This morning I took apart a clunky pin cushion, the Mother's Day gift I remember making in 1st or 2nd grade. Mom sent the can (standard tuna-sized) from home, and I don't remember if she had to supply anything else. It was filled with sand topped with some kind of spongy padding fiber (to catch pins) topped with red acetate and "MOM" written in black marker. A can-height band of wide masking tape anchored the red edges, itself carefully hidden by fat yarn wrapped around the can over a layer of paste. (Elementary school paste was delicious and not like the Elmer's milk glue). A blue protective felt base went last (my teacher really did think of everything!) The can has a permanent painted label for Pacific Pearl Fancy Dungeness crab, packed by a company belonging to Ivar Haglund. How appropriate. I thought it would be a tuna can, but this is even better. All other materials tossed, the can is a postcard from my mother in 1960. It is possible to waste a lot of time looking into how that label is painted on the can, but I think they printed the flat steel then assembled the cans.

With this small token from the Eisenhower or Kennedy-era stowed on view beside other kitchen antiques, I have moved on to deaccessioned craft items and assembled three sets of glitter to list on the Buy Nothing page. A little glitter goes a long way and with duplicates of several colors it's my prerogative to parcel it into smaller sets.

It's muggy today and there is ragweed in the air. With no rain in sight I'm struggling with the allergies and the heat. Bleh. Will we get a fall, or go straight to cold? Fall here is usually only about a week at the most; in my youth I was spoiled in the Pacific Northwest with autumn lasting most of September and October. And fancy crab in a can that cost 33 cents.