Author Archives: zefiart

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About zefiart

Blogger, DIY-er, poodle lover, graphic designer, dog groomer, recycler, artist, wonder woman in my spare time.

rusty barbed wire heart – creating on paros

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Seems my reputation has preceeded me…
I arrived on Paros and my Aunt Marisa was all over me. She’d seen the windchime I’d given little Zefi, but he’s already been subjected to months of “Mom, come see what big Zef did”, so she was prepped and ready.
“Come and see what I have for you to make”, she said, and proceeded to show me her collection of STUFF. The doilies she’s had for years that her mother made, the old curtains, the collection of ribbons and things that will come in handy one day….

I hear an echo in here…
Did I ever mention my nieces?
I’ve never had kids, right? But I have tons of nieces and nephews thanks to my brother and the fact that I have 23 first cousins. 
And somehow, even though I haven’t had children of my own, I have somehow managed to pass on my genes…
My brother’s daughter is Maria. Apparently he often calls her Zefi cause she’s got my temper and my good looks. She’ll say “Dad, I’m Maria, not Zefi.” (ie Are you senile already?) He’ll reply “I know what I’m talking about.”
My cousin PG’s daughter is Alex. Apparently a carbon copy of me. In all the good ways: moody, stubborn, my good looks…
Little Zefi’s daughter Marouso way more beautiful than me… except for the fact that she’s a mad animal lover. Yesterday at the beach she found a kitten and brought it home. Little Zefi gave me the filthiest look. Its all my fault. Those are my genes popping up in the next generation.
I feel quite pleased with myself. I’ve managed to create Zefi carbon copies without having to worry about pregnancies or changing nappies!
But I digress… I was talking about my Aunt Marisa and her plans to harness my creativity to her own ends.
She keeps dragging things out of cupboards, neighbour’s yards and roadside bins for me. She has visions… “Look what I found. You can make something with this right?” “Fuzz (my nickname), I found this. I think we can make … but I’m only giving my opinion… its up to you… I’m just suggesting… you’re the expert… you tell me…”
The other night my hands got bored. I’d already bought some basic tools – a small set of pliers, some fine wire, a hot glue gun. 
I already had a box of odd and ends, bits of lace, a million buttons from the 50s and 60s, some old dessert forks, some rusty stuff I’d scavenged.
And a piece of barbed wire I took off a fence on the way to town.
I even have Little Zef’s son working for me now. Every day I come back from the beach he has another treasure or three for me. A rusty grill, some rusty tools, a key…
This heart hangs outside Zefi’s bedroom door: barbed wire, some old lace and ribbon, an old key, a small fork, rusty washers and a rusty door strike plate. I added some dry wildflowers as well this afternoon.
Its a pity I don’t have this ‘team’ with me in Tasmania. I could have a ton of stuff to work with if I had Aunt Marisa and little George foraging for me.
Just in case you’re wondering, I’ve already put in my claim… Aunt Marisa is leaving me her collection of STUFF in her will.
I guess I better get to work on the other projects awaiting me. I have to pay for my room somehow, right?
z

windmills revisited

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This month on Paros there are a lot of events celebrating history and culture. Among the events was the opening of the newly restored windmills on the hill at the end of the ‘paralia’ in Parikia. That’s the esplanade – a road which runs along the sea front full of cafes and tavernas where everyone hangs out at night.

There used to be 4 windmills up there in my mother’s day. One was knocked down to build a house, another has been a bar for quite a few years now – a great place to have a drink and watch the sun set. The other two were falling down till a local council initiative had them restored to their original working order.

There was an ‘opening’ ceremony which included speeches and a blessing from the church. There was meant to be a demonstration of a working windmill where the windmills would work for the first time in 65 years or so.

As is often the case in Greece, plans and actuality didn’t quite come together…

Somebody forgot to tell someone something about it so nobody knew anything and nothing was done.

