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Two Days, 1,200 Miles, One Citation, and Six Heywood Wakefield Chairs – Dining Room Transformation Mission Accomplished!

03 Thursday Sep 2015

Posted by opidells in Pickin' and a Grinnin' - Chad's Rants from the Road

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amish, antiques, auctions, collecting, heywood wakefield, starburst, travel

A lot has happened since my last blog, and this weekend provided the solitude for reflecting on what to include in this update.  We were heading to Pennsylvania for a turn-and-burn pickup of some more 50’s artifacts in the form of Jill’s favorite sexy blondes (Heywood Wakefield furniture) .  I would have plenty of time to ponder changes in the preceding months and how that affected Opidell’s, our home and me.  I needed the hum of the road to lull me to my Zen place, allowing me to sort out such things like the death of the Big Suburban, Jill’s obsession with mid-mod, and the addition of our new-found family friends Heywood and Wakefield.  Lots of things to sort out and lots of miles in which to do it.

We left Lexington at twelve bells, right on time (for once) and aimed the mini-Suburban east, small box trailer in tow.  You see, faithful readers, tragedy has recently descended upon the Walker Hacienda.  The Big Suburban, which has been battling a lifelong illness, due to a less than optimal performing 2007 engine, has taken ill.  The ’07 model has been reported as problematic across internet forums, and although it has performed countless times in the past, the constant addition of oil with no much as a spot on the driveway finally took its toll.  In case you are wondering, the Big ‘Bourbon is resting peacefully in the garage out of the weather.  A constant oil IV is keeping him comfortable, and a battery trickle charger is keeping its spirits up.  I treated him to a full detail last weekend while the weather was warm, but unfortunately, it’s just a matter of time.  On mechanic’s orders, he’s not being driven other than a few miles at a time in hopes of returning his oil pressure back to tolerable levels.  Likely he will be escorted to a dealer retirement home to live out his days in the care of a certified mechanic.  Time will tell.  I have spent 170,000 miles and countless hours with the big beast.  He drove all over this country and never bucked no matter how heavily loaded he was with furniture, hay, bricks and whatever needed to be hauled.

So the weekend traveling landed solely on the shoulders of the mini-Suburban, Jill’s Toyota Highlander. Although a bit more cramped, a little less outfitted and only two wheel drive, the little-Highlander-that-could would be tested this weekend with snowstorms, West Virginia Mountains, limited gas stations and my lead foot. Plus, she had to haul a trailer which added stress to the “There Can Only Be One” Highlander.

The lil’Toyota eased onto the interstate, Jill set the GPS and I stomped the accelerator achieving light speed almost immediately.  Our new pickin’ machine was off to a good start.  The weather forecast was cold but clear all the way to West Virginia.  Our final destination was near Lancaster, Pennsylvania, a little town just shy of Philly.  The reason for the trip was to pick-up a set of Champagne finished Heywood Wakefield dining chairs and to attend an auction that featured some Hey Wake.    Why drive all the way to Pennsylvania for chairs?  Well, just after Christmas Jill acquired a HW table and buffet set at a consignment shop near Chicago.  For you faithful readers you know Jill is partial to the wheat tinted Hey Wake, however this perfect condition original finish Champagne set caught her eye.  In turn, it spawned an entire mission to refinish our former “sittin’ room” into a formal dining room, complete with atomic dishes and blue and pink handled silverware. The only thing missing was the chairs.  So why not just ship the chairs? Yea, yea…I’m getting to that.

One of Jill’s occasional HW sources was a gentleman in Pennsylvania.  She contacted him.  They haggled.  And after many sleepless nights of pacing and self-loathing, she bought the chairs.  I would have paid twice as much for the items since it kept me from endless winter evenings in my non-heated garage refinishing chairs she already had acquired.  After the payment for the chairs were received, Jill arranged for a shipping company to fetch them for us.  Therein lies the problem.  The shipping company, after taking payment, suddenly and inexplicably went out of business.  Apparently the owner made off with funds with many people’s items stranded in transit scattered across the country.  Fortunately, Jill’s chairs were just marooned in Amish country, so that’s where we headed.

