by Jen O
I'm not much of a art-lover, and absolutely it seems like most of the ever I'm bothersome to pardon, clean out and make easy my tellingly's storage and garnish. Noticeably since I've disclosed my disdain for the chore of dusting , collections seem like especially nooks and crannies for dust to order, and who do you judge is prevalent to dust it? Out.
So call me a dusting confidence man, but for the last 20 or so years I've slowly built a pointed accumulation of boxes...ceramic, wood, stained tumbler, cork, ebony, china, stone, and this scrap mini looker made of speculate what...horse tresses!

I can broadcast you quite where I was when I bought the ones I purchased myself, or undeniably who gave it to me for which prompt and the "specialness" of the giver. In lieu of of one monstrous jewelry box, I keep clusters of these gems on top of my dresser to carry everything from earrings and gangling buttons to odd notes and teensy-weensy souvenirs. They are like infinitesimal presents that I look at as I'm getting available every day.
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