What You Can Buy for Grzybumpy Cents

You know, I expected retirement to be wonderful. I looked forward to it for a long time and was really ready for the change. I assumed that moving a thousand miles north would mean that my thrifting would be limited to the summer months, and that by now I’d be blogging about stories from the past or how I’m using things I’ve found over the years. No doubt those weekends will come as winter progresses. I certainly did not expect to be able to go out garaging more than I did in Southern California, but this weekend I hit sales on three days. Woo hoo!

Granted, the number of sales are limited, but the stories I heard were fun, and I spent a whopping thirty bucks so you know I brought home some goods.

Friday I bought things at three sales and heard stories at another. I saw this plaque in one garage and asked the lady how much it was.

  

“Grzybumpy cents,” she mumbled. I must have had a puzzled look on my face, because she said a little louder, “Grzybumpy cents.” Ummm…she said it once more, and I said, “Did you say twenty five cents?” “Yes!” I laughed and told her I’d thought she said forty-five cents and it seemed like such an odd amount, and she laughed too. No way was I going to tell her I thought she was saying grzybumpy. And of course a quarter is perfect, because that was the original price!

The picture is laminated to some kind of board. Don’t think it’s a real cover, but besides being perfect for my guest room decorated with children’s literature stuff, I actually remember this album from when I was little. (It was not my favorite though. That honor goes to “How Much is that Doggie in the Window?”) Maybe I’ll have to frame that saying “What if the hokey pokey really is what it’s all about” though personally I like better  “Hokey Pokey Clinic – a place to turn yourself around.”

I also picked up this little trellis there, for when we start relandscaping in the spring.

Another sale netted a fifty cent bottle of Fray Check, which I’ve never owned before, despite have sewn sporadically for, oh, um, over forty years. And I picked up some votives and tealight candles at another, which was nice because I’ve been using a lot of them in the Yixing teapot warmer I found a year or so ago.

The funnest sale though was not one where I bought anything. This beauty greeted me as I stepped from the car.

If it’s not a twin to the sad picture over on Retro Renovation it’s at least a close cousin! A nice young couple with three kids are renovating their Craftsman house, and this puppy had to go. Hope some MCM fan got it. Most of their stuff was inside the house, but when I headed through the yard I was stopped by this wonderful wattle trellis the wife had made.

They told me the house came with three lots, one of which is planted with fruit trees which had not been pruned for a long time, so there were plenty of cuttings to work with last spring. Evidently the cuttings were not ready to admit defeat, and sprouted leaves after they had been woven into the trellis!

Inside I started chatting with the lady of the house. A small, gray half grown kitty came by and was willing to be picked up and petted. It was one of those delightful conversations where one topic riffs off another. Before long we were each telling our favorite “mice in the house” stories. (Oh, go on. You know you have one too.) Hers included one about a bowl of cat food that none of the cats would eat from. They would line up to eat from the other bowl and not go near the other, even though it was full. Then they started noticing there was always a dip in the food in the middle of the bowl. By now I’m about ready to believe it was haunted, but no. One night she stayed up late, sitting quietly nearby, and saw a very large – well, let’s say it was a step up in size from a mouse! – come out, grab a piece of food from the middle of the bowl, and take it back to where a stockpile was being created. All of the household cats were brought in to take care of the problem, but they all jumped up and cowered on the bed!

Saturday, I started out at a sale near my house, and spent at least 45 minutes going through the artist’s studio behind the house. The first thing I noticed was this lamp, which is a relative of the vintage Sight Light desk lamp we got back in January.

  

I looked around some more, and noticed boxes and boxes of cloth. You have never seen so many vintage linens in your life. I keep telling myself “No more!” and I did pretty good. Only brought home a couple of cloths to keep.

  

I picked up this vintage tea towel to see if it will resell.

  

The linens were just the tip of the iceberg. The lady who lived here was, according to her daughter in law, very artistic in lots of ways, and anything she wanted to do or try her husband would get for her. She painted, she did ceramics, there was a kiln, there were vases and knick knacks and boxes and boxes of Christmas decorations. There was so much stuff I had to look around several times because I kept seeing stuff I had missed. Like this little guy.

  

I was completely smitten by the sailor collar and the basketwork of his cart. When I got him home I remembered a piece of ribbing I had left from a felted sweater. So now I have a new pincushion.

Amazingly, I was the only shopper for much of the time I was looking. Others came and went. One gent about my age looked around happily and told me and the daughter in law that he grew up in a florist’s shop, and he remembered a lot of the things that were there. He pointed out some vases from the Fifties, and got nostalgic over a herky tape dispenser just like the one his mother had in her shop. While he was talking I noticed a stool under some pink pillows. Moved the pillows and found this.

Yes, it needs recovering, but it is perfect to go with our Heywood Wakefield vanity. It swivels beautifully. When I got it home I saw that the fabric was just pinned on. How fast do you think I got it unpinned? Probably not quite  that fast – the pins were rusty and I had to get some pliers to pull them out. Underneath a different homemade slipcover emerged.

  

It was rather stained, so it’s getting an oxy soak even as we speak. I think the stains are coming out, but if not I’ll find something else.

When I got home I started looking up prices on vintage tablecloths and noticed they seem to resell pretty well. So this morning Steven and I headed back so I could see if anything resale-worthy was still there. We were greeted by this beauty, who probably lives next door.

  

Can’t think when I’ve gone back to a sale a second time (or gone out three days in a row). I could tell that some stuff had been sold, but what went out of there on Saturday barely made a dent. While I was going through the tablecloths and cloth napkins again, I got more of the family history from the daughter in law. Her husband’s parents are now in their late 80s and living in a care home. They ran a store in Montana for years, sounded like it was a combination of clothing and pretty housewares. “She’d go buying for the store, and of course would find stuff she wanted for her own home too.” I heard about the sets of dishes that various family members have received, with names like Spode on the backs. Each set with eight or twelve place settings. When they closed the store they moved to this house in Salem and created an absolutely amazing garden behind the house. Her studio where she did her art was actually built over a swimming pool! Yes, they had an indoor pool, but when they were in their 70s decided it was too much to take care of, so they built a floor over the pool and made it her studio. Steven asked if they had filled in the pool, but no, it’s still under there. Not only that, there is a trapdoor and they use the old swimming pool for storage! Which may explain the rather musty smell clinging to the probably hundred or more sofa pillows still looking for new homes.

Today I picked up a couple more tablecloths. Hopefully they will sell, but if not I’ll be happy to keep them. ;o)

  

Also some vintage Vera napkins.

  

And my stash of tiny tapers grows apace!

Since there’s so much stuff still left, they are planning to have another sale in March when they put the house on the market.

Yeah. I might have to go back again, just in case I missed something!

Square Eggs

Estate sale, sign on the door: Come on in! Inside a hint of funky smell, but not too bad. Most of the rooms were corded off, but the kitchen and a huge family room had tables set up with items for sale. I perused, listening to the three folks chatting in the kitchen. Rather ironically they were talking about how it’s a better idea to price things so they will move than have a bunch of stuff left over. The irony came from the prices they had marked on everything. But as I remarked to the lady keeping an eye on things in the family room, I don’t really care if I buy anything, I just like to poke through other people’s stuff.

“Oooh, I found a treasure yesterday,” she told me. Turns out she was helping set up the sale, and had washed and dried every piece of china and glass in the house. (Did a good job, too, I would never have known the stuff was dirty a day earlier!) I asked about her treasure.

“It’s this little gadget that you peel a hardboiled egg and put it in and press and it makes a square egg! Is that the coolest thing? I just can’t wait to try it. I want to see if they stay square after you slice them. If it works, I’m going to make square deviled eggs.” She was positively gleeful. “Oooh, those would be great to take to a potluck,” I said. “Yeah, and if anyone asks what they are, I’m going to tell them there’s this guy I know who’s started breeding chickens that lay square eggs.” By now we were both cackling. Square-egg-laying hens would have felt right at home with us. I left without buying anything, but a tall tale about square chickens is priceless.