Here was the self-inflicted problem with the weekend.  We left at noon and had to arrive at 8:00pm to retrieve the chairs.  For those of you keeping score at home, that’s an eight hour trip and we had, well, eight hours to arrive.  Then we had to load, find a place to sleep and be rested for the next day.  The tomorrow would be equally hectic.  We would drive from Lancaster to New Philadelphia, Ohio to arrive at an auction beginning at 11:00 am.  Then depart that auction and drive the remaining four hours home to Lexington.  Quite the marathon weekend and it all had to be timed just right or we could lose out on the chair retrieval or miss the auction.

The lil’ Toyota eased onto the interstate, Jill set the GPS and I stomped the accelerator achieving light speed almost immediately.  Our new pickin’ machine was off to a good start.  The weather forecast was cold but clear all the way to West Virginia.  Our final destination was near Lancaster, Pennsylvania, a little town just shy of Philly.  The reason for the trip was to pick-up a set of Champagne finished Heywood Wakefield dining chairs and to attend an auction that featured some Hey Wake.    Why drive all the way to Pennsylvania for chairs?  Well, just after Christmas Jill acquired a HW table and buffet set at a consignment shop near Chicago.  For you faithful readers you know Jill is partial to the wheat tinted Hey Wake, however this perfect condition original finish Champagne set caught her eye.  In turn, it spawned an entire mission to refinish our former “sittin’ room” into a formal dining room, complete with atomic dishes and blue and pink handled silverware. The only thing missing was the chairs.  So why not just ship the chairs? Yea, yea…I’m getting to that.

One of Jill’s occasional HW sources was a gentleman in Pennsylvania.  She contacted him.  They haggled.  And after many sleepless nights of pacing and self-loathing, she bought the chairs.  I would have paid twice as much for the items since it kept me from endless winter evenings in my non-heated garage refinishing chairs she already had acquired.  After the payment for the chairs were received, Jill arranged for a shipping company to fetch them for us.  Therein lies the problem.  The shipping company, after taking payment, suddenly and inexplicably went out of business.  Apparently the owner made off with funds with many people’s items stranded in transit scattered across the country.  Fortunately, Jill’s chairs were just marooned in Amish country, so that’s where we headed.

Here was the self-inflicted problem with the weekend.  We left at noon and had to arrive at 8:00 pm to retrieve the chairs.  For those of you keeping score at home, that’s an eight hour trip and we had, well, eight hours to arrive.  Then we had to load, find a place to sleep and be rested for the next day.  The tomorrow would be equally hectic.  We would drive from Lancaster to New Philadelphia, Ohio to arrive at an auction beginning at 11:00 am.  Then depart that auction and drive the remaining four hours home to Lexington.  Quite the marathon weekend and it all had to be timed just right or we could lose out on the chair retrieval or miss the auction.

Back at the helm of the Highlander, she was trudging along.  The steep hills after Charleston, West Virginia gave the ol’gal some trouble.  She handled it, but not without returning to the previous gear time and time again trying to fight the trailer and gravity.  Even with the overdrive off, her constant shifting bucking against my need for a constant high reading on the speedometer caused Jill to look from her reading material to consult the going-ons.   Then the sleet came.  Little hard pellets of precipitation belted the windshield.  It slowed traffic although the track was still fast.  I kept up my speed with a cautious grip on the steering wheel.  Jill buried her head in more reading material, like an ostrich in the sand.  I could hear her mind above the pellets on the glass: “Go to your happy place.  Go to your happy place. Not much longer on the road.  He knows what he’s doing.  Go to your happy place.”

As we crested the mountain overlooking Cumberland, Maryland, my co-pilot yelled, “Look at that traffic.  Take the exit!”  Evasive maneuvers landed me on a parallel track to the off-ramp, much to the surprise of the cars trailing me.  The upcoming hillside was littered with all manners of blinking lights, signaling an accident.  Thanks to my co-pilots sharp eyes and a reckless regard for my fellow motorists, we took the exit and detoured around traffic.  Problem was, with every additional fuel stop and unscheduled route change, our arrival was becoming delayed.  Time to make up some, well, time.

