Back in the late 1990s, when I first bought Limoges porcelain boxes, they were primarily found at exclusive gift shops, typically locked in glass cabinets. Most of these trinkets were priced around $300, but I was drawn to the hidden hinged-compartment that allowed me to include a ring, gem, or poem and make the offering even more special. My marriage proposal was even delivered inside of one. (See Post #146). I quickly learned the the French words “Peint Main” meant hand painted, so each box is a unique piece of art. They became my gift of choice and over the past twenty years I’ve purchased hundreds. Each contains a customized poem.

My wife and I have traveled to the city of Limoges and often search for them in stores or on-line. The internet has certainly made them easier to find since  outlets like Macys, Bloomingdales, and Gumps no longer stock them. The prices have also become more affordable, especially on Ebay. On the internet, my go-to source for many years has been Groundstrike Collectables, based in Austin. I once had lunch with the owner, Sam, whose ex-wife is a competitor in the business. Then there is Phyllis, who owns Gaslight Collectables in San Francisco that we visit on occasion. Anymore, it’s challenging to find unique Limoges Boxes that we don’t already own or have seen many times before without an interest in buying. 

Disney once had licensed their characters to Artoria, one of the French ceramic manufacturers, but that relationship has since discontinued. They still tend to be in high demand and the most valuable in our collection. Some command price tags in the thousands. Nearly twenty years ago while shopping at Disney World we foolishly passed on buying a couple of pieces while browsing and found them gone when we returned, never to be seen again. We did however purchase Djali, Esmerelda’s pet goat in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. To this day we’re convinced that it was mismarked at only $85 (should have been at least $285). We snatched it up and consider that price to be THE bargain standard for any currently available hinged-box on the market.

Our collection features travel souvenirs, holiday themed pieces, garden knick-knacks, and cartoon characters – to include a few broad categories. My wife spotted one last week at an local antique show and paid the Djali price. Then, we found another on Ebay for half a Djali. Both finds have been added to the collection, accompanied by this hidden poem:

Limoges for Less

Back in the day,
Djali was THE  bargain.
A cheap Disney box,
Authentic “Peint Main.”

Now easier to find,
With the internet.
Discount French porcelain,
Without going in debt.

Two such “deals,”
Were found this week.
Without an occasion,
Or reason to seek.

At an antique show,
Bottled scents.
For eighty-five bucks,
The purchase made sense.

A Mixer on-line,
Was then your desire.
For a mere forty-five,
We became buyers.

We got these djollies,
At a third of the price.
They weren’t free,
But should suffice.

Copyright 2022 johnstonwrites.com

I refer back to Post #1905 that somehow triggered this first poem of 2022. It’s not exactly inspirational nor an accurate reflection of my personal ailments, but portrays the challenges of growing old:

Not Easy Being Me

It’s not easy,
To be old like me.
In a few years,
You too will see.

I’m battery powered,
With hearing aids.
Where did I put those,
Blue-blocker shades?

Need shoes that tie,
And support hose.
Because too often,
Can’t feel my toes.

My arches have fallen,
And can’t get up.
And I drink my wine,
From a Sippy Cup.

What hair is left,
Has long turned gray.
Social Security,
My only pay.

My heart’s still beating,
But my breath is foul.
I’m about ready,
To throw in the towel.

A Chiropractor visit,
My big day out.
This darn foot,
Has a touch of gout.

Lines and creases,
Mark my face.
I buy Advil,
By the case.

A scratchy voice,
Makes me hard to hear.
Losing my balance,
A constant fear.

Muscles that sag,
And wrinkled skin.
A beer gut,
And a double chin.

Glasses are a given,
Cataracts a curse.
Not quite ready,
For a full-time nurse.

A heating pad,
Keeps me warm.
Sore joints,
A nagging norm.

Right and left knees,
Are always stiff.
But the wee-knee,
Is a big IF!

What used to flow,
Now just trickles.
My pot of gold,
Nothing but nickels.

I’m like a Mummy,
In braces and wraps.
And in constant need,
Of extra naps.

If I’m a Grump,
This explains why.
But I’m not ready,
To say Good-Bye.

Copyright 2022 johnstonwrites.com

My last poetic offering of 2021, as directed to my son and his family who have tested positive for Covid this Christmas. Only his 14-year old son escaped infection. They were all over for dinner early this week so my wife and I are also in the testing process. Today we stood in line under the hot sun for about an hour for a swabbing. Tuesday, we get rapid-tested and should also get today’s results. Heck of a way to end the year and start a new one. I wrote this tongue-in-cheek tribute to the holidays while waiting for my test:

Unwanted Gifts

Some people got socks,
Or coal in their stocking.
Some got what they requested,
While certain gifts were shocking.