The entrance of the windmill, ground level is an open area where grain was stored.

A narrow winding staircase leads upwards to the upper levels.

The windmill upper level houses the mechanism which grinds the wheat into flour using the wind and sails.

This was all rebuilt to the original design using recycled timber as much as possible.

A cute little arrow moves with the wind, telling you which direction its blowing in.

The grindstone. Good to finally see what my nose is always pressed against.

Holes in the upper floors provided a way to raise and lower sacks from the top level.

They even stuffed some straw into the gaps in where the ceiling meets the walls to recreate the bird nests.

I adored seeing the restoration. They did a great job and I think its a definite improvement. There are so many abandoned houses here, left to rot and fall down cause the owners either can’t afford to fix them or they died and left them to children who live abroad… or (as is often the case) to siblings who argue and in the end no one gets to use the house.

My aunt Flora told me a new greek joke this morning. When someone disagrees with you or won’t do as you want them to, the new threat is “Do it or I’ll give you a house”…

The joke being that Greece has now introduced taxes and rates and everything so that owning a house isn’t the blessing it used to be.

I dunno. We have to pay rates and taxes and electricity bills inflated by the lovely carbon tax in Australia too… I wish someone would give me a house on Paros…

Maybe I just need to be more annoying?

z

it was a mudbath!

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There’s a beach on Paros where the rocks produce the perfect mudpack. People have been going there for years, happily assisting erosion of the hills as they chip, crush and plaster themselves in mud to achieve a youthful complexion.

Mom took us there yesterday and we smeared mud all over ourselves and each other. The clay mask really does work… This is what I looked like before:
This is what I look like now.
I wish.
This is what I actually looked like during.
That photo should have come with a warning. I do apologise.
Here are more scary photos – notice I’m sparing you the pics of me in a bathing suit.
Pretty girls who really don’t need the magical qualities of the mud…
Me and my mom, who do…
Inge and her daughters
Have I mentioned that my friend Inge is visiting from Holland? Inge and I met on Paros in… when I was 17 years old. Some numbers are best kept to myself. We’ve been friends ever since. I’d visit her in Holland, she’d visit me in Greece every year, then I left for Australia and she’s never forgiven me.
For some strange reason I’ve always loved Holland. Its almost like I belong there if that makes sense. I always felt at home and not like I was in a foreign country – if you ignore the fact that I can’t actually speak the language.
And that’s another thing. I’ve always loved the sound of dutch and the dutch accent in english. Almost like I lived in Holland in a previous life…
Maybe I was Rembrandt.
…Ever notice how everyone who claims to be reborn was always someone famous?
Yep. I was actually a rat, living under the mattress of the woman who cleaned Rembrandt’s studio and once gnawed on a canvas he threw away… That would explain why I love art but can’t actually speak dutch.
Whenever I come to Europe I catch up with Inge and her family. I’ve watched her kids grow up from cute babies to gorgeous adults. I learned to change nappies on her oldest daughter. That’s just the kind of thing to mention in front of her friends.
Its been great having Inge and 2 of her daughters here on Paros again after so many years. We tell them stories about our youth and they laugh and laugh. It fun introducing the girls to Paros for the first time.
Only thing is, having friends and visitors means entertaining. Not me entertaining them as such, but going out, eating, going places, eating, going swimming, eating.
I’m so over eating. I mean that both ways. Overeating and over eating.
I’m trying not to eat much but when you’re faced with greek salads, fried zucchini, tzatziki, greek bread and pan fried potatoes… well, what’s a person to do?
I’m not hungry! I don’t want to eat! I swear. They force me to!!!
I was hoping for my ideal holiday: hours on the beach, reading, swimming, reading, swimming, walking, shopping, reading, swimming, eating. Pretty much in that order.
I can’t complain though. I love seeing them. Inge is as much family to me as my brother. At least she and I never argued over onion breath in my bedroom and who could burp loudest. After they go I can (maybe) do the humbug thing a bit and blame old age and living in Australia too long for having to stay home and go to bed early now and then.
Its very un-greek… but I enjoy being here without having to go out every night. 