Now back on the interstate, I decided to do some time traveling.  I eased the gas pedal closer to the floor as the speedometer climbed.  In case you are wondering, I’ll tell you a little trick.  In Kentucky, the speed limit on most interstates is seventy miles-per-hour.  Here’s the fun part.  If you are going ten miles-per-hour or less over the speed limit on a limited access highway, interstates (or pretty much any “limited highway” with on and off ramps) then there’s no points off your license if you get a ticket.  The general consensus of law enforcement is that there’s no reason to pull over a motorist for a “no-points” speed violation.  Other than the fine, there’s basically no incentive to issue a citation.  So, I set my cruise control at 80.  The first problem with the above-mentioned scenario is that the speed limit in Maryland is 65. The second problem is that, when you are towing a trailer with a smaller vehicle it can “push” you down the mountain.

Needless to say, I saw the cop too late.  I passed him, trying to drive casual, even singing “la-la-la” as I rocketed by. He was already pulling out, lights blazing the night sky.  Fortunately from the passenger seat I could hear a lecture series while I searched for inappropriate place to stop.  The dissertation continued until the no-nonsense officer leaned in, sternly requesting “license and registration.”  I had both presented before the last “shun” syllable left his lips.  It had been years since I had been pulled over, but, like riding a bike, you never forget. Since I was well practiced in receiving moving citations, it was like seeing an old friend I haven’t seen in a while.  Some things are nice if for no other reason than being familiar.

“You know how fast you were going?”

Ah, it was coming back to me.    “No sir.”

“83 in a 65.”

Shit, I’m out of practice.  “Oh!”

“Where you heading?”

“Huh?” He was on my 50% deaf, left ear side.

“Where you headin’?”

“Oh, up to Lititz,” Ha, ha, I said “tit” to a cop, “To buy some furniture.” Figured I would attempt to garner some pity from a fellow man.

“From Kentucky going to Lititz to buy furniture?”

I could almost hear him thinking… “Good Lord Son, we will give you police escort out of Maryland you poor bastard.”

“Stay right here, I’ll be back.”  He left.  The sermon was now replaced with a staring contest, of which I was losing.

“How much will this cost dummy?”  My supportive and understanding bride questioned.  My mind took over:  tell her less than the damn chairs you’re driving eight hours each direction to get!  No, don’t say that.  Just sit there and look dumb.  Good job…that came easy. I was contemplating my retort when the officer returned.

“All right son, I’m just giving you a warning.  Just keep your speed under control.”

WHAT!  REALLY!  “Oh, thank you sir.  I really appreciate that.”

“Ok, drive safe.”  He began to walk off when my overzealous co-pilot interjected.

“We are from Kentucky!”

What the hell is she doing?  We’re free damnit!

“The speed limit there is 70.” She belted out.

The trooper was halfway to his car when he heard the conversation aimed at him, turned on his heels and stopped in an inquisitive, “you talking to me punk” stance.  I motioned him off and waved and rejoined traffic, into obscurity.    The biggest shit-eating grin creeped up on my face.  Jill just shook her head and giggled.

“You are so lucky it’s ridiculous.”

Despite the additional fuel stops, back road detours and run-in with the law, we arrived in Lancaster just a few minutes after eight.  Immediately we noticed slow moving flashing boxes jamming every corner of the highway.  Amish.  We were in Amish-land.  In virtual harmony we looked at each other and mused aloud, “Is this guy Amish?  What if this guy IS Amish?

“Hell Jill, I can’t talk to him.  What would I say?  I mean, I curse sometimes…is he going to smite me?  I know, I know…I’ll ask who won the annual Abe Lincoln look-alike contest.  That should be a good conversation starter.”  Jill rolled her eyes at my angst.  Being in the presence of anyone so convinced of their purpose in life is intimidating. I’m too much a pluralist and a genuine smart-ass not to have questions, legitimate on not.

He wasn’t Amish, fortunately for both of us.  Our Heywood Wakefield Pennsylvania-connection was a pleasant fellow with a huge shop.  I remembered him from his eBay postings; he always posed his pet Collie with the pieces offered for sale.  We soon found out the business mascot and friend had passed away last year.  As a dog owner myself, I felt sad for his former master.  That pup was an iconic fixture in the mid-mod collecting community, more famous than I could ever hope to be.      Then the snow came.  The sky had been laboring to produce solid precipitation the majority of the journey, as we skirted in and out along the storm’s edge.  But now the havens opened and rained down huge fluffy flakes Forrest Gump would surely describe as “big ole fat snow.”

