I share my life with mermaids and turtles, flowerpots and sunglass bowls, bird feeders in the window and shoes on the floor. Bored, add a camera, and voila, art walks in. Here, a gallery of your artful, anthropomorphic inventions, miniature toasters, Bendy Man daring a daylight rescue, our absentee butterfly landlady rescuing flashlight fish, the ubiquious fridge magnetos, herb canister shadowboxes,  prism orbs, the Ricardos in happier times. I love your boredom as much as I love mine.  Great, and small, things emerge, my quirky, quizzical queen of chachki world .

Remember flying cow, of our wedding ring fame? Here, he does double duty playing horsy with green crystal ball.

Bendy Man rescues psycho bear and twisty lion from a burning candlestick factory. Our hero, Bendy.

Our butterfly benefactor, Ms. Condie Min. E. Um, carries fishlight to safety. The candlestick factory was a total loss, but no loss of chachki life.

Black Boob Betty, the mafia mermaid. She doesn’t shave her pits, but keeps her scales clean.

Green Stone Sophia, waiting for the boomerang toss to begin, at the annual Chatchki Special Olympics.

Honey I shrank the kitchen…and painted bobbin.

Spice can shadowbox. Beware of plastic crawly things.

Glitter Beantown skyline. Reefer magnet.

Momma love, prison style; fried egg and Hopper lighthouse.

“LUCYYYYYY?? Char you home?” I wanted to trade my doughty, artist, non-beatnik parents in for the king and queen of biracial schtick. They remind me of us, in a distantly dysfunctional way.

Dechimed wind chime, like a cat without claws, it can never keep (tinkle) you (tinkle tinkle) awake (tinkle tinkle tinkle) ever ever again.

I’ve never asked you, nor probably never will ask you: “What the fuck does this mean???”

Shiny, pretty ball that hangs over the stove. A totemic expression of god love every bit as poignantly melancholy as a windswept Easter Island.

A workweek on Nantucket. Priscilla, in the dawn bathroom, while my poop gently weeps.

The corporate bodega. While you shop. Doing the hubby wait, illegal in the fire lane, I watched this clubfoot Oreo Man schlepp up and down the Stop and Shop sidewalk, probably high on rainbow jimmies and Cool Whip.

Hull tee shirt emporium-‘Go to Hull! A Hulluva place to visit!! When Hull freezes over!!!’-and a storefull of pirate chatchkis, this one in the window: “If a man is out at sea and there isn’t a woman around, is he still wrong?’

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