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So taking pictures of framed artwork hanging on the wall? Nearly impossible. Between reflections and off-color lighting, I’m sunk.

This is a postcard from EN Japanese Brasserie in Manhattan. We went there for the sake tasting and stayed for the fresh tofu and black sesame ice cream.

Usually, restaurant postcards feature a photo of the restaurant from the street or maybe a shot of a few dishes — maybe something for the scrapbook, but nothing you want to frame and hang on the wall.

I had plans for this postcard the minute I saw it. No writing, no photos. Just a vivid 4-by-6-inch image.

Believe me when I say that its bright red lines contrast brilliantly with the deep olive walls of my downstairs bathroom. I don’t know why this camera wants the walls to be beige.

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Yep, it’s a tiny bowl filled with tiny pine cones (seriously, they’re each approximately the size of a fingertip).

I felt compelled to pick hundreds and scatter them across the mantel. Instead, I gathered five and left the rest for squirrels to throw at one another (that’s what I like to think squirrels do on their days off).

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Poor Franz. He’s been stuck in 1980s beige and gold ever since I rescued him at an estate sale a few years ago.

One trip to Michael’s and $9 later, he’s looking tres dramatique in black and white.

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My little green bowls make me smile. Fill them with salsa verde from Trader Joe’s and I’m positively ecstatic.

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During the last few years of her life, my grandmother would open the china cabinet each time I visited and make me choose something to bring home with me. She always seemed amused when I chose small, weathered items over intricate crystal and silver.

This glass measuring cup made it home with me a few years ago. It’s got clear engraved markings and three pouring spouts.

I certainly did not need another measuring cup, but it’s got character. And judging by my husband, friends and decor, I LOVE character.

It’s been holding my inexplicable collection of dried cherry pits for the past four years. (Hint: Don’t ask.)

I recently had overnight guests, and both adults were coffee drinkers who took real sugar AND cream, thus giving me the opportunity to set out the sugar dish that totally matches my plates. I did not, alas, have a creamer container. (For that matter, I did not have any creamer, but there’s no reason I can’t serve my 2-percent milk all fancy.)

I did, however, have a charming little glass measuring cup. Voila. It was finally pressed into service for something besides pit storage.

Best of all, I now know why I brought it home.

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I finally got around to turning my Metropolitan Museum of Art admission buttons into useful souvenir refrigerator magnets. I simply glued a small, round magnet onto the back of each button. Yes, they’re metal and the magnets would have stayed attached without glue, but they would have also popped right off the magnets when anyone picked them up off the fridge.

Points for using junk-drawer souvenirs that would have eventually been thrown away.

And more points for using the glue gun without incident.

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Oh, Lion’s Head Garbage Can. You are as useful as you are treasured.

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I never thought I would own one salad spinner, much less two.

The OXO spinner that I purchased last summer, however, has seen more action in the kitchen than literally any other gadget I own.

Every week, more or less, I purchase a head of red or green lettuce, and often toss in a few ounces of the mesclun mix that Earth Fare sells by the pound.  Sometimes, though, the shopping days are off, and I need to wash the mesclun a couple of days after I’ve already washed the regular lettuce, meaning I either have to wash it again or dump it out while I wash the mix.

I also usually keep a bunch of cilantro wrapped in moist paper towel in the crisper. It needed a better home.

The obvious answer was a second spinner. A smaller spinner that wouldn’t take up nearly an entire shelf in my poorly designed side-by-side refrigerator.

I had it up and spinning without two hours of bringing it home today. When you bring home a gadget that you actually use the same day, you’ve picked a winner.

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I had a total “ah-ha” moment this weekend. (OK, “ah-ha” wasn’t the phrase running through my head when the moment occurred, but let’s keep this family-friendly.)

My mom was showing me a vase that she had gotten from my grandmother’s house. It had belonged to my grandmother’s sister (or sister-in-law, maybe) and had been in my grandmother’s possession for decades after the original owner’s death. I had never seen this vase before, and it struck me as meh, valuable or not. I told my mom I wasn’t interested in it, and she was good with that — she’s learned the freedom of owning less stuff over the years, and respects my right to reject heirlooms.

The thought that ran through my head during the interchange, however, was, “Your treasure is not my treasure.” The thought wasn’t really aimed at my mom, since she’s not one to try to convince me to take things that I don’t want or need. I think it was aimed at the whole mindset people have that there are certain items that MUST be passed from generation to generation for eternity.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t pass things down or treasure things from long ago. But we can’t keep everything.

It’s not a personal affront if I don’t want your collection of glass cake plates; it’s just that my favorite cake plate happens to be a weathered old aluminum model with more character than elegance. (Autobiographical cake plate FTW.)

Back to the vase in question: I had never seen it before. Meaning that my grandmother kept it, but didn’t treasure it enough to display it. Therefore, I have no memories associated with this vase. It’s simply an object that I don’t find that attractive. I feel no urge to take it home simply because it belonged to someone I’m related to.

I have plenty of things from my grandparents’ home that mean A LOT to me. A collapsible aluminum cup that my grandfather brought back from World War II. A pair of funky cat bookends from the middle bedroom. An old, golden glass piggy bank that my brother and I spent dozens of hours playing with, poking coins in and then shaking them out.

These things are my treasures.

There are people who would have their children fill their closets and attics with heirlooms, simply to keep those items “in the family.” Don’t do that. Let your children choose their treasures. To facilitate that, choose YOUR treasures. The things you value, not the things you stuff into the attic and the basement, will be the things they actually want later.

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When you know you’re not going to have electricity for five days or so, you get creative with the freezer triage process.

We’ve got an ice chest that can be powered via vehicle battery through the cigarette lighter; as long as we run the husband’s truck for about 40 minutes twice a day to recharge the battery, we can be assured of a cold ice chest.

Unfortunately, space was limited in said ice chest, meaning only the best, most essential items could be rescued from the fridge and freezing unit in the days after Alabama’s late April tornado outbreak.

Knowing that it wouldn’t fit in the ice chest, we grilled a frozen pizza instead of letting it thaw. Burnt bottom aside, it was delicious. We also grilled a couple of Trader Joe’s chicken burritos; again, they were blackened in a few spots, but their interiors were warm and delicious.

We pan-seared a couple of pieces of tuna from the freezing unit, and I stir-fried a small bag of shrimp. We ate like kings, really, until the four-day safety window ran out. Luckily, the day after we busted out the PBJ sandwiches in earnest, the power came back on.

Losses included a couple of small stuffed flounders, which we couldn’t figure out how to grill without burning, and two Nestle Drumsticks (we ate two that were half-melted out of sugary desperation). Also lost were several freezer bags filled with blanched greens; admittedly, no one was sorry to see them go.

Overall, we discovered we’re pretty good at camp-style cooking, although we’re not camping people. And don’t think that five days of electricity-free living is luring us in.

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