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Saturday, October 29, 2011


Mathuw elvn, vursz 25-30

Sleep for teh Tiredz

25 At the time Jebus saz, "Ai praized yu, Father lords of teh Ceiling and Urf, cuz yu have hidded dese things from teh wize and learnered, and showed dem to teh kittehs.26 Yes Dad, this was gewd timez.
27 "All things has be done to me by mah fasha. Nobody knows teh Son except teh Fasha, and nobody knows teh Father cept teh Son and dose who teh Son shows he. 28 "Comed to me, all yu who is tiredz and hurted, and ai shall gived yu sleepz.29 Taked mai good onto you and learnz from me, for Iz gentle and calmed in teh heart, Srsly and you will find sleepz for yur solez.30 For mai good are easy and mai hard times are light. Srsly"

dis b teh werdz of ceeling cat

tnx b too ceeling cat

go ehn pees and survz teh ceeling cat











Vintage TEAPOT, BOUQUET by ARTHUR WOOD Cacophony of FLOWERS No Chips or Cracks-$34

The Eel and White Rivers meet up just outside the little farming community in southern Indiana where I grew up. The tallest building in town was the grain elevator, and the population was around 1180; at least that’s what the marker signs on both ends of town claimed. I doubt anyone ever counted, and even if they did, they’d have missed a few because several folks had the habit of making themselves scarce. It would have been much easier to count the teapots than the souls.


The only reason I mention all that is because I remember vividly the only two occasions I was served tea from a teapot rather than from a cup with a string and a paper tag dangling over the side. The first time was with my First Grade teacher, a lady whose goal was not only to teach us what we’d need to know, but also to expose us to the traditions of foreign cultures such as those we might face if we ever left Greene County.


The teapot she used was very much like this one, which is 9” stem to stern and covered with summer flowers.


But the other time was much weirder; or at least I thought so at the time. Maybe it’s because I was older. Maybe it was because I was in the home of a woman whose reputation, whether justified or not, was somewhat flawed. Don’t get the wrong idea. I was there because I was friends with her three sons, and they were triplets about two years older than I.


Triplets were rare back then. Keck, Eck and Cleal were the only ones in the county as far as I know. Remember, there were no fertility clinics back in those days. There was, however, the alley behind the pool hall, and that’s where Keck, Eck’n Cleal’s mother made enough money to survive.

Other than the “tea incident,” which I'll tell you about in a minute, I have only one other memory of her. It was cold, as cold as I remember any night in February. She came in through the back door of the pool hall, closed the door behind her and pulled out a tissue. She turned back to face the door and quietly blew her nose. She then reached in her purse and pulled out a tiny bottle of Magnolia perfume. She wore a heavy wool coat, far more Army surplus than Haute couture. It was buttoned all the way up, the lapels nearly reaching her shoulders. She turned up one of the lapels and poured enough of that perfume on the underside to darken a spot about the size of a silver dollar and walked immediately to her post at one end of the bar.


We sat in silence; me waiting for Keck, Eck and Cleal - she, clearing a spot on her "shop project" coffee table and strolling back and forth from living room to kitchen. When the pot whistled, she prepared the brew as I looked at my wrist wishing I had a watch to watch. Finally, she poured the tea and leaned back in her velour easy chair, worn slick on the arms and back, and then she raised her cup holding it high waiting for me to do the same, which I did. Her face was expressionless as she pulled her bare feet up under her leaving her pink fuzzy slippers on the floor in front of her chair.

“Blow,” she said. “It’s hot.”

I did, and we both took a sip and placed our cups in their saucers. She cleared her throat, lit a cigarette cupping her hands around the match out of habit. After she raised her head skyward and blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling, she looked me right in the eyes and asked; “What have you heard about me?”


A thousand things I’d heard about her raced through my mind, but I couldn’t think of any one thing to say. My silence lasted what seemed like an eternity. Two dogs began to fight in the dirt yard outside her two room "cottage," but their spat stopped when a trucker used his jake breaks as he began picking up a little too much speed descending the hill leading into town.

My hands shook as I picked up my cup for a second sip. She recognized my total panic and was about to speak when I finally remembered how my voice worked.

“Keck, Eck’n Cleal say you’re a good mom,” I said.


She smiled and laughed out loud, and it was one of the most pleasant laughs I’ve heard – even to this day. All the joy left of her being was exposed in that single moment of happiness - betrayed only by the ocean of sadness that spilled onto her cheeks faster than she could wipe it away with the sleeve of her flannel shirt. I never saw her again. Nobody did; not even Keck, Eck’n Cleal.





prestige. not last day. little deals unless i find them. but WAUWATOSA!, old area! so, dive there + ooh baby. late 1800's. HUGE porch. lovely. painted antique rocker by front door. go in, ooh, beveled glass hall door. CRAMPED, so much stuff. was this stuff in attic? make my was into the liviing room. old upright piano behind a bookshelf and oh lordy. under the front window was a HUGE wood tool box, like 6 ft long, 4 ft deep, 4 ft wide, ful of amazing old planes and clamps and DROOL. WANT WANT WANT, MALLET, i spot a potato smoosher, see what he wants, mosly stuff i don't care about. move to the kitchen, thru the packed dinning room, small kitchen, NOTHING in the kitchen! small stairs to the basement, cramped and steep. 2 ways, i go east to the front of the house. old books, look thru them. old desk chair i sit on. ooh, a sled or children's toy made to look like an old car. ICE BOX, huge old perambulator! or strooler circa 1880's, work bench. meh. nothing else on that side. make was to other side. OOH, 5 gal? crock-BIRCH LEAF, tel bro to go upstairs and ask price while i go thru a big metal tub of cookie cutters. most banal, but i did find a wisconsin! i have one of those. EBAY. back upstairs. my brother said 2 bathrooms upstairs next to each other, bedrooms. nothing to buy, tho i should have taken pics of the stuff piled about. SQUIRREL!
i got the potato smosher + wis cookie cutter



george ohr

















Large OLD Queen HELMET CONCH SHELL ~ 11” of Grand Glorious Beauty - SEASHELL-$116



1960 valiant






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