z

see naxos in a day

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Today we drove around to explore Naxos.
That means we got into a car and drove through towns at the speed of light. I tried to take some photos as we drove past things and got photos like this:
I mean, I’m hanging out the window and manage to snap the photo JUST as we pass a telephone pole. I couldn’t have done this if I tried!
The landscape in the interior of Naxos is quite beautiful if you like rocks and bare mountains. Very striking.
That tiny spec on top of that peak is a church. Its a church for the Prophet Elias. 
I’m guessing, but given that his churches are always in spots only eagles can get to, I’d say its a safe bet.
My mom told me the story was that Elias was a fisherman who was the sole survivor of a shipwreck. Apparently when Elias (not yet a prophet, obviously, or he’d have prophesied the wreck and his life would have gone down an entirely different track…) washed up on a beach he swore he would never look at the sea again. So he set off on foot carrying an oar with him. Every place he met another person he’d show them the oar and ask what it was. They would answer “Its an oar of course” so on he’d trudge.
Eventually he’d gone so far from the sea that when he asked a peasant what it was he was carrying the man said “Its a stick of course”. And that’s where the man-soon-to-become-prophet Elias built his church.
 
Anyway, our destination was the Temple of Za (another word for Zeus?) This is the information I found with a quick google search:
Naxos History Many myths in Greece involve Naxos as some point. Zeus, the highest god, was born on Crete, but grew up on Naxos. The people of Naxos used to worship him, and a temple was made to his honour at the mountain Za (Zeus).
When Zeus‘ mistress Semele died before giving birth to their child, Zeus took the embryo and put it in his thigh. When the baby, Dionysus, was born out of Zeus thigh on Naxos, the nymphs Philia, Coronida and Clidi brought him up on the island, which was to be Dionysus favourite island. The god made the island fertile and full of grapevines, forever blessing it.
Now, I don’t know about you, but that is a really wierd story if you ask me! Children born out of men’s thighs…?
The sign pointing the way to the cave in which Zeus was raised said 20 minutes. 
Up hill.
Maybe. If your name is Edmund Hillary.
But for us normal, not so fit and vertigo-suffering people… What clinched it for me is that about 1/4 of the way up the path disappeared and we had to climb over rocks like mountain goats.
I turned back. And I wasn’t alone in that decision.
We did stop in Apiranthos, the town on top of the highest mountain on Naxos I believe. I’d been there before when I was about 12 so I knew the town well. Not.
 
What struck me most is that its so different to Paros. Similar in that its an island of the Cyclades, but quite different in architecture and building materials.
I visied a small grocery which sold all kinds of things: herbs, soaps, baskets, antiques…
Found the finish on these ceramic pots interesting. They’ve managed to create a really gorgeous copper patina on them.
Of course they’re way too big to take home so I settled for a couple of bars of olive oil soap.
That’s the kind of soap my mom used to insist on buying when I was growing up, saying its all natural and good for me. I wanted nice smelling fancy soaps, none of that plain, hard, square mucky green soap.
Now I’ll pay top dollar for that same hard square mucky green soap.
Things do come full circle don’t they? I am turning into my mother.
z

the next best thing

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My grandfather used to say the best thing about Naxos is that you can see Paros from there.

If that’s so, then the second best thing has got to be the Mojito Boys!


These guys are pure eye candy. My cousin Zefi sure knows how to run a business. Mmmm-mmm! She hires these guys to work in her bar and they hang out on the beach serving drinks and giving us more mature ladies something to look at besides the endless sand and sea.

I mean, you could get bored of this view right?

Just miles and miles of sand and blue water.

Am I making you jealous yet?

Today some of us had a long day. We chose to go on a tour of Naxos. It was a comedy of errors. Seriously. We got 3 cars and piled in, only to get to the first destination and find the fan in one was broken, the car overheating and losing water.

