Archives for the month of: February, 2014

white strawberry milkglass plate copy copy
Let me take you down… [and back]
to a berry [pardon the pun-net] strange place where fruit and space intersect


So one dimensional = flatness. Like these images now on your screen. Or a line on a piece of paper.  1D thing needs a 2D object to exist. 

nothing is real…

urban rustic fields strawberry fields 2d


2D= x & y, width & height with a lack of depth. must be high or low

Yeah I know, technically this actual plate of strawberry has some depth

but it’s all right
that is I think it’s not too bad…
that is I think I disagree…

it’s unreal

strawberry 3d grid new


3D = x, y & z , width, length & depth

I think I know I mean a yes…

So what is  4D?
The fourth dimension = length, width, depth and time
known as Space-Time
The Beatles may have been on this plane at one point or another.
Observe Example A:

urban rustic fields strawberry fields scales NEW

This trippy little number measures weight not space or time, but no matter,
nothing to get hung about…


Lyrics:  Lennon + McCartney = Genius


The faithful bull Arabia jug Finland

One time there was a bull and his name was not Ferdinand and he cared nothing for flowers. He loved to fight and he fought with all the other bulls of his own age, or any age, and he was a champion.

His horns were as solid as wood and they were as sharply pointed as the quill of a porcupine. They hurt him, at the base, when he fought and he did not care at all. His neck muscles lifted in a great lump that is called in Spanish the morillo and this morillo lifted like a great hill when he was ready to fight. He was always ready to fight and his coat was black and shining and his eyes were clear.

Anything made him want to fight and he would fight with deadly seriousness exactly as some people eat or read or go to church. Each time he fought he fought to kill and the other bulls were not afriad of him because they came of good blood and were not afraid. But they had no wish to provoke him. Nor did they wish to fight him.

He was not a bully nor was he wicked, but he liked to fight as men might like to sing or to be the King or the President. He never thought at all. Fighting was his obligation and his duty and his joy.

He fought on the stony, high ground. He fought under the cork-oak trees and he fought in the good pasture by the river. He walked fifteen miles each day from the river to the high, stony ground and he would fight any bull that looked at him. Still he was never angry.

That is not really true, for he was angry inside himself. But he did not know why, because he could not think. He was very noble and he loved to fight.

So what happened to him? The man who owned him, if anyone can own such an animal, knew what a great bull he was and still he was worried because this bull cost him so much money by fighting with other bulls. Each bull was worth over one thousand dollars and after they had fought the great bull they were worth less than two hundred dollars and sometimes less than that.

So the man, who was a good man, decided that he would keep the blood of the bull in all of his stock rather than send him to the ring to be killed. So he selected him for breeding.

But this bull was a strange bull. When they first turned him into the pasture with the breeding cows, he saw one who was young and beautiful and slimmer and better muscled and shinier and more lovely than all the others. So, since he could not fight, he fell in love with her and paid no attention to any of the others. He only wanted to be with her, and the others meant nothing to him at all.

The man who owned the bull ranch hoped that the bull would change, or learn, or be different than he was. But the bull was the same and he loved whom he loved and no one else. He only wanted to be with her, and the others meant nothing to him at all.

So the man sent him away with five other bulls to be killed in the ring, and at least the bull could fight, even though he was faithful. He fought wonderfully and everyone admired him and the man who killed him admired him the most. But the fighting jacket of the man who killed him and who is called the matador was wet through by the end, and his mouth was very dry.

“Que toro más bravo,” the matador said as he handed his sword to his sword handler. He handed it with the hilt up and the blade dripping with the blood from the heart of the brave bull who no longer had any problems of any kind and was being dragged out of the ring by four horses.

“Yes. He was the one the Marqués of Villamayor had to get rid of because he was faithful,” the sword handler, who knew everything, said.

“Perhaps we should all be faithful,” the matador said.

Ernest Hemingway
first published 1951, Holiday Magazine

The iconic and long-standing Finnish bull jug by Kaj Franck for Arabia,
image designed by Anja Juurikkala circa 1954-66.

Now that I have your attention…make love image urban rustic
Valentines Day.
Do you do it? You’re not alone if you whisper no. We don’t much anymore either. After 20 VDs you build up an immunity.

Why should corporations tell you when to show love? Do it everyday. In little ways. It doesn’t need to cost money. You could just spend a little time…

love heart measuring spoons retro flower tray
A heap of love. A pinch of joy. A dash of tenderness. A spoonful of affection. Small measures of kindness…

love mug breakfast in bed

simple gestures can melt hearts…

love heart shaped fondue

Patch things up where you can.

love patch

I once heard a lovely little lady, a veteran of many many years of marriage, say in a radio interview the secret was to

Just keep loving. 

Suggesting long-term love, like happiness is a choice. A decision.
I’m certainly no expert on the subject. What do you think?


Dale Carnegie, author of the most popular work of non-fiction of our time [according to my 1961 edition]  How To Win Friends And Influence People [first published in 1937 and Wikipedia says, has sold over 15 million copies world-wide] claims love disappears in little ways, nagging, berating, a lack of courtesy given to strangers no longer used at home, inattention etc that kills it slowly.

’tis not love’s going that hurts my days,
But that it went it little ways.
Edna St. Vincent Millay

Here’s Mr Carnegie’s
Seven Rules For Making Your Home Life Happier
This section from the original book was cut from the 1981 revised [more PC] edition.

  1. Don’t nag.
  2. Don’t try to make your partner over.
  3. Don’t criticize.
  4. Give honest appreciation.
  5. Pay little attentions.
  6. Be courteous.
  7. Read a good book on the sexual side of marriage.

Love is.. what you make it by Kim left


retro playmobil teak viking treehouse toys corkscrew

You can hang out with all the boys …

An all toy boy lineup for the not-so new generation,
featuring from the left:

Paddy Playmobil circa 1974+

The mid-century Viking [he’s an-teak]

Chef, a seasoned pro, an old salt, yes, he has sailed the seven seas…

Village boy Hans Hummel, one of my regular figures, a celluloid phoney

Kay Bojensen wannabe, corkscrew, circa 1960s

And the not-so macho Aviator of the Little Tikes Toddle Tots family

AKA Chunky

They want you as a new recruit…
The Village People, 1978

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