I dig lady head vases. Possibly because I like interesting juxtapositions–the daintiness of most of the ladies contrasts nicely with the dullness of dirt. The ladies are dressed for garden parties, not gardening.
Some of the vases I’ve admired in the past:
My mother finds my affinity for the lady heads baffling. When we’re poking around antique stores together and I find one I like, I’ll hold her up for approval. My mother will wrinkle her nose or roll her eyes and say something like, “Her face is kind of weird, don’t you think?”
I examine the lady again and decide that maybe her eyes are uneven, her lips too small, hair slightly off. Sigh. Back on the shelf she goes.
When my mother was off gallivanting with her friend Jean, she came across a small collection of lady head vases and texted me a photo.
“These made me think of you,” she wrote.
“Love the brunette on the right!” I replied.
She’s even prettier in person.
Thanks, Mom. She made a wonderful Christmas present. And I haven’t killed the plant yet. Give me a few more weeks.