And that was only the beginning of the adventure!

This may well be the last Campion reunion.  It was a bit like Lord of the Flies without the brains on rock bit.

Thankfully.

Anyway, we survived – only cause we split up, each group going to do what they wanted to do. I was among the ‘go back home’ group. I went straight to the beach where I found the ‘stay behind’ group.

A cool swim and some relaxing time enjoying the view of the boys beach and I feel like a new woman.

One thing I haven’t managed to do so far on Naxos is catch up with my cousin and godson Anargyros. Pronounced sort of like Anna and gyros as in souvlaki, with a rolling ‘r’ in the middle to confuse matters.

I got his number from Niko, the head Mojito Boy. Niko approached me on the beach where I was sitting with friends, a bit of paper in his hand, handed it to me and said “My wife will be out tonight. Here’s my number.”

It was the best! 

“Yeah look at me! I can still get the spunks!”

Yeah! That’s right! (And the crowd roars)

z

party till the norwegians drop

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I really don’t have time to blog today. I’m expected at the Prokopis Hotel where the Campionites are starting the party with some drinks, then on to a taverna for dinner.

Its like big long holiday here.

Wait. It is one big long holiday.

We partied till 3.30am last night. We outdanced a group of Norwegian teenagers. It was almost like a matter of pride, we just could not let them beat us. We danced and drank and partied till they went home and then we crawled off to our rooms to nurse our aching bones.

And that’s just a taste of the night. I have a ton more photos on FB in my albums.

z

mojitos, sunshine and high school friends

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Today I’m on Naxos with Peter. We took the short ride over from Paros this morning. Naxos is the island right behind Paros, half an hour from the town of Naoussa and 1 hour from the port of Parikia. Being a chicken with rough seas (and they were rough this morning) I always take the big ferries with their stabilizing ‘wings’. Seriously. They have wings. They’re built like sanitary napkins.
But I was talking about how close Naxos and Paros are. My grandfather used to say that the best thing about Naxos is that you can see Paros from here.
Ok, its not Paros, but Ag. Prokopis beach – where my cousin Zefi has her bar – is the best beach ever. 
That’s the Zefi on Naxos. Zefi Mojito as she’s known on FB. Not to be confused with Zefi Famelis, the OTHER Zefi Famelis. Not me.
I am the ORIGINAL Zefi. The others are just cheap immitations. No matter what they say, its not a case of “I’m the youngest Zefi, you’re just old”. We all know they built things to last in the old days.
Not that I’m old! I’m not admitting to anything.
As an aside, Zefi Mojito must have eyes in the back of her head. I went up to the bar to pay my bill after lunch earlier and she was busy. She still managed to notice me and warn her staff that “anyone who takes money from my cousin will be fired.”
We greek women have eyes in the back of our heads.
Anyway, this trip is amazing. I’m attending a high school reunion here for the first time ever. I think is reunion number 3 in Greece. Apparently a lot of people from Campion have stayed in touch and they have mini reunions in London and other places. The first reunion I heard about was the year after I was in Greece last and held on Paros. In Naoussa to be exact. I couldn’t attend… I just couldn’t afford to travel to Greece again.
I didn’t hear anyone offer to have a reunion in Tasmania…
Anyway… I haven’t seen most of these guys since I was in 12-13th grade. I refuse to disclose how long that is… I can’t count that high.
I don’t have any other photos of the Campion High School reunion yet cause so far all we’ve done is sit on the beach, swim and talk. And we all know cameras are forbidden on the beach.
The problem with the modern world is that there are cameras everywhere. Even if I make sure I never post unflattering photos of me on FB (ie no photos where I’m not totally covered) someone somewhere will take a photo and there it’ll be, forever, for the world to see. 
However if anyone from this group takes a photo of me with less than 3 articles of clothing on and publishes it, I’ll be hunting them down. 
You’ve been warned!
It really is amazing to be here again. Three years later. They do say people always return to the scene of the crime, don’t they…
Last time I came, I imported my own friend in the form of Merrill. And we had the best time. This time I’ve come to meet friends from my past. And it really is wonderful to reconnect with them and hear news of others who aren’t here.
This trip is really a trip down memory lane in more ways than one. Last trip was about having fun and getting a tan. This trip is about family first, and friends in an almost coincidental way.
Let me explain, thanks to Zina, Tom, Lisa and FB I’ve been able to connect with Helen in Athens. And when I return to Athens I’ll see Christine as well. Both friends from Campion School. An English school in Athens. You tend to bond in an environment like that, a fish out of water thing.
Today I saw Leslie, one of my closest friends in Campion. She’s the one who introduced me to hamsters. Last time I saw her her daughter was in nappies, now she’s in university. When I return to Paros I’ll see Valerie who I went to junior school with. That’s from 4th grade to 8th grade… She has a house on Paros now. Incredible.
See what I mean? I’m catching up with people I haven’t seen in years.
… I sure hope this doesn’t mean the end is near… you know how your life goes flashing before your eyes? A kind of “this is your life” thing before I meet my bitter end?
Nah. Only the good die young and I’ve been very, very bad. Just ask my mother. I was hell on wheels as a kid and worse as a teenager.
I remember when I was a kid and I’d be at some family do and I’d hear mom say “I haven’t seen him for 20 years!”. I’d fall about like “Twenty years! That’s so long!” Back then a 40 year old was decrepid.
Then one day I realised I’d known people for 20 years. Or 30. Or more. 
No need to go there.
I gotta go. I hear a mojito calling….
z

