The Story Behind the Name: Three Roses Red

People have asked me, "Why Three Roses Red?  Is that grammatically correct?  Why not Three Red Roses?"  Well, as with much of my life, the name is tied to a memory ... well actually a lullaby.

Let me preface by saying my mom is amazing.  I owe so much of who I am to her.  When people say they don't want to grow up to be like their mother, I just don't "get it".  I want to be just like her.  One of my favorite childhood memories with her was when she would tuck me in each night before I went to sleep.  She wrote me my own special lullaby that she would sing to me most nights.  I remember my clean sheets pulled up around my shoulders, her hands rubbing my hair away from my face, and her sweet voice singing words she made up completely out of love.

Today, I sing this song to my own son.  I have sung it to him since he was a baby and even though he is eleven and in middle school, he still asks me many nights to sing, The Flower Song.  I changed the story to include a little boy rather than a little girl.  I hope one day he knows the love for his children is far stronger than the worry of an out of pitch voice and that he too will sing The Flower Song to them.

The Flower Song

Once there was a little flower

that grew all alone.

It had no friends around it;

no one to call its own.

But then one day,

a little boy came running through the field.

He saw that pretty flower

and his heart beat with glee.

He knelt beside the flower,

and touched it tenderly.

He thought how pretty it would be

his mother it to give.

He picked that pretty flower,

and ran home so swiftly.

He gave it to his Mommy;

who smiled happily.

They went out to the garden,

and picked three roses red.

They put them with that wildflower;

who held up its pretty head.

But in that lovely meadow,

still no friends it would have

But now it has three pretty friends;

Three Pretty Roses Red.

Wait ...... that's not red! Is it???

One of my most favorite things to do when I was a child was to color.  Getting a new coloring book was like winning the lottery to me.  I colored everything in order and hoarded my favorite coloring books away from cousins that came over to visit so they wouldn't skip around and color the pages I was excited about coloring when I got to them in the book.  I guess my obsessive coloring book behavior explains my personality even today.  I still love to color/draw/paint/sketch (insert random art word here) today.  I even have my own crayons that I don't even let my own son use.  At my fingertips I have 152 crayons in the most beautiful colors Crayola could create.  Just to read the names of the colors makes me happy - Purple Mountain's Majesty, Wild Strawberry, Sunglow, Inchworm .....

Even though there may be 152 vivid colors to choose from in the box, the wrappers only come in 18 different colors.  Which brings me to the subject of this blog.  The color RED.  How many times when you were coloring as a child did you pick up a crayon you believed to be red and realized instead of coloring the little rabbit's umbrella red you were coloring it magenta?!?!  You began searching around for the one crayon with the shortest name in the box - only three letters - RED.  Like the black crayon, its tip was blunt and rounded and you had to peel the paper back to be able to use it.





I had a very similar experience with the color red yesterday.
I found a couple of 70's era wooden arm

chairs destined for the furniture graveyard.  They had been well loved.  Someone had painted them with black chalkboard paint.  I could still see faint pictures drawn by young hands all over the seat.  Their new life with me however was going to have to be in another form.  (I think I'll pass on chalk dust all over my pants.)  The chairs just seemed to plead with me, "Please paint us red!"  So ... I decided to go with it.  Why not?

I found the perfect shade of red - candy apple.  It was not exactly a simple process.  It took many color samples being held up for me to view at a distance (much to my son's dismay) before I decided on a red that wasn't too orange, too brown, too pink, etc, etc, etc....




With the first swipe of the brush I was doubtful.  It looked fuschia.  Exactly like picking up the wrong crayon!  I kept going.  After all,  I was painting over black so it was going to need a lot of coats .... right???.  After 4 coats I was still not convinced and was growing increasingly frustrated.  The color got even worse when I distressed the corners and edges to reveal some of the black and yellow underneath (I put a coat of yellow on the corners before painting red)  After sanding, I decided to wax them with antiquing wax. If this didn't work, then the next plan was to grab some 40 grit sandpaper and fire up the sander.  They could always be painted white.

I didn't even use soft wax first.  I wanted every groove in the wood to soak up the dark tint of the antiquing wax.  This was either going to be magical or depressing.  I began to rub the wax into the wood like I was moisturizing my legs in the winter time.  Voila!  Definitely magical - the perfect shade of red.  Exactly what I was looking for!

And I hope it is exactly what someone else is looking for.  These chairs will be part of my booth I will have at the Flea Market in Raleigh in September.  (exact date to be announced soon)  I have plenty of refurbished furniture and accessories to begin the transition from summer to fall in your home.  Even if the "perfect shade of red" doesn't fit into your color scheme inside your home, these chairs are affordable enough to greet any trick or treaters or Thanksgiving guests on your porch.  At only $30 each, you will have enough money to buy some mums to put on the seat and some pumpkins to put at their feet.

Tricked Out Chair

Looking back the chair was a lot like a dog.  An old dog spending its last few days at a pound hoping someone would just take a chance. Waiting for someone to look past its battered edges and worn hide and take it home to start a new life. Enter me 😊 (Come to think of it the similarities are uncanny. The upholstery smelled like a wet dog and there actually may have been fleas involved as well). 