We headed toward our lodging.    Along the way we passed a hotel that had been built to resemble a steamboat, several music venues and an amateur wrestling arena.  Lancaster had obviously embraced the simple culture influence of its Amish neighbors.  On the edge of town, one sign summed up the duality of the town:  “Amish Stuff for Sale.  Lots of people sell stuff, but this stuff is Amish.”  Funny.

Our lodging for the evening was reserved at the Cork Factory Hotel.  The Cork was a good example of reuse of an old dilapidated property and turning it into something cool and viable. Revitalization at its finest.  The entry was nice.  The lobby was nice.

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Comfy haven for four hours of sleep…

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Cork Factory Hotel

But upon exiting the elevator onto the third floor, we both became oddly dizzy.  I can only assume that the hotel did not utilize its Amish craftsmen neighbors since the entire place was out of plum.  The floors were woozy, the walls crooked as a politician and signs were completely cattywhompus.  The combination of all the odd angles caused us both to grab the walls like we were on day three of a four day bender.    We dropped our bags inside and headed to the restaurant downstairs.  It was a nice place with good food.  Jill had a hanger steak and I went for the chicken with plum Marsala.  The setup was cozy and the staff was helpful without being intrusive.  I wish I could write more concerning the meal, but after nine plus hours on the road running full out, things sort of ran together.  The first beer was good.  So was the second. But ahhh, the third beer.  The third beer was truly divine.

We returned to the room and opened the window.  The heat had been set at a tropical 75, so the open window provided a nice cool breeze.  The air was crisp and still with only the faint murmur of millions of tiny snowflakes passing through it and landing softly on the ground below.  I looked at the clock.  It was nearing midnight.  Now for those of you keeping score at home, we had five hours to drive in the morning to New Philadelphia, Ohio.  In order to arrive in enough time to preview the items, we would need to leave at 5:00 am to arrive by 11:00 am. The unexpected variable to the trip was the snow.  The forecast predicted it would continue throughout the am hours until the mid-morning.  We calculated and debated. Then it was agreed…we would set the alarms for 4:15 am in order to be on the road by 5:00 am at the absolute latest.  That would allow for a little over four hours sleep.  Ugh.

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The snow began to fall…

We crawled into comfortable the bed.  The rustic sounds of old creaking timbers from the room overhead became downright annoying with such limited time to sleep.  I cursed the fate of our upstairs neighbor as I finally entered a heavy slumber.    Four a.m. came much too early, as it typically does. I continued the previous evening’s cursing of our upstairs neighbor.  I cursed Jill.  I cursed Heywood and Wakefield and I cursed myself.  I scurried to the bathroom to stare in the mirror and beg Mr. Hyde to return his body to the good doctor.  After banging around the room until the cursing subsided, I donned my clothes, awoke Jill and headed toward the truck.  We departed on time again!  Two-for-two; our personal best.

It was still snowing.  Heavy snow.  The kind of snow that ruins visibility streaking the black of night. The eyes cannot focus past the big fluffy particles just over the hood.  It looks like the bridge on the U.S.S. Enterprise after entering warp speed. Promise came in the form of a pair of golden arches just over the horizon.  We would refuel with some much needed greasy treats and caffeine.  But the promise was short-lived as that particular McDonalds was the slowest on the planet.  It was truly amazing the complete ambivalence exhibited by its employees who casually took our orders then went about whatever mundane business in which they were previously engaged, finally to remember that people were staring at them for some reason.  Only then would they return to see what was taking so long.  I wondered if they hired Amish to work the drive thru.  That would be the only explanation as to the aversion for electronic devices or speedy food.

After two corrections in our meal, we left bizarre-o McDonalds, middle finger extended at full mast.    Thanks to our time-challenged friends, we left the pit-stop behind the pace car.  In this case, the pace car was a slow moving snow plow that blocked both lanes of the highway.  We took the left position while a UPS truck was on the high side.  I wondered if a relative of a McDonald’s employee worked the snowplow as well.    After battling the elements the majority of the trip, we burst thru the clouds about half-past-nine.  Smooth sailing from here on out.  I floored the pedal, confident we would not cross paths with the Maryland trooper as we were taking an alternate route thru Ohio.

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High-tailing it through the snow!

We arrived in New Philly with approximately half-an-hour to spare, plenty of time for Jill to inspect the furniture while I reveled in my groundbreaking time.  That poor Highlander will never be the same.    The auction went smooth.  The house, a beautiful ranch style home on a corner lot, sold first.  I wandered around outside while Jill put on her game face.  I was just happy to stretch my legs for a bit.  I wandered around the neighborhood for a spell.  New Philly may have not invented mid-century modern, but it had a great collection of it.  Nearly every other house was a striking atomic ranch, all retro, all unique and all preserved.  I would love to take a tour inside some of these old museums of shag carpet, wall clocks and ugly lamps.    Even though the auctioneer was inside, he left his remote mic on, which relayed outside.  It was like listening to a basketball game on the radio.  He was the play-by-play guy and I sat huddled in the cold listening for Jill’s bid number.

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The house sells for around $115K

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There was a real cool bar with knotty pine walls in the basement. Good times were surely had here!

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The living room was classic mid century, ugly lamps, fiberglass drapes and all!

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This HW buffet sold for around $200. A good price, but Jill already had one, so she passed.

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There were two of these corner cabinets, each selling for around $600. Too much for us!

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But she did score two bookcases that we later realized weren’t even HW, but they looked the part and were worth the $60 she paid for them.

“An-a-forty-five…no fifty…now fifty five…now sixty.  Anymore?  All in, all done?  Sold to number seventy-three.  Seventy three.”  That’s Jill’s number!  She won.  Atta girl, show then New Philly boys who’s boss.    After winning the few select items she wanted, Jill paid and I loaded.  Total time at the auction was about an hour, yet another record for the weekend.  The precious chairs were carefully stacked, two by two, in the back of the Highlander while the bookcases and chairs were arranged in the covered trailer.  I wrapped them, but not especially well since they would undergo a refinishing before being allowed to consort with the other Hey Wake pieces.

Our post-auction feast is traditionally Mexican food, and this outing was no different.  The El San Jose would be our spot to dine, tell tales, and gather ourselves before heading south.  They knew we were coming as their sign read, “Fiesta Time.”  Damn right fiesta time, San Jose.   I don’t know, it made me laugh and that’s all that matters.    Queso dip, a Margarita for Jill and a Dos Equis for me, we toasted our successful trip.  We made our deadlines, miraculously, and arrived at all our destinations in one piece.  Jill was getting better at navigating.  She was also becoming more in tune to my ridiculous pilot to co-pilot requests.  I was constantly having her look-up obscure things that pop in my head.  But she tolerated it with grace, at least most of the time.

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Fiesta Time!!!

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Poor headless Burro!

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The artwork was breath taking 🙂

We headed south.  We made a quick stop in Columbus to Jill could browse Flower Child, her favorite shop in that city.  We would also swing in our favorite wine shop, across the bridge from Cincinnati and barely into Kentucky, and select a bottle for the debriefing at home.  Total mileage for the trip was just over 1,200 miles.  Total time behind the wheel would top seventeen hours.  And total sleep in the past twenty-four hours was under four hours.  But I would change that soon.

Back at home, our driveway was still covered with snow, a result of the winter storm we were barely missed on Friday.  I quickly went to work.  I unloaded our suitcases, tossed leftover Mexi in the fridge, opened the wine and unloaded Jill’s coveted chairs.  She placed them around her matching Champagne colored table, the missing pieces that completed her formal dining room renovation.

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Mission accomplished! The dining room is complete!

It looked lovely.  She promised me a hero’s breakfast in the morning, to be served on her new table and presented on her atomic plates.  I puffed my chest and sipped my beverage to a mission accomplished.  To the victor go the spoils…but not until after I get some sleep.  Good night world. Mr. Heywood and Mr. Wakefield, she’s yours tonight boys.

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A much-deserved Hero’s Breakfast, and cup of coffee, for my efforts.

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Heywood Wakefield Office Transformation

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Posted by opidells in Uncategorized, Using Vintage in the Home

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1950's, antiques, antiques yard sales, auctions, fiberglass curtains, heywood wakefield, office

I spend a lot of time in my home office.  Here, I sell vintage items online, research auctions and estate sales, pay bills and file papers, print shipping labels and package shipments, and obsessively search Craigslist ads for dish patterns I collect, a 1950’s GE ‘Wonder Kitchen’, and used Heywood Wakefield blonde modern furniture.