i hope i grow up to be like my mother

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Tonight my mother put me to shame.

We’d gone into Parikia where they had another another event with music and dancing. This time it was a band and people were welcome to dance.

Naturally my mother was right up front.

I’d gone to meet Petro and a friend, had a drink and a frozen greek yogurt (fat free but yum) and by the time I’d found mom she’d been dancing for about an hour or more.

The woman is incredible. I can only dream to be like her when I’m her age. She’s 82. And the guy she’s dancing with is someone she knew in her childhood. He’s 85.

And just FYI, that wasn’t the end of the dancing. I thought it was and stopped filming. They continued on after I stopped…

Now, tell me you don’t feel a little bit ashamed? I know I do. I got up and had one dance and it almost killed me. Sure, the songs they were playing were actually medley of songs so it goes on forever. And sure, I was wearing croc sandals which kept wanting to come off my feet so I had to dance while gripping them with my toes. But that’s no excuse. My 82 year old mother can out-dance me any day of the week.

z

antique on a greek island

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I’ve been walking through the old town and looking around. So far all I’ve seen are the main ‘streets’ – the old Agora (‘market street’ to all you non-greeks) and some of the bigger side streets with shops.
I’ll soon start exploring all the old streets I explored when I was a kid, during the imposed siesta time. My brother and I would sneak out and explore. I know the streets of the old town like the back of my hand… Oops. When did I get that scratch?
Whenever anyone new would visit I’d meet them at the ferry and walk them to my grandmother’s house. Approximately a 6 minute walk. I’d take them up one narrow cobblestone street, down another, doubling back and winding around till I wore them out. I knew they’d never find their way out again…( insert evil laugh).
We moved back to Greece in 1970, ostensibly cause I got bad asthma living in the Riverina area of NSW (aka the marijuana growing region to everyone who’s watched Underbelly). The doctor said I was allergic to fruit bearing trees and grass. Years later I began to wonder what ‘grass’ he meant.
Whatever, the result was that dad packed us up to move back to Greece and its dry climate. Mom always said that after God created the world he had a pocketful of rocks left over so he tossed them in Greece. Its a rocky land but much greener than you’d think, or than I remember it.
But back to wondering the streets. I’ve been unlucky so far in locating a tip of any sort where I can rummage and find old bits and pieces, but I have located one antique shop which happened to be open when I walked past yesterday.
Inside I found tons of stuff I’d love to take home with me… apparently they do post things all over the world… in case you’re wondering.
These old corner roof tiles are gorgeous. Mom has some dad collected years ago, only dad did what most people did back then – he painted them terracota so they look new. I wonder if I can sandblast the paint off them…
