Some families have heirloom crown jewels, priceless art, or historic documents; my family had a radio. Of course we have other special things, but one little Sony has filled the places we love with music, recorded voices and captured our energy.

Upon discovering some of Papas handmade tapes, I decided it was time to digitize his many interviews, songs and lectures.  I pulled out my sweet little stereo, given to me by Papa when I bought my first house, and attempted to load the ancient tapes into my computer.  The "Silver Fox Sony" had finally taken a bow.

As a die-hard purger, I can happily throw away most things; this radio I could not.  So, one day last week, I put on my "go green" hat and set out to salvage anything I could.

As I unscrewed and detached, inspiration hit.  From the buttons to the counter, many pieces seemed art worthy.  I was able to make 2 necklaces, a key chain and 4 pair of cufflinks.  What wonderful "heirloom" gifts these will make in our difficult year ahead.

Last week, I was sucked into the vacuum that goes by the name of "Thrift Store".  This particular store is NEW to Mankato and carries only furniture.

Is it just me, or every time you are about to start something new, do you for a brief moment think you will be the best at it in the world? Upholstery was my task last week and although I don't claim to have dominated the sport, I did learn a valuable lesson...you have to be the life of your own party.

Bringing a $10 (on sale from $35) davenport home from the thrift store is something of fairy tales...finding fabric I LOVE on clearance leaves me speechless...having my husband simply sigh at the many adventures of the right side of my brain is...typical.

Amidst a household of doubt, I started the week by tearing off vomit colored, plastic-like upholstery and found a beautiful diamond in the rough piece of furniture.  Not only is this sweet little LoveSeat an antique, it is also a hide-a-bed.

Spending countless hours dreaming, shopping and collecting the perfect pieces of textile for my great find, yesterday I started the process of putting it back together.

Rockin' out to some of my favorite music, I slowly decided that this couch was just for me.  Being my first larger upholstery installation, I figure no one could enjoy it as much as myself...the one who tore it limb from limb, tenderly preserved the old batting and placed many stitches by hand.  Each staple, stretch and fold was made by my fingers after dark; all while picturing the great literature I could enjoy atop it's cushion.  Perhaps I will share Narnia with Axel on this very seat.

Upholstery can be emotional...or was that the Sheryl Crow?  Late last night I hammered my last nail and received a not-so-enthusiastic "great" from Jahred.  I received a fabric critique from my mother and when I asked Jahred to help me move it upstairs, so I could clean up the staples that had missed the mark, he appeared annoyed and said, "when I'm done".  Well, thats when I figured that celebrating yourself may be the only celebration you get.

It lost a little of it's magic upon seeing it in the daylight this morning, but I still believe it's more than "great".  In the future, you can find me on my davenport...it is uniquely mine and I shall use it as a reminder to sit down and give myself a break.

As I cleaned up the kitchen this evening, I saw Jahred looking at my handy-work and then take a seat.  In his own time, he always approves.

At the close of last week, my machine decided it had had enough. Not willing to let go of my greatest Salvation Army find, I desperately brought it to the 90 year old woman who repairs machines in my town.  After a brief lecture on the complete filth my machine contained (Seriously, who has time to take their machine apart for a regular bath??), she diagnosed it with an unknown ailment and told me she "would do her best".

With all my trust in this spry old gem, I left my baby with her for the weekend, complete with notes on how it likes to be treated and all of my "incase of emergency" phone numbers.  Not more than 36 hours later, my savior called and said the Singer would be just fine.

Getting my machine out of hawk cost a mere $20, but also a little shame for the abuse I bestow on it.  I carefully brought the Singer back home, and just stared for the whole of 1 day at it.

Almost as exciting and nerve-wracking as driving a new car, I carefully made the first stitches on the machine.  Smoothly I glided over the first zipper and cautiously I stitched even tough upholstery. For a while I'm sure I'll drive it like a new car, but inevitably things will get rough once more.

It's nice to know that a sweet old fashioned girl like myself has got my back, and values preserving the old as much as I do.  I promised to be back within the year for a good scrubbing and a little TLC.

