory she was still of service to her family because her illness taught so many lessons in unconditional love. Those of us who’ve cared for a relative with dementia can relate to that.

I was Don’s caregiver for over twelve years and in those years I learned a lot about myself---my strengths, my weaknesses, what I valve, what I don’t as well as what Don valued and the depth of his character. I’d always known he was strong and determined but it was never so apparent than in those post-stroke years. He fought so hard for his limited recovery and he did it without complaint or the bitterness you see in so many other people who’ve had life changing disabilities. But there was another side to Don as well, a sweetly sentimental side that I remember every time I see his childhood teddy bear sitting on its shelf. Its form and weight and texture, like Dean Koontz said, brings back so many memories. Like the day Don got mad at the dog for playing with his teddy bear. It was the only time in all 42 years that I knew him that he ever raised his voice to any of the dogs we ever had. He was always the big, strong macho guy who carried my little dogs around every where we went and openly showered them with affection. But Sarah, Jason, Cooper and now Levi never got a chance to play with Don’s teddy bear again after Sarah’s first transgression. And this memory leads to another, of my mother telling us: “That dog as legs. Let him use them!" ©