28/Objects

My son and daughter-in-law bought this fireplace screen for me before they were married. I never would have chosen it myself. My old farmhouse is more primitive than fancy, and the glass isn't heat tolerant. But I love it. The light bulb in back is almost as cozy as a fire, and far less dangerous. Plus the glass is so beautiful.

27/Objects

My favorite piece of furniture: an 1880's poplar stepback cupboard. I bought it at an antique show—sometimes not the best idea, but if you make an offer near the close, dealers are happy to deal. The painting at left is a portrait of my house by my cousin; her daughter interpreted my gloriosa daisies. Scratches courtesy of cats Morgan and Grimmy.

26/Objects

They line up in this kitchen cupboard: women in my family who have passed on. I rearrange them and change my mom's photo every so often. Thanks to my dad, I have many to choose from. I need to add some: my maternal grandmother, who died before I was born; my cousin Terry; my cousin Dotty; and I hope that's all.

Top, L-R: Great-Aunt Margaret, her daughter Peggy, young Peggy with my great-grandmother Margaret Campbell, my paternal grandmother Alice Campbell, and my father's sister Estare ("Aunt Babe").

Bottom, L-R:  My mother, my daughter Gillian, and my mother's sisters, Charlotte and Elsie.

25/Objects

I wore glasses ever since First Grade. All day every day. Then in 2011 I had cataract surgery. My insurance would have paid for lenses that didn't improve my vision, so I cashed in the life insurance policy my parents took out when I was born and paid $2,000 for corrective lenses. I don't mind being out in the rain now.

24/Objects

Mouse traps. The one I set last night caught a mouse by the base of the tail, injuring but not killing it. The poor thing probably suffered for hours. I took it outside and killed it, but now I wish I'd put on heavy gloves and attempted to release it instead. Although it was bleeding, and maybe would have suffered more.

23/Objects

I have three sewing machines: my mother's black 1941 Singer (sits on the hearth), the top-of-the-line Kenmore my husband bought me in 1970 with many attachments (too heavy now to lug up and down stairs), and the light, computerized Brother I bought myself a couple of Christmases ago. I used to sew for my kids--not terribly well, but with enthusiasm.

(The photo above is my mother wearing a dress made by her mother. My maternal grandmother was taken out of grade school and sent to work when her father died in a trolley car accident. Her first job was picking up pins in a dressmaking shop, and there she learned to sew beautifully.)

22/Objects

My friend Karen was invited to conduct a poetry workshop in St. Petersburg. My Russian penpals offered to show her their city. I sent gifts with her: a watch for the father, necklaces for the mother and daughter. They had a gift for me: a beautiful tea set in a heavy box, carried on her lap for the entire flight home.

21/Objects

My father-in-law was a dentist with an affluent clientele. During the Depression, some paid for dental work with possessions, including five antique Navajo rugs. Passed down to us, they hung on our walls for decades. Needing money, I rolled them up and drove to an auction house in Boston. Moth damage reduced their value somewhat, but they all got good homes.

20/Objects

I had a barn full of laboratory glass—some from my husband's chemical company and some from a colleague's lab. Now it's in the house. I sell stuff on eBay, but don't want to ship fragile Pyrex. So I list it on Craigslist. I've sold about half of it, but now I'm at the "make me an offer for everything" stage.

19/Objects

My butcher block is the real deal. Decades ago, at a party in the Catskills with acquaintances who knew us through our tofu business, a woman mentioned that her uncle was closing up his deli in NJ and selling off the equipment, including his butcher block. I'd always wanted one. Measuring 30" square and 15" deep, it weighs hundreds of pounds.

18/Objects

In my bedroom hangs a portrait of a soldier. I'm sure I was told his name more than once; I wish I'd paid more attention. He looks somewhat like my step-grandfather, so I'm guessing he's a brother, possibly the beloved Uncle James. The uniform is from World War I. His handsome Scottish face radiates goodness. Whoever he is, he's worth remembering.

17/Objects

The warmers on my socks and in my pocket save me from . . . what? Amputation? Probably not, although gangrene is a possibility with Raynaud's Syndrome, which I have. Six months of the year I wear adhesive warmers on my socks, rescuing my feet. The pain in my hands isn't nearly as bad since I started keeping a body warmer in my pocket.

16/Objects

Also  hanging over the piano, on another wall, are these two pictures. My grandmother was also an opera singer, and on her travels around the country she collected silver spoons. Most of them are the small, demitasse variety. I display them on a spoon rack, but I also photographed some of the intricate designs (1/2" wide) and turned them into 8x10s.

15/Objects

My dad's extensive photographic legacy includes many of his parents' publicity stills, especially my grandfather's. A handsome operatic baritone, Harry Luckstone traveled around the country with the Aborn Opera Company. The New York Public Library's Digital Collection includes two photos of him. When I saw them, I couldn't resist ordering a gorgeous print of this one. It hangs over my piano.

