Saturday Night Popcorn

 When I was a kid, treats and snacks were limited, but I could usually talk my mom into making popcorn at least once a month, usually on a Saturday night.  It was made on the stovetop in a big cooking pot with regular vegetable oil and the cheapest popcorn kernels we could buy.  It was seasoned with table salt and served in a large tin cake pan.  Then I'd settle down in front of our RCA console color TV for a double-header of  "Love Boat" and "Fantasy Island" or maybe the CBS Saturday Night Movie.

Sometimes my mom would spring for a more expensive popcorn brand like Jolly Time that came with it's own packet of yellow-colored seasoning. I loved that powdery salt. I told myself it tasted like butter (it didn't).

In my teen years, my desire for popcorn as a weekly snack got to the point that my mom finally bought a popcorn popper.  It was a simple Mirro brand model; just an electric pot with a lid similar to this one, although ours had a clear plastic lid (this, by the way, was not my find).

I once scalded the inside of my nostril sniffing the popcorn immediately after lifting the lid (I told you, I really loved popcorn); lesson learned.

It made adequate popcorn, but I sometimes burned the bottom. There is no worse smell than burnt popcorn.  I longed for one of these (this IS my find):

ICEE with my Little Eye

I know, it's "I Spy,", but that doesn't work for today's blog title. Work with me here, people!

I drove past an unassuming little garage sale a few weeks ago.  I almost didn't stop as it looked like mostly new items, but I figured, "Hey, I'm here."

The host was probably in his 40's, so I was surprised to find a vintage 1968 Icee Bear gym(?) bag for sale for $1.

Of All the Blogs in the World, You had to Walk into Mine

Did you ever have a dream and wake up thinking, "That's a great idea for a blog title!"  No? Maybe it's just me.  But that's how I came up with today's blog title.

I dreamt long-time reader and longer-time friend FrankO had sent me some items he had found and within lay some mystery to solve. All I can remember about the items were they were a gathering of paper; photos, newspaper clippings, etc.  And FrankO wanted me to research and solve something about them.  And so, I wrote a blog about solving the mystery of them and titled the blog as I've done here.  

As I said, I then woke up and thought, "Hey! That's a great idea for a blog title!"  Unfortunately, I didn't have a mystery garage sale find to go with it.  But as I lay there unable to fall back asleep because now my brain was in overdrive, I realized, I kind of DO have a garage sale mystery I recently found.

But first, let's talk about that title.  What does it have to do with mysteries?  At first I thought, well of course, it's a Humphrey Bogart line. I could hear him saying it.  Then I realized, it's a line from "Casablanca" where he is decidedly not a detective.  The actual quote is "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."  But I swear I can visualize a femme fatale walking into a stereotypical detective's office (feet kicked up on the desk) and him uttering a line similar to this.

So where was the detective connection to Humphrey Bogart? Ah yes, "The Maltese Falcon" in which he plays "Sam Spade".  But how did this quote get intertwined with Bogart's portrayal of Dashiell Hammett's private dick? I can only guess that some parody I've seen over the years employed it. Carol Burnett? I know Steve Lawrence played a "Sam Spade" character in "Double Calamity" on her show, but I couldn't find any scene that fit my memory.  Oh well, some mysteries aren't meant to be solved, only accepted.  Now you can see why I have trouble falling back asleep.

Anyway, back to my mystery.

I found this portrait in a box of photographs at a recent sale.

Manning Bowman Bonanza

Yes, it's another toaster and percolator post. What can I say?  These things almost seem to find me rather than the other way around.

A few weeks ago, I spotted a Manning Bowman percolator in all it's glorious Art Deco roundness.