Many offerings this year,
Were not under the tree.
It was something unexpected,
That we couldn’t even see.

There was no wrapping,
Or card to read.
And the kind of present,
No one would ever need.

Covid for Christmas?
Don’t know what to say.
It shouldn’t be re-gifted,
Or passed in any way.

So many holidays ruined,
By this unwanted gift.
And if you received it,
You are surely miffed.

It can’t be returned,
Or even taken back.
Nobody wants it,
Once it’s unpacked.

So, we’ll be home,
For New Years.
Forget the toasts,
And cheers.

We’ll wear our comfy PJs,
No need for gown or tux.
Dinner plans are cancelled,
Saving lots of bucks.

The ball will drop,
As always.
But we’ll avoid,
That craze.

We’ll be asleep before,
The clock strikes midnight.
No rowdy crowds to battle,
Or DUIs to fight.

No “Jolly Good Fellas,”
Or stranger’s hug or kiss.
These awkward traditions,
We’re grateful to miss.

It was a Covid Christmas,
And New Year’s Quarantine.
Won’t be donning silly hats,
Or renting a limousine.

We’ll continue to vaccinate,
Until the virus goes away.
And get another Booster,
For our next Birthday.

Copyright 2021 johnstonwrites.com

Sadly, I have not written a poem in awhile, one of my favorite things to do.  One is tucked inside every Limoges box gift I give my wife. This means I haven’t been very attentive to her growing collection that has been part of our relationship since the beginning.  In going back through my notes, it’s been since late October that I did my last rhyme for a sports post, after our trip to Pittsburgh. A Halloween Limoges box was lost in the mail, so I stepped up for Christmas with a pricy Disney collectable of Minnie Mouse shopping. 

I felt it appropriate for our upcoming trip to Disney World with my wife’s daughter, who we haven’t seen since April and our move here to Florida. Her husband has never been to an amusement park, let alone the Disney experience. My wife is getting me, at my request, hearing aids – so ears for everyone this Christmas!

Ears for Everyone 

A Disney World,
Family Reunion.
Christmas cheer,
And Florida sun.

Megan & Mitch,
Will “Be our Guests.”
Star Wars rides,
Our ultimate quest.

The Animal Kingdom,
Is our first stop.
Avatar Flight,
Then Everest’s top.

Epcot fireworks,
After Il Mulino.
Too bad we missed,
Tahoe and Reno.

Fires and Covid,
Have thwarted travel.
Let’s hope this trip,
Doesn’t come unraveled.

Disney Limoges,
Seemed appropriate.
Minnie Mouse ears,
The perfect fit.

On Christmas Day,
The Falcon awaits.
Once we conquer,
The lines and gates.

Haunted Mansion,
Tower of Terror.
It’s A Small World,
If you dare!

The Castle will explode,
When our days are done.
Let’s hope any hassles,
Are outweighed by fun.

Then the holiday finale,
On our new lanai.
Unwrapping gifts,
With my Grand Guys.

No dishes at Debsie’s
Just yours and mine.
We may even break out,
The Homer wine.

Only Miranda and Ben,
Are missing this feast.
Eventually, they’ll get here,
But Kauai, at least.

My 23rd Christmas,
Of Loving beautiful you.
And I’m excited,
I’m getting ears, too!

Copyright 2021 johnstonwrites.com

Another attempt at poetry to express my feelings. I’ve crossed another decade of life and wonder what is ahead in the twilight of my life?

What will Life Be Like?

I’m slow and out of balance,
When I try to run.
What will it be like,
When I’m Seventy-one?

It hurts to bend over,
Just to tie a shoe.
How stiff will I be,
When I’m Seventy-two?

In three more years,
Where will I be?
And what will life bring,
When I’m Seventy-three?

I would like to know,
What the years have in store.
What will it be like,
When I’m Seventy-four?

How much longer,
Will I be alive?
What will I be doing,
When I’m Seventy-five?

Time remaining,
Slowly ticks.
Who will be left,,
When I’m Seventy-six?

Life can be hell,
Is there truly a heaven?
Will living still matter,
When I’m Seventy-seven?

Midnight’s approaching,
It’s getting late.
Will the clock keep ticking,
When I’m Seventy-eight?

So many questions,
As I run out of time.
What’s left to offer,
If I turn Seventy-nine?

Suddenly I’m eighty,
Have I done it all?
Another decade,
Any way to stall?

Will I make it,
Past 100 years?
I find little pleasure,
In outliving my peers.

Copyright 2021 johnstonwrites.com