Here are a few pictures of what the office looked like.  I took these pics right before demolishing the cabinets, thus the sparseness…

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1990’s Pre-Fab cabinets and counter tops…yuck!

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This old shelf was great to store shipping supplies and the counter top was a nice place to prep shipments, but it had to go. I transferred it to the basement laundry room where I fold clothes on it and store large bulky blankets in the shelves.

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Yes, we had a chalkboard wall, which my toddler nieces loved, as you can see, but it created a lot of dust and never, ever seemed clean, no matter what I washed it with. (Yes, that is Chaddy Daddy’s autographed picture of Unknown Hinson on the back of the office door.  This pic made my niece cry, so it had to go too :)).

So, with Chaddy Daddy’s help, the demolition began.  We removed the pre-fab cabinets, skimmed the walls, painted, and had the tile professionally cleaned.  Thank you Stanley Steemer!  Next, we moved in the Heywood Wakefield furniture….

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My new / old desk was won at an auction in Warsaw, KY. It is a knee hole desk in Wheat with the original glass covering the top, so this beauty was pristine despite her age.  The china hutch that was once in the sitting room now serves as a cabinet for files and holds office supplies.

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The two lower left hand drawers are really one large filing cabinet.

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…and the top drawer extends the length of the entire desk and can hold it all!

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She’s happy to be my secretary. She even looks like she’s smiling 🙂

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This Hey-Wake side table is space-age cool! I hide my laptop in its cubby for storage and charging.

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The little Hey-Wake record cabinet holds magazines and books, just like it did when it was in our sitting room.

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I found these “new old stock” fiberglass children’s curtains on eBay and fell in love with them. They matched the wall paint well and made me happy. Plus, I figured the nieces would like them as well with the adorable baby animals – monkeys fishing, duckies boating, and lots of others hanging out of an ark!

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sitting room

This is the old sitting room currently in transition back to a formal Heywood Wakefield dining room. The china hutch and record cabinet have been moved to the office for new purpose.



The Ugly Side of Retro Part Three Finale!

19 Monday Jan 2015

Posted by opidells in Using Vintage in the Home

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So it’s been over a year since I’ve blogged about the Bungalow house Chaddy Daddy and I bought as a foreclosure in hopes of giving it a face lift and offering it as a rental property.  (If you’ve missed out on the two previous posts about this endeavor, read part 1 here and part 2 as well before proceeding.)

Chaddy Daddy and I envisioned fun summer evenings working together room by room to fix up the house, maybe taking about 6 months to complete the entire project.  However, our plans were dashed when we found out the Homeowner’s Insurance policy would be cancelled in 30 days due to vacancy.  So we had to hit the gas and enlist the priceless help of our awesome families to fix this house up and have it rented in a month. Our budget was small beans so we had to pick and choose what to update.  We chose the wood floors, the entire kitchen, the back den, and the installation of an HVAC system.  Where to begin?

Let’s start with the wood floors.  They were covered with carpet and painted white. (Why would someone paint hardwood floors???  Well, we think it was to cover up all the cat urine stains!  Let me tell you, there is nothing less appetizing than the smell of age-old cat urine being heated up and sanded out of wood!  Shoooo!)  We pulled up the carpet and spent hours pulling staples by hand.  We also took up the floor furnace and patched the hardwood before having it sanded and refinished by our handy man.

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Before – Painted Wood Floors and Furnace Grate in the Middle of the Room!

 

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After – Furnace grate removed and hardwood patched in place.

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Close Up of patch work wood. The color is a little off, but this should age over time.

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Newly sanded hardwood floor!

Next, we tackled the kitchen.  We removed an old dishwasher to reveal a huge rotten spot in the sub floor due to a long-time leak. Thanks to good ol’ Dad for making a long-lasting repair!  So we decided to take up the existing linoleum and replace it with a new layer.  We also painted the wooden cabinets white, put in a subway tile back splash, removed a layer of nasty contact paper from the counters, painted the faux wood wall paneling, and installed all new appliances.  Finding a spot to put the HVAC unit was tricky, so we had to build around an area where the old stove used to be and make an access area for any future repairs.

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Here’s the kitchen before. The cabinets were covered in an inch of grease build up. There floor was rotten under the dishwasher and the counter was covered in a faux wood grain contact paper.

 

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The kitchen was nice sized; large enough for an eat-in dining area, but the two-tone paint job on the extra cabinets, dated wallpaper border, and broken dishwasher had to go!

 

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So we removed this old closet and utilized the space where the old stove used to be in order to install brand new HVAC in the house. Notice the lovely vintage wallpaper layers in the closet!

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Next, the new HVAC unit was installed and framed in…

In the meantime, we removed the cabinet doors and gave them a good painting.  I painstakingly removed all the cabinet handles, soaked them in TSP to remove the grease, spray painted them with Rustoleum hammered metallic paint, and re-installed.

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Note the lovely vintage strawberry wallpaper. Too bad it couldn’t be salvaged…

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Chaddy Daddy putting the humpty dumpty cabinets and pulls back together again.

Then, I enlisted my amazing Do-It-Your-Selfer Mother, Bulldog Murphy Martina, to help me with the subway tile back splash. With HGTV as her teacher and sheer willpower and determination like no other, she has single-handedly remodeled her adorable century-old farmhouse (multiple times) and guided me through one other kitchen remodel and bathroom tiling job to date!  Go Mom!

 

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I just prayed she didn’t saw her fingers off…

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She taught me to measure and lay out the tile design on the floor before installation.

 

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The we installed the back splash tile carefully in sheets.

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She’ll probably kill me for posting these pictures on the internet, but there’s nothing more inspiring for a daughter than your Mom wielding a power tool!

So here’s how all our hard work turned out in the kitchen!

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We installed an access panel for the HVAC unit painted with black chalkboard paint so the tenant could make quick grocery lists and other notes.  My wonderful Father-In-Law, Bee, helped us with the electrical upgrades and installation of the new, yet simple, kitchen light. Thanks Bee!

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I sacrificed the dishwasher in order to install a washer / dryer combo. I had to choose between the two due to budgetary restraints at the time and felt like having a washer / dryer would be an added bonus for a tenant. Maybe a dishwasher could be added in the future.

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So that’s all we could do this time.  It was so much work and I did so many things backwards.  It was a great learning experience and I am happy for it, but I am not looking forward to any more house flips in the future!  Thanks for looking and let me know what you think!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Summer of Selling at Outdoor Markets – Burlington

04 Monday Nov 2013

Posted by opidells in Pickin' and a Grinnin' - Chad's Rants from the Road

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burlington, outdoor antique markets, selling antiques and vintage, selling at outdoor markets, the Burlington Antique Show..., travel journal, vintage market

Settin' Up Shop

Settin’ Up Shop

(Wondering where we’ve been all summer? In addition to renovating rental properties, Opidell’s spent the summer selling at outdoor antique and vintage market places.  Read below how Chaddy Daddy adjusted to his first outdoor show at the Burlington Antique Show…)

  Mother of God!  Why do all auctions and garage sales and flea markets and estate sales have to start so damn early in the morning?  Were the first auctioneers farmers in a past life?  Do garage sellers all suffer from insomnia?  Maybe they’re all hardcore drunks that happen to intertwine their need for strong beverage with early morning commerce.  That reminds me of a quote, “If it weren’t for alcohol, think of all the sunrises I would have missed.”

Quite obviously the ride to our first show in Burlington was too early.  I am by nature a night owl and morning completely eliminates this foul’s attempt at flight, in any form.  Jill had tuned the Satellite Radio to a 40’s channel, further lullabying me into clouded daze of grumpy slumber.  The trailer bucking against the hitch was the only thing keeping me awake as the sun began to peek over my left shoulder.

Panic immediately set in upon our arrival.  Our space was occupied by an opportunistic Java truck that made an unauthorized upgrade to our spot.  Jill stormed off in route to the front gate while I sat, half asleep, blocking the road.  My Suburban and trailer intentionally and defiantly clogging the flow of commerce into Kentucky’s largest antique show.

In order to preserve the peace, and more importantly facilitating the caffeine seeking customers that would soon arrive, we were moved to an adjacent spot on the corner of some sort of rodeo pen.  As I attempted to park the big truck in a small space, our neighbor began chatting immediately.  He was already set-up, impeccably dressed and a genuinely likable person. I instantly hated him.

Him, as we soon found out, was Charlie.  Charlie would be with us, or rather we would be with Charlie, for the duration of this year’s Burlington season.  He was just too damn cool too damn early in the morning.  While I battled the steering wheel, he would peer around the corner offering suggestions and advice I didn’t want to listen to, but knew I should.