I had no idea what these were so I had to ask – they are the stamp/moulds bakers use when baking ‘arto’ for the church. Arto is a blessed bread handed out at services and it always has a pretty pattern on top. Now I know how they get it!
They had antique coffee grinders… the square more regular looking types and the tall brass ones which look like pepper mills.
I wonder if Wayne would like one of the brass coffee grinders for his morning coffee?
Brass coffee grinders sitting in a dough kneading bowl.
No greek antique shop would be complete without part of an old fishing boat or ceramic urns.
A lot of people put a round slab of marble on top of these and make them into tables. My uncle has one on the verandah outside the big room. I’ll be doing a tour of Souvlia soon – that’s the country house on Paros.
Then I found something for Wayne – these old metal curry combs! Aren’t they cool? They look more like instruments of torture though. When I asked the shop owner what they were she said they were horse brushes….
“But wait” she said, “that’s not a brush. THIS is a brush!” and she held up this:
A wool carding brush.
That has got to be the biggest slicker brush I’ve ever seen in my life!
So, reckon I should get this for Wayne? I could hang it on the wall and hang my necklaces from it! I mean, how unusual is that?!
Hey, he got me a nail gun which he uses, why can’t I buy something for me to use? huh?
Antique greek chests.
 This old coat rack reminds me of some relatives house… not sure who’s but I know I’ve seen them before. Wickedly big hooks huh?
I collect scales. I don’t have one of these though…
 
What about this old dough kneading trough? I can surely use one of these in my house!
My passion of course, is old metal things with rust and patina. Like this old thing from over a heavy iron door.
And more iron – bedheads and grates.
I had no idea what this was either, but its from an old mill – the timber has bits of rock in it which have been worn down. It was used to grind wheat. I guess its an old ‘grindstone’!
Beautiful isn’t it?
The little wooden pouch is what herbs were kept in.
Now these things I’ve fallen in love with. I don’t ever remember seeing them before, at least not in this shape. They’re little icon cubbies – you put an icon and a candle in them in your home.
I want one. Or both.
This I do remember. Mom had one somewhere. Of course it was painted (thanks dad) with anti-rust black. Its an old iron. Unlike the old irons I’ve seen in Australia which are solid iron and were placed on top of hot coats, these irons opened up and you would put hot coals inside them.
I wonder if mom still has hers…
An old press. Not sure what it would have been used for originally.
Antique chips anyone?
 I love these wooden spoons. They’re actual spoons made of wood, not wooden spoons. If that makes sense. They’re not for cooking but for eating.
Some cute three-legged stools.
These were used when spinning yarn. Don’t ask me how. I just photograph the stuff! Notice the wacky coat rack on the  right? I didn’t. Or what looks like some kind of insulator bottom right. Man. Good thing I take photos!
I wonder how much stuff I can fit in my suitcase?
z
The antique shop I took these photos in is called Kamara and you can contact them on kamara.paros@yahoo.gr
But you can’t buy the little icon thingies! Those are MINE!