And if you’d told me I would get over (are you ready?) NINETY MILLION hits when I Google ‘square egg’ I’d have thought that was a tall tale too! I’m happy to report there are pictures of square eggs that have been sliced, so I know there are some deviled eggs going to a potluck somewhere in Salem one of these days.

That was on Friday. On Saturday I was shopping a garage in west Salem and heard a conversation turn to the prices at estate sales around here. “Most of them mark everything ridiculously high,” one lady said. And every other person in the garage (yup, including me!) joined in, agreeing. “I stopped at that estate sale not far away before I came over here, and there was a line waiting to get in,” she went on. “I’m not going to wait in line and pay too much. Sheesh.” Later I ended up at the estate sale she was talking about, and was she ever right. Now really, who in the world is going to pay THREE DOLLARS for a used jar of basil? Yup, that’s how they had priced the little jars of spices in the kitchens. I saw another couple pick up a couple of square lidded canister-size jars, similar to the Ikea ones I bought for fifty cents a few weeks ago. A few minutes later I saw them tapping the jars. “I think they’re plastic,” the woman said. The man tapped his, then held it out to me. “Does this look like plastic to you?” “Yeah,” I told him, “and you can probably buy new glass ones for about the same price.” They decided to leave them for someone else. Of course, this being polite Oregon, they didn’t set them down on the table we were standing by, they put them back in the same spot where they had found them!

My next stop was in the garage of a lady who used to own an antique mall, and one of the shoppers had had a booth there. “What are you up to these days?” she asked, and they chatted for a bit. Then the middle-school age boy with them said, “I thought you were asking me what I’m doing these days. I don’t do anything!” I commented that he is probably in school, and I hoped he wasn’t doing nothing. His dad said, “Yeah, we’re just trying to get him through middle school. I’m going to try bribing his teachers.”

“My niece is a middle-school science teacher,” I said. “So bribe away. I’m sure she’d appreciate it!” Science seemed to be the key word. The kid began to tell us about a science experiment they were doing where they stuff a chicken with cinnamon lifesavers to mummify it. (Ig. I’m glad I don’t teach science!) “I’ve cooked chicken that came out mummified,” someone said.

I felt like a real Oregonian Saturday. My car finally has its Oregon license plates, and I was garaging in the rain. And when I got home, there was a pickup truck parked in front of our driveway, delivering the cord of firewood we had ordered. Not just any firewood either – a load of filbert wood, which aside from fir is about as local as you can get. It took us about an hour to get it stacked, during which we realized it’s been about 25 years since we bought firewood. And that we were 25 years younger the last time we stacked it!

I spent a grand total of $5.50 this weekend, garaging in the gentle Oregon rain. I’m hoping this thing will help us open the stubborn jar lids that seem to be getting more and more stubborn.

It’s also a potholder and a trivet, and has a magnet so it can hang on the fridge. Such a deal. So was this lighted stand.

It changes color.

I bought it to display this piece on that I picked up a while back.

There’s just one catch. I can’t find the darned thing anywhere! Of course we’re not 100% unpacked yet, so I live in hope. Cross your fingers that I didn’t put it in box of stuff for the thrift store in a fit of clearing out.

I plucked a lovely monogrammed bridge cloth from a free box.

It’s badly stained, but I can’t resist seeing if an oxy soak will refurbish it.

I thought these teak fish salad/snack bowls were just a hoot.

Back in the realm of the practical, I scored a box of vintage, extra long sewing pins

an oak outlet cover

some little foam dot thingies to put on the bottom of stuff so it won’t mar your table

and a few tiny tapers for my Dansk candle holder. Tiny tapers are now permanently on my search list. I can’t bear to pay very much for something I’m going to set on fire.

Found a copy of perhaps the only movie sequel that was better than the first one.

