Believed to be Beautiful: Buttons

I have quite a few in my collection, quite a few from my childhood - even more from other's childhoods - but these I keep on a thin green string hung near my desk. I like to admire them as if they are jewels, glinting in the light.

Believed to be Beautiful: Notes to Self

Old Post-It: First thoughts matter most.

Believed to be Beautiful: Doodle

So, today's bit of beauty is not technically from home, though I spend enough time at work that one might consider it a kind of "home" and as such, the same rules would apply, yes?

This doodle and note was scribbled out by a very sweet friend in the office, and though its sentiment is forthright and seemingly obvious, what makes it so beautiful to me comes down to one word: boring.

I believe, among the compliments a life might gather, that being one who makes a space less boring is among one of the very best possible traits to have recognized by friends and co-workers. I like a good story now and the, a little chuckle amidst the gloom, and I like even more when that's recognized by someone else I respect and enjoy. The little sun is beautiful, both in it's doodly lines, and its reminder of the silly it was created to remember.

Believed to be Beautiful: Pencil Sharpener

"I cut / / / / /

I multiply everyday images. I apply an aluminum point.

To the landscape.

To the sentence.

To the photo.

To the figure.

To the word."

-from "Grafik" by Juan Felipe Herrera

Believed to be Beautiful: Doily

"Somebody embroidered the doily.

Somebody waters the plant,

or oils it, maybe. Somebody

arranges the rows of cans

so that they softly say:

esso—so—so—so

to high-strung automobiles.

Somebody loves us all. "

-Elizabeth Bishop, from "Filling Station"

Today's beautiful comes courtesy of Lisa Solomon, and honestly, should have made its appearance here long, long ago when I was the lucky recipient of its glory after a drawing on her website. It is so delicate, so lovely, and at the same time, it is a reminder of everything I've known growing up - the strength of creating, the stability of the knotting, knitting, stitching, and gathering of threads by human hands. Often, at work at my desk, I run my hands over the tiny raise of the vinyl on the glass and I imagine that it's a kind of braille that tells the story of my childhood through the possibility of the future.

Believed to be Beautiful: Teeny Tiny

This one is an awkward shot, scanned in from film, cropped in awkward ways by what was mostly likely hurried and unsteady hands. The teeny tiny deer, bone china horse, and fishing gnome were all gifts from people I love. I give them each new stories each time I bend down to the shelf where they live. I should be honest and tell you that they were, after this roll of film was shot, joined by two small pink pigs, one itsy bitsy white mouse with his cheese, a tiny hippopotamus, and uniquely minuscule Donald and Daisy Duck, joined by an equally teeny Goofy. There's no use for them other than pure childlike joy, but I believe them to be beautiful with their tiny painted details (most of which are off-center), and their ability to remind me that small and silly is worth it - every time.

Believed to be Beautiful: Ice Cream Scoop

There are better ones, yes. There are ones that swoop the bottom of the curve to get the last bits, ensuring a picture perfect dome. There are ones that warm the pint, melting their way through the cream so that the arm rests. There are ones that heavier, made of metal. There are ones that are flat and allow for much, much more of the treat. There are ones, I have seen, that create neat little stacks, though I am not sure if stacks will ever rival the rotundity of the classic scoop, settled in its cloud of rough craggy cream.

This one, this one piece orange wonder, was my mother's ice cream scoop. In its life it has served most of the people I've loved. It's portioned out bowls of bliss for family, friends, boyfriends, and husbands. It's done so in many homes, through many states, by many hands. This scoop has helped heal heartaches, fulfill birthday wishes, reward triumphs, soothes defeats, and sometimes, simply helped to busy a worried mind.

This scoop requires, at times, the help of another force to clean its curve, to remove its scoop, to complete the cone. It isn't always the best with respect to form and function. It's set in its ways, this one. Regardless, this orange scoop is by far the most beautiful I have ever seen. Sometimes, when I pass through the kitchen late at night, head filled with unquietable wonders, I see it perched against its white porcelain home, tacked high on the wall, and I find comfort in its story; some days I find comfort in just knowing it's there, waiting.

Tonight, in celebration of paying attention, I will pull down my favorite bowl, open the freezer and shiver from the frost, stand on my tip toes and take down that old ice cream scoop and wrestle with my good intentions over one scoop or two. I will make a bowl for Andrew and wrestle with him over two scoops or three, and I will wash the scoop by hand, as I always do, and put it back where it belongs - in my mother's daughter's home, waiting to be used.