Be My Little Baby Bumblebee…
A public service announcement: Despite all of our jokes so far, the act of going into someone’s home and sorting through their belongings is often quite sad. You find things that once had meaning to someone else—items that belonged to a person with family and friends who loved them dearly.
When we go to a sale, we are riffling through a person’s home, searching for treasures with unknown histories that we will instill with new meanings. This is cool in many ways, but it can also be devastating if you think about it for too long. The original meanings are lost—often forever.
We have never had the privilege of uncovering information about an individual whose home we have ransacked. Sure, sometimes you hear a few comments from the people running the sale—but nothing too personal. Erin and I are overcome with excitement and are still trying to wrap our brains around the insanity of having the chance to actually put some of the puzzle pieces together with the House of Horrors. Our sense of wonder and humor about the artwork aside, this experience is seriously a privilege and honor.
This is the owner of The House of Horrors, circa 1986. She was an ice skater, an amazing mother, and she adored her son. She is pictured here in the most awesome bumblebee costume. What a lovely, fun-loving woman. RIP, Ethel.
I wore almost this exact costume (except tinier, of course, and sans the sexy pantyhose) in my first ballet recital (1984):
Our dance was choreographed to Theresa Brewer’s 1960 version of “Be My Little Baby Bumblebee.” As soon as I saw the ice skating picture, that song popped into my head.
Special thanks to Ethel’s son and daughter-in-law for their generosity in letting us post the image. It is wonderful.
P.S. Look how cute my mom is too!