A Town Called Odd

Fearing that the forgone conclusion of their town's fate would be unqualified obscurity, the citizens of a tiny town in rural West Virginia decided to give their town an unusual name; they settled on something that was just weird enough to garner the attention of passing motorists - Odd.  There is nothing particularly strange about the sweet, albeit backwater, little hamlet of Odd, WV.  The houses are well-maintained.  The brooks are in a constant babble.  The sunlight, dappled by the fluttering leaves, turns the landscape into an ever-changing, impressionist masterpiece.  The quaint, brick post office, the most significant building in the city limits, is the centerpiece to what would otherwise be a completely-unremarkable town.  The only thing that really sets Odd apart from the surrounding communities is, well, it's odd name.  How could we continue to call ourselves denizens of wacky tacky if we failed to make the trek to a town that, outside of its name, would be surely be missed by travelers who had the audacity to blink.  Cheers to Odd for putting itself on the map!

Perhaps I should have let the sign speak for itself.
But when in Odd, do as the Odd folks do, right?

As we wound our way through the hairpin turns of the narrow-laned road to Odd, we saw one of our favorite signs, "Estate Sale."  We pulled over and, of course, found a few necessities for my sister's home.  The best part was meeting the charming family who had recently lost its 92-year-old mother but had reconvened at the family home to disperse the remainder of the estate.  While most of the children (now into their sixties and seventies) have left Odd to create lives in other towns and other states, it was wonderful to talk to them about the truly idyllic experience of growing up in Odd.  They sat on the porch reminiscing and celebrating their mother's life as well as their own.  As we left, one of the daughters handed my nephew an ornament from her mother's Christmas tree.  It was one of those delightfully-unexpected experiences that made an oddball excursion to Odd a poignant and meaningful moment. 

It became more of a challenge with every church that we
passed to distinguish an odd church from the Odd Church.

Some of the cities in my neck of the woods have names that can be difficult to pronounce but I can't think of a single one that has an "odd" name.  Do you have any odd towns near you?  Do you think I should be flattered or offended that they asked me to be the "New face of Odd?"

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Collecting: The Crazy Hat Lady

Our good friend Lauren over at Wearing History hipped us to an estate sale that was taking place close to our digs, so we decided to check it out.  Normally, I'm not a big estate sale guy but if I have learned anything, it is to trust Lauren implicitly; she knows of what she speaks!  

Seriously, estate sales just aren't my usual bag.  I should know better, having seen the brilliant treasures that my blogging pals Eartha, Lisa, and Rae (be sure to check out their blogs) unearth at these sales.  Don't get me wrong, if I am driving and I see a bright pink poster board duct taped to a telephone pole that reads "Estate Sale," I will more than likely skip my own birthday party to see what is being offered.  I just can't bring myself to do the research.  That, and I am seriously uncompetitive.  The thought of waking up early and standing in line (a horrid pastime) to get a number to be the first to bust down a dead person's door so I can fight for their things just isn't my cup of tea.  I still want their stuff.  I still want to see the inside of their house.  I just don't want to fight about it.  In all honesty, I am more of a swap meet/flea market and thrift store kind of guy - mostly thrift stores, really.  I've told you many times, I'm lazy; I like the idea of merchandise being separated into departments, however loosely defined those departments might be.  I still have to dig but I get to dig with direction in a climate-controlled environment without too much competition from other hoarders.

We ended up getting a pile of stuff for a very reasonable price, but the trophy was this Cuh-razy straw hat.  I like to believe it was some ill-conceived Mother's Day gift that the recipient HAD to wear to church and pretend that she liked all day long.

The best part about the hat is the abundance of stories it tells.
A Hawaiian-style, one-eyed (I prefer to think that she is winking at us),
 lady golfer with pipe cleaner arms, styrofoam head, and yarn smile
is just the beginning. 

Cleaning is a major theme of the brim.
How cool are the miniature cleaning agents and sponge?!

While "Soilax" is a name that should have been lost to the ages,
how could the wearer be anything but CHEER-ful in this custom-
designed chapeau?

You can just make out the sponge mop in the lower, left-hand corner.
I think the clusters of berries and grapes add just the right amount of
freshness and zip to an otherwise work-weary headpiece.

Lest she forget that a mother's work isn't done with just cleaning,
Tru Rise reminds her to put on her thinking cap and get baking!

And what says "Happy Mother's Day" more than a zombie-
eyed, lute-playing, crown-wearing baby chicken.

Oh yeah, there's a sequined peacock too.

Is it an homage to a wonderful mother?  Is it an assemblage to be entered for exhibition at the county fair?  Is it folk art?  Is it a wacky tacky creation of the highest order? Is it possible to be all of the above?  The easiest way to decide is to see it in action!

The crazy hat lady
Mary styled an outfit that included the fish net
over striped-knit sweater (also procured at the estate sale),
 some day-glow orange clam diggers, and that HAT!

I would be hard pressed to think of anything we needed less at our house than a hat covered in a golfing, cleaning, baking, flora and fauna motif, but now we each have one.  Only kidding, it was essentially free, so how could we be expected to leave it behind?  So tell us, are you an avid estate-saler?  Have you found anything cool lately?  Let us know what you're thinking,

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny