My guest room really isn't for guests--it's where I can display all my really feminine treasures and not make Mike feel overwhelmed by them in our bedroom. As he says, I've never met a surface that I didn't immediately cover with "stuff" and the guest room is no exception. At least once a day I'll go in there, sit on the daybed and just look at all my beautiful things. It's the kind of meditation that only a true hoarder can understand . . . and I know you do. First, my art pottery collection (plus that incredible green horse TV lamp). Many of these items have been purchased over the years at the Peter Anderson Festival in Ocean Springs, MS, a festival chock-a-block full of amazing potters, sculptors, metal artisans, art dollmakers and more.
When my brother-in-law John's not training high school pole-vaulting or creating software programs for police departments or competitive bicycling or beating up nerds at the ju-jitsu (or whatever it is) class, he builds and refinishes furniture in those 10 seconds of spare time he has. He did an absolutely incredible job with a dresser I found in Illinois and you can see a little bit of it in this photo. Also on view is an absolutely gorgeous Westmoreland pink glass Shell candy dish, a porcelain kitty cat and a couple perfume bottles.
On the other side of the dresser are two pretty poodles sans tails (you get them ALOT cheaper without tails!) and my handsome hubby's wedding picture. Lord god he was young!!!
Here's what's in the middle of the dresser--a sparkling cut glass vanity tray with perfume bottles, powder boxes, candleholders and a ring holder. It came from an estate sale where everything was in beautiful condition AND reasonably priced. The tray is proof that I didn't just dream about an estate sale like that!
I don't really consider myself a doll collector but these little Avon dolls are pretty cute. Oh wait a minute--I have five million Barbies. Belay that "I'm not a doll collector" crapola.
Mom bought the large rocker at a country auction in Alabama. The smaller one was hers since childhood. When she was living with me she kept saying she wanted to knit, so I got her needles and yarn from her house and bless her heart, she really did try to make something. Unfortunately, her fingers were so gnarled from arthritis that it just wasn't possible. I couldn't bring myself to get rid of the yarn supplies after she died last year, even though I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I personally will never ever ever in a million years learn how to knit.
The little house under the rocker is a Plasticville Ranch House. Cute, huh?
The sweet teddy bear was handmade from a vintage chenille bedspread.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes our tour of Vintage Christine's guest room. You've already toured her bathroom. Next stop . . . THE CAVERN OF HORRORS, better known as my office. Naw--I'd better leave well enough alone and let you continue to think I'm (probably ) not really THAT insane. Because if you saw my office you'd be sending the paddy wagon over mighty darn fast.
My dad's back in the hospital--staph infection again. Just remember when you get depressed and defeated: If my 84-year old dad can survive everything he's been through, there's no reason on earth why YOU can't!