14/Objects

I used to say my fortune was in sheet music. Looking at my shelves and the accumulation on the piano I can say it still. Song/fake books from Baez, Berlin (Irving), Beatles, Collins, Diamond, and Dylan to Ronstadt, Sinatra, Torch songs (5), Ultimate Jazz, and Willie (Nelson). Broadway . . . Children's . . . Christmas . . . Doo-Wop . . . Folk . . . Irish . . . Weddings. All the songs I once loved to sing.

13/Objects

When I started hooking rugs I used an embroidery hoop to hold the work tight. I graduated to an oval hoop on a stand, and then bought a $10 handmade wooden lap frame with thumbtacks. I heard about Charlie Fitzgerald, who made beautiful rotating lap frames. It took me a while to part with $250, but it's a joy to use.

For those unfamiliar with traditional rug hooking (using strips of woolen fabric cut from old clothes), here's a small example.

12/Objects

Who knew my snazzy, high-end ham radio would be the source of so much guilt? I studied for and received two licenses, permitting me to talk all over the world. My son worked hard constructing elaborate antennas, envisioning me having fun joining local conversations. But I still haven't participated. So many local ham discussions involve radio equipment and putting down liberals.

11/Objects

After reading Billy Collins' poem "Ode to a Desk Lamp" I thought I should write about mine. But Billy and his lamp have a long and storied history, whereas my desk lamp is number 8 or 9 in a series of desk lamps, and, to be honest, in its own way just as unsatisfactory as numbers 1 through 7 (or 8).

10/Objects

The price of the Attic Heirlooms oak armoire was $800 in the furniture store where I'd shopped before. I learned North Carolina furniture factories sell direct. I got a price, and went back to the store. "I can buy it online for $600 tax-free. I'll buy it from you if you sell it to me for $570 plus tax." He did.

9/Objects

Mirror, mirror . . . most of the mirrors in my house started out somewhere else. One wooden mirror was an antique shop find. Ditto a gilt one. The delicately ornate bronze mirror came from my Scottish step-family's apartment in the Bronx. The faintly nautical round mirror was from my childhood home in Queens; the full-length mirror from our newlywed apartment in Midtown Manhattan.

Note: I just discovered Word counts an ellipsis (at least the way I write it) as three words. I do not.

8/Objects

Sitting on my desk, the small screwdriver with the yellow handle serves two purposes. One is to pry open the humidity-damaged slides my father mounted under glass, at the time thinking it would protect them long-term. (This was before he moved to Florida.) Freed from the glass, they can be wiped clean. The screwdriver's other purpose is to open stubborn pistachios.

7/Objects

My desk chair doesn't look crooked (I don't think), but it you sit in it you know right away something isn't right. You'll list to the left, just as I do. (The scoliosis I've apparently had all my life was never obvious or painful; now it's both.) My grandsons spin in my chair. So I haven't been using my new one.

6/Objects

My non-Apple smartphone (I'm not an Apple fan) is clever and pretty to look at, but I'm rarely interested. With multiple computers and tablets, I'm always connected at home. When I go out, I want to disconnect. I like having a lifeline if needed in an emergency, but otherwise I don't want to be bothered. I don't want to be found.

5/Objects

"There are two kinds of photographers," my dad once said, "artists and equipment men. I'm an equipment man." I said, "No, you're an artist." But one can be both. I saw this over and over at the photography site where I used to hang out. I say "used to" because whenever I visited I developed a painful case of lens envy.

4/Objects

I started juicing vegetables in the 1970's. Stopped in the 1970's too. I resurrected my Acme Juicerator around 2010 and became faithful about juicing. Saw a Breville juicer in a documentary and had to have one. Bought one. Thoroughly disliked it. Read about masticating juicers. Spent a gift card and all my Amazon points on an Omega J8004. Love this thing!

3/Objects

The length of cherry-red corduroy came from a high-end fabric outlet 35 years ago. I envisioned a little jumper with cute buttons, size 6X. I never sewed it. The corduroy has languished in my attic all this time. Thursday I put it in my Salvation Army donations bag; Friday I retrieved it. Pogo the cat needed a cushion for his bed.

2/Objects

The plumber arrived this morning to fix my leaky kitchen faucet. It's a Delta Waterfall, purchased in 2002. I'm attached to it. I love the wide, soaring curve of its spout, though I'm sure some would call it dated. I call it beautiful. I bought a new one, exactly like the old, just in case. But it's still in the box.

1/Objects

An old upright 1888 piano came with this old upright 1860 house. A mouse family lived in a nest inside it. I found a treasure of a piano tuner who restored the piano's interior to its former glory, and I started to play by ear again, something I hadn't done since childhood. It became my daily meditation, my medication, my cardio.