Antique tea set

This entry is a bit of a reversal. More like a “currently mine.”

Present: Unbeknownst to me, over the last eight or so years, my father and his soon-to-be wife had been perusing antique shops and fairs in search of a perfectly mismatched bone china tea set for me. With the sixth and final teacup purchased just a month or so ago—the set was complete, and ready for them to present to me for my birthday. I was completely surprised and delighted to receive my very own china tea set—not to mention, truly touched by the years of thought that went into this special project. They had fun working on it, they said, and I feel regal sipping my tea from one of these dainty little cups.

Past: Of course, I would have love to have known the stories behind these items—who owned them prior to me, where did they live, in what manner were they used, etc.—but that is to remain a mystery. So, I did the next best thing: a little Google research. Here’s what I know about a few of the pieces . . .

Teapot: Manufactured by Homer Laughlin and distributed by Household Institute, this Priscilla pattern teapot dates back to 1944.

Creamer & sugar bowl: This floral Wedgwood pattern is stamped with the date August 1922 (or 1923) on the bottom. The handles have a unique look and feel with a gently twisted green stripe pattern.

Yellow teacup: Manufactured by a company called Aynsley that makes bone china in England, this cup seems to date back to 1934. I love the buttercup-yellow scalloped exterior of this cup!

Cream scalloped teacup: This was the last piece that my dad and Nancy picked up from a place called United House Wrecking in Stamford, CT. It’s a Wedgwood teacup, Edme is the pattern, and one site tells me that it is from the 1970s, while another says it dates back to 1908. Whoa, 100 years old! Though, quite possibly, this cup and saucer were not exactly meant to go together. The stamp on the bottom of the saucer doesn’t quite match the cup—though they’re both the Edme pattern. I suspect it’s the cup that’s really old. It looks like it has history behind it.

Green-tipped teacup: This is the one piece that’s from Japan, manufactured by Noritake. Apparently, this company had a million and one different styles to its insignia that it stamped on the bottom of its pieces. Presumably, this piece is from the 1930s or 1940s.

Pale yellow border teacup: And this is the one piece that’s from the U.S. It’s a pattern called Her Majesty, and it’s made by America Chinaware Corp. No info on the date—and it feels a bit sturdier than some of the other pieces. I feel like it came from a proper yet modest household—and that they used their china on a regular basis. And why not? Nice things don’t deserve to stay in hiding . . .

My old chest of drawers

Past: For the first six or so years of my life, I had this ugly grey bedroom furniture that had belonged to my father, I believe, when he was a boy. But I was just a little kid. What did I know—or care—about furniture. And then, one day, along came this new (massive!) bedroom furniture. A full-size bed with a headboard, dresser with mirror, chest of drawers, and a nightstand. It was very grown-up looking. And brown. I hated brown. Especially when I started to notice that my friends all had pretty white bedroom furniture with little pink flowers painted on it. Oh, how I wanted furniture with pink flowers, too. It’s only redeeming quality was that the middle section of the brass handles looked a lot like Sally from the Peanuts.

A decade or so later, I grew into this furniture and its classic good looks and quality craftsmanship were something at last I could appreciate. After graduating from college, this dresser, the nightstand, and my bed and headboard came with me to my first apartment in Boston. They later came with me to my Newton apartment and—with enough wall space at last—I was able to bring up the dresser and mirror, too. Of course, things were still pretty cramped. Even now as a happy homeowner—I just didn’t have enough room for all this furniture in the bedroom.

Present: I’ve seen enough of those home decor shows on HGTV to know that I only had one choice: I had to remove a piece of furniture from the bedroom. And with nowhere else to put that piece of furniture—but enough closet space to hang all those clothes—I posted it on Craigslist for $50—and a story. I needed to know it was going to the right home—and that it wouldn’t be cast out to the curb in a year or two along with the particleboard furniture.

The woman I sold it to had just moved into an apartment in the North End from out of state and was looking to get settled without spending too much money. What really interested me though was that she already had one dresser that looked to be almost an exact replica of the one I was selling. This made me feel like I was reuniting long-lost twins or something! Her aunt and a good friend came down in a minivan to pick up the dresser, told me how nice of a dresser it was—and how much it looked like the other woman’s—and that was that.

I’d be lying if I told you that I wasn’t at all sad seeing the minivan drive off with my childhood dresser . . . but I’m confident that it went to the right new home.

Pikachu keychain

Past: I’d say that I don’t really know were my love of Pikachu things came from . . . but c’mon now. Just look at that face. Is Pikachu not the most adorable little cartoon character you’ve ever seen?

Anyway—I remember this keychain came from a box of Rice Krispies that Andrew bought back in 2000ish. Knowing I had a thing for Pikachu, he gave me the prize from his cereal box. Awww . . . I held onto this thing for all these years—never using it as a keychain because the keys would scratch the paint off of his adorable little face and that would make me sad. So, instead, he lived a repressed life in my desk drawer. Until I decided that it was time I part with my Pikachu toy. But just this one. Not my tamagatchi, stapler, squeeze toy, or—heaven forbid—Scott’s Pikachu toothbrush. Not yet . . .

Present: One of my coworkers has pretty much every free space on her office walls decorated with photographs, drawings, and various other mementos. One of the many drawings she has hanging up was done by her six-year-old son. It’s of Pikachu. It’s ridiculous and adorable all at once. And completely identifiable by its rosy red cheeks.

Her son is into all things Pikachu. So much so that he told his mama that he’s supporting Obama because his name sounds like a Pokemon character (like Pikachu!). I can totally get behind that logic.

