STILL Cleaning Out: The Vase is Familiar

I've been hampered in my cleaning efforts for the past few weeks due to plantar fasciitis (pronounced "plant-er fash-ee-i-tis").  Or, for people in the know "sore heel syndrome."  How do you know if you're in the know?  Well, you are now, because I just told you!  Anyway, it hurts when I walk and there isn't a doo-wap* thing I can do about it.  Oh, I got advice from my doctor.  No going barefoot.  Shoes with high heels are best.  (The only shoes I have with a heel are my party shoes!)  Prognosis:  Whenever it's over, it won't hurt anymore.  Huh.  And he gets paid for that!

For a few days, I still had boxes from the shed that I was sorting through.  So I sat on the couch and, during old episodes of Hart to Hart, Hawaii Five-O and Gunsmoke, I sorted through the last several boxes.  They were mostly decorative items.  I put some starch in my spine and even weeded out some of the Precious Moments figurines.  After three or four boxes, I realized that there were a lot of vases.  Not big, fancy heirloom pieces.  Just regular vases sized from one bud vase through some for a half-dozen flowers up to a couple for two dozen roses.  (Not that I've ever received two dozen roses, but you never know!)

It's ironic really.  A couple of years ago--I think it was for my birthday--a dear friend of mine gave me a rose.  Just a single rose, but I was touched.  When I got home, I looked for a vase.  I found the little bud vase.  I found a big bouquet vase.  Nothing for a single rose.  So I improvised.  I used a champagne flute.  Why not?  I rarely get champagne.  Might as well use it for something!  I brought the flute with it's single, perfect rose up to my room.  Where it sat.  And dried out.  I couldn't have dried it more perfectly if I tried.  (What does that say about the aridness of my room??)  For a while I pondered what to do with it.  I considered a shadow box.  Then, a few months ago, the choice was taken from me.  ~Sigh~  If you know me at all and pay attention to most of my subject matter, I'm sure you can guess what happened.  A certain copper-striped cat clambered over the shih tzu* behind my little frig and got hold of the dried rose.  Ripped it to shreds and ate half of it.  She didn't touch the baby's breath, though.  She is, after all, a discriminating gourmand!

So, back to the vases.  In order to more expeditiously weed out some of the vases, I brought the ones I'd unpacked into the kitchen.  I retrieved another couple from the china cabinet.  I evaluated each piece by 1.  How old it was; 2.  Whether I bought it or it was a gift; and 3.  Did I like it.  When I was done, I was left with these keepers:

L-R:  A green vase just because I like the color; a cut-glass vase
 that was my grandmother's; a Princess House vase;
a bud vase I found at an arts & crafts fair; a blue and white vase
because I like the scenes; a crystal bud vase my daughter gave me;
and a clear, fat vase because it's good for a larger bouquet.

Not that I need to justify my choices, of course.  I'm just sayin'.

Tabitha trying to look cute after I scold her.
I think she looks more annoyed than
submissive, but what do I know?

Because Tabitha insists on helping me, two vases were broken.  Fortunately, I was going to put them in the give-away, but still, it's the principle of the thing.  She had no business trying to jump up on the boxes where I had set the vases.  It wasn't my fault that they were perched rather precariously on a rickety box.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it

So, what's left is going in the give-away:

These were all freebies, I think.

I'm still thinking about that milk-glass vase.  No special attachment to it, but...  No.  No, I must not second guess myself.  It stays in the give-away box.  Probably.

There are still boxes in the shed and, I'm reasonably sure, there will be another vase or two.  It seems to me I had bought a vase in Israel.  I'll keep that, of course.  There may be a ceramic plant pot from when Brittany was born and I got a lot of plants in cute little baby-themed pots.  I guess I'll find out soon enough.  

With my foot on the mend, and a couple of nice days ahead, I'll try to pull in the other boxes.  However, I need to get that backyard door overhang down.  It won't be easy!  You should see the bolts my father used.  And the support posts are affixed to cement shoes.  But that's what sledgehammers are for, right?

*I'm trying to clean up my language a bit.  Not that I'm particularly foul-mouthed, but anger-management advice is "No curse words!"  So, I'm trying.