I was excited beyond measure with my "new" $20 addition to the family. After all, I had pinned and tried every homemade chalk paint recipe I could find on Pinterest, but I had finally splurged and bought the real thing .... Annie Sloan chalk paint and soft wax. My "old dog" would soon be all tricked out. First thing to tackle was that pungent upholstery. I wanted the perfect new covering to bring this old baby back to life. 

I had also found an old tobacco fertilizer sack at my favorite antique store in Selma, the Country Peddler, for $6.50. I had to have it because it had NC State stamped on the sack!!!  Perfect for this Wolfpack alumni and her new chair 😀. 

So ... After cleaning years worth of dust and grime off of said chair I began painting. I must say I was not impressed after the first coat of paint.  I started liking it more after two coats. However, after waxing and then sanding I became a true believer. It was magical. The finish was so smooth and really made it look like a chair that had been lovingly sat in beside a sunny window at grandma's house. A big improvement over the chair that looked and smelled like a dog had slept (and peed) on it on the forgotten side porch at Uncle Ferney's house. 

I used the old upholstery material for templates to cut my fertilizer sack to the correct sizes. (I used plenty of ventilation ... probably should have worn a mask 😷). I saved the old upholstery tacks to reuse and bought some new trim at Joanne's Fabric and Crafts with a 50% off coupon so I had $12 in the trim. 

I'm thrilled with the end product. I have a true one of a kind chair that I love for so many reasons. One, I love giving old things new life. Two, it has a connection to my alma mater. Three, it provided me with a Sunday afternoon project. Four, it cost me less than $40. And five, it's beautiful. 

Sure glad everyone kept walking by when they saw (and smelled) that little chair at the thrift shop. Cause .... now she's mine. 😍

Life's Defining Moments

There have been many defining moments in my life but one in particular has always stood out to me. My dad owned a little country restaurant outside of my hometown of Richlands, NC.  I convinced him to let me work there one summer to make some extra money. After all, I was about 14 and of the age to want to buy the "right kind" of clothes. (Those clothes incidently look a lot like clothes that are popular today - Sperry Top Siders, neon, Converse, preppy shirts, hair bows, etc). Of course those clothes cost twice as much as what my mom was willing to spend.  She was a hairdresser and worked hard for every penny she made.  Enter the summer job. Friday evenings and Saturday mornings 6 am until around 1:30 pm. I only worked there that one summer. I made good money and realized that everyone at some point in their life needs to work as a waiter or waitress. The standard tip of 10 to 15% did not apply (and to some people never will) at that time and in that little hole in the wall. I remember cleaning off many a six top and being rewarded with 2 dollar bills for serving plates of hamburger steak, chicken and pastry and filling up enough glasses of sweet tea to float a small boat in the New River. It was hard work trying to keep everyone happy. To arrive and be ready to open at 6:00 am, I had to get up every Saturday morning at 4:00.  Hence comes the defining moment. The sun was still asleep on that particular Saturday morning and my comforter pulled around my head was serving me just fine instead of that super attractive hair net I was supposed to wear.  I had been at the restaurant until after 10:00 pm the night before getting tea ready and waiting for my dad to finish counting the money. Needless to say I didn't want to serve anyone pancakes, grits, or country ham with red eye gravy.  So ... when my dad walked into my room and said, "Gina .... Get up and get ready. We've got to go". I was ready with the excuse. It was quite an ingenius excuse actually.  I just knew it was going to work and that my relaxing morning in bed eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch was just around the corner. 

 "I don't feel good.  I don't think I can go in today."  Real original. Now remember ... my dad owned the restaurant. He could have babied me, told me to rest and feel better soon, that he would call and tell them I wasn't going to be able to make it. But that's not how I was raised. It's not how we have chosen to raise our son. My dad's decision at that moment helped shape me into the dependable person I am today. He came into my room and told me unless I was dying that there were two women at that restaurant that were depending on me to help them that morning. They didn't get a choice to stay home or not.  They had children at home that needed to eat and the job for them was more than extra money to spend on wants. They needed the money to pay bills. I got up and went to work that day and I can say with 100% honesty I have never skipped work one day in my life. If I call in sick you better believe I'm "bad off". I know my Dad's decision that day sent me down what Robert Frost would call the road less traveled. The harder path. The path where you think about more than yourself and what makes your life easy. I am a teacher.  An absence for me affects over 100 young people a day. They deserve me to be there and give them my best. I love being a teacher, (and not for June, July, and August) but have always had a dream of owning my own antique shop. I've loved rummaging through junk since I was a kid digging up old glass medicine and face cream bottles in the field behind my Grandma and Granddaddys house. I hope to use this blog to chronicle a new/old idea I'm trying to see become a reality - my own little shop. I know countless others have the same vision. Hopefully the defining moments I have had in my life have shaped me into someone that can see it through. What  defining moments do you remember in your life?

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