New fabric...new name.  Formerly "the Girlfriend", now the "amiga" (spanish for girlfriend). The fish are FABULOUS if I might say so myself.

Every autumn of our relationship, Jahred and I have found ultimate satisfaction in apple picking.  On HWY 169 (the 80 mile stretch of road we figure to have driven more than 2000 times together) an orchard sits atop the hill.  Along side the road, a billboard posts updates throughout the summer on the apple growth.

Starting out in early spring, the board may say "pruning the trees". "The apples are the size of golfballs"...thats the point where we get excited.  Watching the sign, gazing up the hill, and driving past...this is how we spend our summer in the car.

Late August and into September we are glued to the weather radar for a glimpse of that perfect weekend to ride the hay wagon, be dropped off at the special picking location, and to hunt through acres of trees for the most perfect apples.

The real reason I married Jahred wasn't for his "awesome cleaning skills", his "mad lawn mowing skills" or his "ability to wear even my home-grown haircuts"...it was because everyone knows the best apples are at the top of the tree...Jahred is 6'4".  (By the way, the first 2 example reasons to marry him are sarcastic...just wanted to clear that up.)

Today turned out to be THE day. We had the complete package; great weather, a kid that behaved, success at cramming more apples than humanly possible into the $10 all-you-can-stuff bag, and we came right home to our NEW "Ultimate Apple Peeler, Slicer, Corer" (UAPSC...as we affectionately call it).  The yummiest part of our tradition is creating an apple sauce that not only adds a layer of "stick" to our kitchen, it tastes GREAT.

To spare you the details of me crying over such a divinely created machine as the UAPSC...I will just tell you that over the past few years I have lost plenty of religion over the peeling of hundreds of apples.  This machine saved my life today, and perhaps my marriage.

While I was waiting for the apples to cook down into the apple sauce we LOVE because it's our OWN, Jahred took the boys for a walk. Therapeutically stirring and mashing, I wondered if the old apple trees notice all the couples like us that start with two holding hands and blossom into a family.  Each year I crave the smell a little more, feel more a part the earth, become grounded once again, and then I miss it for 364 days until the next autumn. 

peels are pretty...but cinnamon and sugar are yummy

My first spoonful...no matter how old you get, you never become patient enough to let it cool.

Having denied myself the privilege of professional hair care due to budget constraints, I have taken on the task of cutting my own hair. It hasn't been colored or cut professionally in over a year and a half. I did have to splurge this week however because the hair thickening product that I thought could be nixed...turns out I really need.

Not willing to spring for the $36 Bumble and Bumble thickening product that I absolutely ADORE, I stopped in a beauty supply store and settled on a $14 bottle of the brand name "Rusk" - thickr.

I brought it home and it sat on the counter since I had no need to shower at the time; but right as I was going to bed, I thought I would take a sniff.  Not sure why I needed to sniff a chemical product, but craving a salon/spa experience, I opened up the top.

With one simple wave in front of my nose, about 10,000 memories flooded my conscience.  The Rusk I now had in my possession smelled JUST LIKE "ck ONE".  ck meaning Calvin Klein of course and 'ONE' being the name of a fragrance that I couldn't get enough of in the 90's.  I can picture the boys I crushed on, the girls that didn't invite me to birthday parties and the ads where I caught my first glimpse of men in low rise denim sans shirt.  

ck ONE was the definition of sex appeal for me and possibly the first unisex fragrance to be marketed to a younger audience.  Just like other popular trends, I was denied a bottle of this liquid sexiness, but wasn't stopped from peeling open the fragrance flaps in Vogue and desperately rubbing the scent on my clothes.

ck ONE advertised to the "the only one" and the commercials play in my mind as if I am watching them live.

The next day, I took just one more whiff to make sure I hadn't dreamt the smell...nope, definitely not of my imagination...it's got that unmistakable scent.

Was it a twist of fate that I should choose this brand from hundreds of others, or is it just luck that with every shower I get to think of the past, feel confident in the present and look to the future with HOT hair.

Was ck ONE "my only one"?  Probably not, but it must have been something, or that scent would have been shelved in my mind with the rest of the 90's long ago.