Welcome... I am Roseaingel. As you can likely tell from my name, I simply adore roses and angels. The rose is an exquisite creation of nature, its tightly packed petals opening magically unaware, revealing its incredible beauty. The angel, a mysterious being of beauteous wonder, is an inspiration to us all...

But this site is neither about roses, nor angels, though pictures of both shall adorn its pages. Rather, it is about me~~my space, my personal haven. And I am happy to be able to share it with all who visit. I do so hope you enjoy the time spent here...

As odd as it may seem, I have always felt as though I was born in the wrong century. The nineteenth century intrigues me so. Life appeared to be much gentler and more innocent...

I love antiques... I can be found frequenting garage sales on sunny Saturday mornings (and rainy ones!), scouring flea markets, and enduring the odd auction, in the hopes of acquiring some beautiful ones.

I am delighted when I stumble upon a wonderful, old piece of furniture, its surfaces worn smooth, as glass, from years and years of being rubbed and polished. I do not look for perfection. Indeed, I am happiest and most intrigued when I find an item which appears as though it had been well-loved in its lifetime.

My absolute passion, with regards to antiques, is antique china. I am drawn to the china tables at a garage sale as a child to the toy section at a department store. I try to imagine the original owners~~where did they live?..what were they like?..what were their names?...

I shall share with you, now, an experience I had a few years ago when visiting a garage sale in the town where I live. The sale was held at a lovely, large century home on the main street. I remember a strange sense of calm enveloping me as I walked up the long cobblestone driveway. The sensation was sudden..noticeable..and lasted the entire time I was on the property.

Tables filled with many different items were scattered about the lawn. There was quite an array of collectibles to choose from. But I was drawn, as though beckoned, to a table not filled with china, but with tools. And on that table, amidst all the rusted, old tools, was a lovely, old china bowl, its interior pattern fairly bursting with tiny, colourful, delicate roses.The edges were chipped and worn with time, but ohhh, how I loved it! I felt compelled to pick it up and hold it. The strangest feeling overcame me, one which I shall never forget. When I held that bowl in my hands, I felt, oddly enough, that somehow I had a strong connection to the bowl~~as though I had, at one time, owned it. I knew I needed to have it...

But the strange complusion did not end there. As I moved away from that table I headed immediately toward a table in another area of the lawn, as though led there. A simple little glass baking dish, one for baking loaves, gleamed in the mid-morning sun, amid a collection of bric-a-brac. The light refracted oddly upon the dish due to the worn, dulled edges. I picked it up, and the strange sense of reclaiming a forgotten article..a yearning for the past, flooded my entire being again, but more so this time...

I left that garage sale with feelings of bittersweet longing for a time unknown to me. It was a terribly odd and confusing sensation. I found, over the next few months (and since), that each time I used the baking dish, or replenished the potpourri in the china bowl, the same feelings of wistful yearning enveloped me, but only when holding the items.

Several months after purchasing the bowl and baking dish, during a visit to the library, I came upon, quite by accident, a book entitled 'A Taste of Peel'. Now, the county I live in is called Peel County, and the book, yellowed with age, was compiled by a women's league of the day, from about 1925. It contained recipes and little anecdotes, and naturally, being the nostalgic person I am, I was quite interested in reading it and quite unnaturally excited about doing so. I carefully opened the book while kneeling in front of the shelves and read, at random, a little excerpt from the page that had fallen open. My heart began to pound, my breathing laboured, as I read...

The words on the page seemed to jump out at me, as though imploring me to read them. The paragraph told of a local woman who adored cooking and baking. It went on to say that the woman felt happiest when baking with a particular glass loaf pan~~her breads turned out best when using it. I had a terrific sense that the dish they were describing was the one I had purchased. I was convinced, when, at the end of the paragraph, the woman's address was mentioned. It gave the number and street name...the main street in my town. I was also convinced that the entire population in the library could hear my pounding heart.

Should anyone share any of my interests, I would love to hear from you! Just click on my signature. As well, I would love for you to sign my guestbook below..

...a page filled with my passions