I’m looking forward to reading more of this sewing guide from the 1920s. How can you resist prose like “From doll dresses of the simplest sort to stately gowns – all have held my interest and given me in their creation a great deal of happiness.”

    

And from the same sale, a big chunky magazine from 1958. It’ll look great on our coffee table.

Some of the articles are by quite famous writers (Eric Ambler, Kenneth Tynan, C. P. Snow, Joyce Cary). I’m sure I’ll get around to reading them someday. But (she admits, blushing) it was really the ads that made me spend my quarter.

    

I want one of these for my carport.

Of course I really want this one, but I don’t think it would fit!

Old Ladies and Mushroom Bowls

I’ve been sitting here fondling a bowl. Not just any bowl. (What do you take me for?) A mid century bowl.

A Finel  Mushroom bowl designed by Kaj Franck back in the Sixties. A pristine, mint condition Finel mushroom bowl. Picked it up this morning thinking it might have some resale value (it does). But dang, when you sit there fondling a bowl as long as I just did, you might have to rethink the resale!

I know I’m going to resell most of these – after I enjoy taking a peek through them.

Whole bunch of Mary Engelbreit magazines, some of which I haven’t seen before. I auctioned a bunch of these on eBay before we moved, so I know I’m not the only one who likes them.

They came from the kind of sale that makes the heart of someone like me go pittypat. (Cathy G., you would have been drooling!) Two women were clearing out their stashes of vintage and artsy and crafty stuff. The driveway was packed. About the first thing I saw was this book.

Didn’t buy it though – after all, I can write my own ‘long way to Oregon’ story! I flipped through the crafty books, admired the vintage embroidered pillowcases and fifties printed tablecloths, glanced over the tables full of stuff, stuff, stuff. Nearly succumbed to a small tablecloth with a vintage embroidery design stamped on it; one motif was partly stitched, and there was thread and a hoop in the bag with it. But I asked myself rather sternly how likely I was to actually finish this piece and use it, and the answer was ‘not too.’ So I left it for someone else.

Quite a few of their items had a higher price tag than I was interested in paying, but it was great fun to look at everything. Then I started chatting with another lady who was looking through a shoe box of old photos. She held up one. “Wow, look at this dress!” she said. I looked.

“There a name on the back.” She squinted at it. “Earl.”

We both gazed at the picture. “Well, maybe it is Earl at that.” We giggled. But I took the picture when she put it back in the box, and the more I looked at it, the more I liked it. The dress is amazing, yes, but it’s the face. If you look very closely, there are fine wrinkles all over her face.

I think she looks patient, and wise, and though her eyes are sad, her mouth is about to curl up into a smile. The pin at her throat looks like an Eastern Star pin, and I have in my button collection at least one button like the ones on her dress. While we were looking at the photos, one of the sellers came by and we asked where all these pictures had come from.

“Oh, my husband went to appraise a house one time,” she said, “and he found stacks of these things in the trash can. So he brought them home, and I used them in art projects for years. There’s a family name on the back of a lot of them, and you can kind of trace the history of the family through the pictures.” We all agreed it was such a shame that no one in that family had wanted or valued these pieces of their history. But this one at least has a new family – me. I’ve adopted her as one of my forebears, and she’ll be going in a frame soon. I think I’ll have her hang out with this other portrait I love.

That’s the author Dorothy L. Sayers, one of my favorites. And since the plot of the new book I’m starting to write involves some old family photographs, these two ladies will be here on my desk for the next few months as my muses.

I was about to leave this sale with my magazines and Mrs. Earl’s portrait when I saw one more thing I had to have. Back story: my husband could not get everything on the rented truck when he brought the last load of our belonging up from California, there just wasn’t quite enough room. Like the pioneers crossing the vast American plains, he simply had to leave some things behind. He made good choices, but one thing I really miss – my little footstool.

It wasn’t much to look at, but it was the perfect size to sit on and weed garden beds, or sort books on a low shelf, or give the cat a perch. If I ever see another like it, rest assured I will buy it. Meanwhile, I’ll use this.