So, when I came across this adorable but unused keychain in my desk drawer, I thought I’d give it to my coworker for her son. She laughed when I came into her office with it dangling from my finger—but said that she knew somebody who’d absolutely love it.

Piggy bank

Past: I picked up this adorable little piggy bank on my family vacation to Orlando in July 1984. Still, I can remember pulling the dollar bills out of my red velcro wallet in the gift shop at the China pavilion at Epcot to pay for it with my own money.

For years, this piggy bank sat on my dresser, and then on my bookshelves in college. And then, it kind of went into hiding. The rubber stopper on the bottom had long since disentegrated and the joy of dropping a coin into the money slot was a thing of the past.

But I wasn’t ready to part with this rosy-cheeked piglet with the endearing smile. So I carried her from apartment to apartment and house to house—along with eight million other knicknacks—knowing someday I’d find her a new home.

Present: I posted this bank for free on Craigslist, along with a photo. Soon after, I received an e-mail from a woman (whose name also happens to be Holly) who thought that the bank was adorable and that the smile on the piggy reminded her of her husband. How charming! Right away, I knew this little piggy bank would be in good hands for many more years to come.

Costume jewelry

Past: This faux pearl and diamond costume jewelry is dainty and lady-like and—if I remember correctly—came from the display case of the “fancy” jewelry at Claire’s in Selinsgrove, PA. I only wore it a handful of times—mostly to sorority formals during college. Low-budget bling. But I loved it!

For 10-plus years it sat in the corner pocket of my jewelry box—a little nest of baubles and fake gold. I knew I was never going to wear it again—and I was certain there was a girly-girl out there somewhere who would enjoy wearing it to her high school prom—so up it went onto Craigslist.

Present: I was hit hard with requests for this jewelry—which surprised me. Some of the stories people sent me were quite sweet. A jobless mom who had recently moved here from the Philippines who didn’t really have much money to spend on nice jewelry to wear with her dress to the three weddings she had coming up. A daughter who wanted to give her mom something pretty for Mother’s Day. A self-proclaimed poor guy who just wanted to give his wife something pretty. Others, too. Including a couple people who wrote just to say they thought it was nice of me to be giving away something pretty, especially with prom season ahead of us. I was touched.

Because it was just costume jewelry—pretty but chintzy costume jewelry—I decided the best home for my jewelry would be to a girl who would wear it to her prom—and maybe some other dress-up occasions. Like I did.

I passed the jewelry along to a woman from Arlington whose niece was attending her high school prom this spring. The girl’s mother had found her a gently worn prom dress and now her aunt was going to complete the ensemble with some pretty second-hand jewelry so that the girl would feel like the belle of the ball. And it was that phrase—the belle of the ball—and the memories of having the excited butterfly feeling in my heart when getting all dressed up for my own prom that convinced me this was the right person to pass my costume jewelry along to.

Doll clothes

Past: Back in 1984, I loved my Cabbage Patch Kids as much as any mother loved her living, breathing babies. But somewhere along the way—about 15 years later—my dolls got left behind in the basement of my first apartment. I didn’t realize it until many years later when I came across a box full of their clothes, and no dolls. Oops. Sorry, kids.

But their clothes were awesome! Many of them handmade by my Grandma Marge back in the day. And many of them made out of polyester fabrics that—chances are—used to be curtains in the 1970s. Alas, I was doll-less. And 33 years old. These doll clothes needed a new home.

Present: I work with a woman who has three adorable girls—six-year-old twins and older daughter who’s nine. I remember that I was nine years old when I hopped aboard the Cabbage Patch wagon—so I thought it would be nifty to pass them along to another nine-year-old and her younger sisters. So, I washed all the clothes to get rid of the stale smell of 20+ years of non-use (except for the faux-fur coat, muff, and hat), folded everything neatly into a shopping bag, and brought them in to work.

As you can see, these doll clothes are having a good life in their new home. Last I heard, the girls were getting their teddy bears in on the dress-up action. Hooray for new homes for old stuff!

A doll named Bug

Past: This is Bug. She is a collectible Deva doll handmade somtime around 1993 by a woman named Jackie Austin who lived in a house that was both in the woods and along the shore in Connecticut. (Deva is a Sanskrit word for “Angel.”) Jackie and my mother used to be good friends, and for a while my mother sold Jackie’s dolls at arts & crafts shows all around Connecticut. At one point, everyone in my family was involved in the Deva doll business. My father cut the wood for the base, my brother drilled the holes in the wood (ten cents per hole), and for the summer in between college and “the real world,” I glued eyes into the dolls’ heads and helped craft some of the doodads affixed to the hand-dyed clothes.

For years, Bug sat on my bookcase shelves during college and perched upon my dresser in the years following—staring both blankly and wisely upon me. Her “story” (all the Deva dolls have a Legend) was that she was the protector of Little Things and kept them from being or feeling trampled upon. Bug stood as a quiet reminder that it need not be so. Every living creature deserves to be treated fairly and kindly.

The lore is charming and thought-provoking, indeed. But the doll is just not quite my style. So, at some point during a move from one apartment to another, Bug (and my other Deva doll, Cassie) never got unpacked. For years, they remained in storage—wrapped up in a (very un-natural) plastic shopping bag. (Oh, bad karma!)

Present: I posted an ad and photo of Bug on Craigslist—and got a ton of responses. In the end, this doll went to a man whose younger sister has AIDS and, because of her illness, has been stepped upon by her own brothers and sisters. I thought it was beautiful that this man wanted to share with his sister this token of comfort and hope, and I couldn’t be happier to have given this collectible doll a new home—and a mission.