These pots might not look like much now, but I'm growing paperwhites (some of you might call them narcissus) because their scent is heavenly. When the flowers are blooming, and I walk by while I pass through the dining room, their scent will make me happy. It's a little intoxicating and a little nostalgic and a little captivating all at the same time. The scent of paperwhites stops me in my tracks for just a moment, and whatever I'm contemplating during that moment is put in its place with proper perspective. Am I exaggerating? Maybe. So what. I like paperwhites.
The tiny lamp behind the pots of dirt is new to my collection of things. Last week, I went with a friend to a stained glass shop with gifts in the front. The employees gave us a tour of the back rooms where you can take lessons in stained glass and where they restore 19th-century church windows. They also make a few lamps there, and this is one of them. The gift shop was dotted with the things in and around all of the other stuff they sell, but this particular lamp caught my eye—so simple and pearlesque (might not be a real word). The little lamp needs a finial, but that just gives me an excuse to go back to the shop.
Next to the lamp is a big metal bowl full of napkin rings that I have been collecting over a period of years. They used to be shoved in a box, but I decided they make an interesting display when they are randomly dumped together. My friend Kyle may notice a couple of hidden treasures in the mix, little guards her mother painted. I think they fit nicely with the rings.
While we're looking at stuff on my buffet, here is something that now lives on my dining room mantle, a black bird made entirely of metal. I bought it at the same shop where I found the lamp. It had friends in various poses, but frankly, the birds that looked as if they were about to attack reminded me more of a Hitchcock scene than of a curious element of nature. The small picture next to the bird was a gift from an old knitting friend. It's a cut-paper image of a little boy practicing his trumpet while his dog looks on. It reminded her of me practicing my horn with my cats looking on.
And finally, this is a camera made entirely of paper. No. 1 made it years ago from a kit of a thousand little pieces all folded and glued, and it actually works with moving parts. I'm thinking she might want to keep this in her own house, but for now, I get to store it on the book shelf.
So, what's in YOUR dining room?