I frequent thrift stores because of the finds. I always always find something.
Over the weekend what it was was right up my alley: a porcelain miniature of sea otters frolicking on a bed of porcelain kelp complete with rocks and little porcelain sea urchins painted purple (which is what sea otters eat.) It was true to my experience. It was called "February on The Coast," by Franklin Porcelain (above.)
It was my delight. It was the kind-of-adorable-kind-of-tacky embodiment of exactly how I perceive my family when we're sleek glorious curious and happy. We're sea otters, really. We're Nature's most playful.
With my prize in my paw, I jogged into the house feeling jaunty -- I, huntress, I, octopus garden gardener, had found an ornament for my desk! I was going to tell everyone -- then I
slipped and fell. The beautiful tacky porcelain otters of my family went arcing into the air over my head and then you know -- gravity, law of -- they came down. Hard. They crashed into a million pieces on the wood floor.
Angry Octopus was my exact face. Good thing I picked him up in the thrift store's bargain bin of toyland suck and missing doll's limbs.
Because it's now Angry Octopus (and not the teddy bears picnic of sea otters) that sits on my desk with its legs hanging down over the screen, suckering. Totemic. Karmic balance. Eyebrows low and suspicious of fripperies like fun and otters.