grandma’s house

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On the way to my grandma’s house.
 This morning mom and I went to my grandmother’s old house to do a quick clean cause Petro is coming tomorrow. He always stays in the old house in town.
This house is where my mother was born and grew up. Its in the old town of Parikia on Paros. I’ve already mentioned that my grandfather was a fisherman and my grandmother was a seamstress. They raised 7 children in this old house.
The house to the four daughters but mom said she was happy to sign her share over so we don’t have a share in the old house. However while my grandparents were alive we spent many years staying there during our summer holidays.
It holds a lot of memories for me.
The narrow cobblestone street I know so well, grandma’s house is the one behind the overgrown vines.
The old house is a typical one in the old town. At least for the struggling classes. It has hugely thick stone walls, a cement floored downstairs room and a timber floored upper storey. Downstairs is one big room which was kitchen, living space, dining room, and bedroom. I’m not sure what the upstairs looked like when mom was a kid, but when I was growing up it was one large room with a dining table in the middle and 4 single beds around it, 2 small rooms, one with a single bed and one with a double bed.
The front door to grandma’s house. So many of the old doors have similar curtains in the windows.
My grandmother would roll over in her grave if she knew I was sharing photos of the house in such a mess, but she’s long gone and it belongs to my aunt now. Besides, the house has been empty since last summer. We can all excuse a bit of a mess.
The downstairs room as seen from the staircase in the back.
There are two ways to get upstairs. An outside staircase made of cement and an inside narrow timber one. Unfortunately the inside one’s been replaced. All that remains of the original is the trapdoor and ceiling. My aunt is nothing if not handy. She’s fixed, tiled, rennovated and updated the house within an inch of its life. Luckily she appreciates the past so she’s not into throwing out the old things.
The narrow steep stairs and the trapdoor. Made for very short people.
At the top of the stairs is the tiny store room which I’ve mentioned before. I used to sleep in the little room the trapdoor opens into and this little storeroom was opposite my bed. When I couldn’t sleep I’d go sit in there, in the breeze from the open window, and look through my grandmother’s old fashion magazines.
The tiny store room. The cement sink and the cupboard underneath with a cute curtain. Love the greek curtains.
Mom tells me this was originally a storeroom. Then when my oldest aunt (Xeni) was being courted, they made it into a small kitchen so they could give her the upstairs part of the house to live in. She didn’t marry any of the young bucks chasing her and the tiny kitchen ended up a store room again.
What’s odd is that the sink in this little room (and the downstairs one for that matter) is cement. I’d never thought about that before.
The ceiling in the store room has limed white beams and bamboo above the old chimney.
A small cupboard in the little store room.
A cupboard over the trapdoor in the room I used to sleep in.
Another cubbyhole cupboard in the wall with a cute curtain door.
Downstairs my aunt has kept things pretty much as my grandmother had them, with the addition of a bathroom and toilet in the tiny store room, a new fridge and some new wardrobes. She sleeps on my grandparent’s old bed at the far end of the room. Its a cast iron bed with brass details.
I like my grandmother’s little bed ‘doily’ to protect the brass.
Naturally there are tons of photos, some in newer frames, some in really interesting old ones.
 

Mom’s family minus one.
 One thing I really really want (well one of the many things) is one of these old door handles. They used to be everywhere but so many people have thrown out the old doors and the handles with them. I keep asking and no one has one for me. 
If only I could find where people throw their old stuff!
This one’s a little cat!
You already know I’m a sucker for old hardware…
Wonder if this one will fit in my suitcase?
This ‘goodmorning’ mirror was a gift to my grandparents for their wedding.
 You gotta love the ingenious wardrobe solution…
The old ‘tapestry’ over the bed, and the old cotton mattress my parents used to sleep on.
None of these things have changed as long as I remember the house.
Like the old worn floorboards which creak badly and which are full of gaps and holes that my brother and I used to use to spy on people downstairs. We used to feed fishing line down the holes sometimes and tickle people sitting on the couch or at the table, making them think there were flies around them.
Ah, the old days when we were young and not so sweet…
Downstairs when you look up you see the underside of the floorboards. The huge beam holding up the roof (or floor depending on which side of it you’re on) used to the mast of an old ship which sank off the coast of Paros.
I love the old house with its old flaking walls and timber that’s almost more paint than timber now.
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