A bit taller than my old one, but still compact and very sturdy. My husband took one look and said, “Nice lines.” The top is covered in old oilcloth, but it will be easy to take off and recover. And this is the sort of piece that’s at home anywhere, even among MCM pieces.

After this sale I headed north, where most of the sales in town were supposed to be today. But until I hit sale with The Bowl it was a bust. But the trees are putting on a lovely show, and though a bit foggy there was no rain, so a Saturday morning drive is a treat. And if I hadn’t headed north, I might never have seen this local landmark!

Shop Local!

I think we’ve taken “shop local” to a new high. Went around the corner this morning to a sale in another Midcentury Modern house. The driveway was quite a hike – long and all uphill. Everyone was winded when we arrived at the top. One of the guys helping with the sale was talking to some other shoppers by the front door as I panted by him, saying, “Of course it is a really long climb, but we had one lady who was 91 years old while ago.” I stopped to tell him that I now felt 91. Inside I did a quick initial cruise checking for furniture (still need another pair of twin beds) and in one of the downstairs rooms I came to a halt. Long, low, MCM sofa in a tweedy gold/brown fabric. It was piled with other stuff for sale (placemats, a large piece of fabric, a bunch of thises and that’s) but I could see it was the real deal. And now I know why I finally broke down and got a cell phone: so I could whip it out and call my husband and say, “Come look at this.”

Five minutes later he was there, and he liked it too, and the price was thirty bucks, so we did it. Then we started figuring out how to get it home. He went ahead and took the cushions home in his car while I did a bit more garaging. I managed to spend one more dollar on a trash can for one of the guest room and a couple of throw pillow to recover for the sofa. Oh yeah, the sofa. The one that was still a block from home.

I mentioned it was long, right? This is a dachshund of a sofa – 8 feet long and 2 feet tall. With the cushions off it wasn’t horribly heavy (just substantially heavy). So we decided we’d try to carry it home, and if that wasn’t possible we’d call the U-haul place and rent a van (which would have doubled the price of the piece, and you know how I felt about that!). So back we went – downhill on our street to the corner, downhill to the left past the school, another left and uphill to the house with the sale, and another trek up that long driveway.

In the house, down the stairs. I picked up one end of the sofa and bravely said, “Yeah, let’s go for it.” There was a sliding door to the outside in that room so we headed out with it.

A  young couple was in the room shopping, and when she saw me holding up the sofa the woman said, “Here, my husband will help you.” He smiled as though she’s volunteered him for stuff before. We explained that we were planning to carry it uphill over to the next street. “That’s okay,” she said. “He can help.” I told her she was my new BFF, no wait, her husband was my new BFF, as I surrendered my end of the sofa to this nice young man. He and Steven schlepped it down the long, long driveway and paused by our Honda Civic.

“Maybe we could get one end in the back,” I said, “and you could hold up the other end and I could drive really slow.” Steven shrugged, nice young man shrugged, we opened the hatchback, and damn if that thing didn’t go in! Well, about a third of it went in. But it was securely wedged, didn’t look like it would slide out, so I got in the driver’s seat and off we went.

It’s really hard to drive as slow as a walking person! But turned out not to matter. Sofa didn’t budge as I went down the street, around the corner, up the hill past the school, around another corner, and up the hill to home.

Whew.

  

I’m awfully glad I didn’t actually have to carry this thing all the way from the other house, since getting it inside was enough for me. I pretty glad that Nice Young Man didn’t have to carry it all the way either! But get it in we did, and though initially we talked about putting it downstairs in the family room, now we think it’s perfect in the living room.

I’m not sure of the brand. The tag inside dates it to 1964, and the loose back cushions are down filled. It’s the original upholstery (the color is “Soiree Russet”) and though faded in some places it’s in quite good condition. I saw a picture of one like it that was identified as an Edward Wormley for Dunbar – but that one had been recovered in a cheetah print. Ig. I’m awfully glad mine is still Soiree Russet!

Noll Baxter is too.