If they don't have it, you don't need it

{Hardware store dog (Bo), originally uploaded by estteolson}

I had to go to Home Desperate this weekend to pick up some little thing and I was dreading it. I miss small mom & pop hardware stores like the one in the town I grew up in. It had creaky old wooden floors and the store was really narrow but ran the full length of the building. You could get keys made, buy tools and grass seed, pick out paint and wallpaper and order lumber. But you could also get some Pfalzgraff (when they still had only 6 patterns and hadn't moved into every outlet mall in Suburbanville), a hurricane lamp, real linen dishtowels, a crock pot, baking pans, horsehair brushes, and a red flyer wagon. I bought a steamed pudding mold there that I still use. I think there was a cat. If there wasn't, there should have been. They had the best selection of greeting cards, lots of Boynton, Kliban and other non-Hallmark staples. There was a simplicity about shopping there that the big box stores completely lack. You could walk in, find what you wanted pretty quickly (and if not, someone who worked there -- and who actually knew what they were talking about -- would help you find it). You didn't have to hike through a huge warehouse of a store, and there were only two or three options at most for each item, not like the option overload of modern-day shopping.

I know there are still stores like this -- there's one on the main street of the town just west of mine. But they are a dying breed, and those that are still around are having to scale back on what they offer as the big box stores eat their profits. I know for a fact that the store near me did not have the item I ended up buying at HD, because I went there first. I did, however, buy some soy candles, a flower pot, and some picture hooks. ;-)

New birds on the block Nos. 9 and 10

{Birdie Mobile by spindesigns}

Mrs. French was loving this pretty mobile today, and it just so happened I was looking for some new birdies to post. I love the simplicity of silhouettes, and this design has simultaneously captured the whimsy of a vintage design with the spareness of a modern look. Plus there is some assembly required, so you get to feel crafty, like you made it yourself (well, if you happened to have some museum mat board and a laser cutter lying around). You can pick it up at SpinDesigns' Etsy shop.

{Michelle Jank dress, photo from Courtoture.com}

All Things Bright And Beautiful is another daily haunt, and she was obviously feeling my bird vibe today, as she posted this and other dresses by Australian designer Michelle Jank. A true flight of fancy, no?

Not your average brown bag

{A b.happy bag in the Leslie pattern}

I'm managing a big event in Chicago in a couple of weeks, and among the schwag are these fantastic, upholstery-grade, 100% cotton, made-in-the-USA grocery (etc.) bags from b.happybags. We ordered three different fabrics (because we couldn't decide on just one) and hopefully there won't be too many fistfights over who gets which pattern. I'm partial to this pattern, since I have a thing for Jacobean prints, and I think the plaid on the side is not as Burberry-ish as it looks in this pic.

b.happybags was started by two Phoenix-area women whose goal in producing these bags "is to appeal to the people that think you have to don your Birkenstocks to make a wise post consumer decision." Plus its way cooler to carry your cat litter in a Pucci-inspired tote.

The last thing I need, however, is another cotton grocery bag. I have been bringing my own bags to the grocery store for about 6 months now, and while I occasionally have need of a paper grocery sack to store the newspapers before recycling, for the most part it has been an easy switch for me. And I actually remember to bring them into the store with me 99% of the time. I keep them all in my trunk in a tote-shaped basket with leather handles that I use for heavier canned goods.

Okay, maybe just one more bag...

Happy Birthday Shakespeare

{The esteemed Bill S., doesn't look a day over 443.

Portrait attributed to John Taylor. Pic from Tudor History}

My first encounter with The Bard was at McDonalds when I was in grammar school. No, he was not shakin' down the Hamburglar for some change so he could buy an apple pie. He was, however, plastered all over the place in a 1970s Tudorbethan fantasy of "stained glass" windows and half-timbering, interspersed with stencils of famous lines from his plays. Very Merrie Olde England.

Why, you may ask (and I did when I was a kid) was this place an homage to Shakespeare? Because it was in a town called Stratford, named for the fair city over the pond, home of the Globe Theater abroad and the (now defunct) American Shakespeare Theater here. Back in the day, my parents tell me, the AST was the place for great theater in the region, Shakespeare or otherwise. Folks drove for miles to see Christopher Plummer, John Houseman, Lynn Redgrave, etc. perform on its stage, and restaurants in the area did a brisk trade in pre- and post-theater dining. The Bard became a bit of a theme and I guess McD's just jumped on the bandwagon.

I half remember someone's birthday party (mine perhaps? Third grade?), sitting with a group of classmates in two booths that spanned the end of the aisle. We took turns eating each other's fries (back when they were cooked in beef fat and quite tasty) and reading the quotes on the wall, but we were too young to understand them or their references, and too engrossed in our smorgasboard to care. Fast food was a rare treat then, and going to McDonald's for someone's birthday was a novelty. We were easily entertained.

Table for 4 please, in the "Rose by Any Other Name" section if you have it.

Every day is Earth Day

{aluminum oxygen tanks abandoned on top of the world become Bells of Everest}

Okay, I won't even get started on the whole commercialism of Earth Day, aka, the new Christmas. Ick. Is this really a reason for a sale at Home Depot? Or Best Buy? Or Bob's Matresses? I'm ashamed of our culture sometimes.

Here is one of my favorite executions of recycling: take something that is almost impossible to discard (because of the inaccessibility of proper disposal - read Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air if you haven't already to understand the lethal beauty and futility of climbing Everest). Bells of Everest, located in Maine, collects discarded aluminum oxygen tanks and turns them into unique bells and gorgeous bowls. Even the scraps from separating the two halves get made into lovely ornaments. I love the idea of taking something so utilitarian and turning it into something beautiful when its useful life is over, rather than letting it forever litter the side of a mountain. If you can't make it to the top of the world, at least a bit of it can come to you.

{the bottom of a tank makes a stunning bowl, from Bells of Everest}