I parked and sprung into action, chucking merchandise from the trailer like a man possessed.  “Early Bird” buyers, as they were called, who paid extra to get in the gates two hours earlier than the general masses, were beginning to arrive.  I titled this group “the darts.“  Mostly because their eyes and bodies darted from one booth to the next, scanning for that one mis-marked treasure they could scoop up to immediately resale for big-big profits.  But also because, like darts, they would fire blindly at your marked price, over and over hoping to hit a bulls eye.  Many were armed with flashlights to scan the merch since the sun hadn’t completely awoken either.

I was cold, sleepy and unsure of what I was supposed to be doing.  I kept lobbing stuff from the trailer while Charlie kept smiling.  It was that kind of smile of self-acknowledgement, as if to say “Yea, I been there.  They’ll learn.”  But I didn’t want to learn.  I knew what I was doing and the Charlies of the world, well, they don’t know any better than me.  Cold yet sweating, I kept up my mad attack on the trailer until everything we owned was spread across the dew soaked lawn.  It resembled a jilted wife’s revenge against a husband coming home too late.  Charlie interjected at the conclusion of my tirade:  “Is it still fun?”  Don’t poke the bear Charlie.  Don’t poke the bear.

I tried to sit down, steam raising from my body.  Jill couldn’t sit.  Her primping and set up and rearranging had just begun.  With the unfettered attention of an old west bartender, she continually polished and cleaned delicate wares until I thought she would shine the glazing right off.  She settled on a semi-circle arrangement with small items out front and large stuff in the rear.  It resembled an orchestra when completed, with Jill acting as conductor.

Almost immediately we had our first sale.  It was rather boring.  An “early bird” saw an item, inspected an item and bought an item.  No negotiation, no conversation, just a no-nonsense grab and pay.  When I tried to engage her in some obligatory banter, she cut it short by saying, “I’m only interested in items I can resell.  Thanks.”  And into the morning light she scurried, like an ill-tempered squirrel with a shiny nut.

As Jill continued to conduct her merchandise, I went in search of the facilities.  I wasn’t necessarily in need just yet, but when visiting a foreign country, it is always wise to know where the UN is located.  Besides, I needed to give Jill time to primp without me over her shoulder offering such kind advice as “How many times you gonna pick up that damn dish?”  Oddly enough, the first bank of UN’s I found were located at the very front, directly ahead of the main entrance to the show.  Bad planning to say the least.  It is difficult to accomplish a bit of challenging paperwork knowing you are just yards from a row of angry motorists whose temporary slip on the accelerator marks your untimely and comedic demise.

I returned to our rented block of asphalt and grass real estate.  Each time the wind fluttered, I gritted my teeth.  Delicate items swayed in the breeze, threatening, with each passing gust, to commit tiny little suicides.  I was certain that by day’s end, either the glass or my nerves would be shattered.

When we finally did sit, the cool air combined with the post-unload sweat caused us both to chill.  Jill would hop up to help prospective customers while I just rocked back and forth in my chair, holding a packing blanket around my back for some makeshift warmth.  “If you keep that up, we are liable to get a sympathy purchase.  You look more special than uncomfortable.”  Don’t poke the bear Jill.

The sun finally came up and began warming all that lie beneath its morning glow.  For the first time I could truly see the massive nature of the sale.  There were people and cars and antiques as far as I could see.  Coffee and pizza smells thickened the air.  I couldn’t decide where to train my eyes.  I tried to help, but ended up looking like hired muscle looking over our stock, arms folded, refusing to allow anyone inside.

Charlie on the other hand was a pro.  I watched him as he would slowly invite himself into other’s conversations, offering immediately to “make you a much better deal, that is, if you‘re interested.”  He had perfected an amazing marriage of gentlemanly kinship with the hard sell.  It was like watching a pro athlete…he made it look so easy.  Closing his fist around the proceeds of yet another sale he walked back to his vehicle to retrieve a replacement item for the one he just sold.  I was mesmerized.  Now I really hated Charlie.

Mid-morning was fast approaching.  We were sleep deprived, mostly since our sandwich and snacks prep didn’t occur until 11:00 pm.  Due to our 4:45 am alarm, sleep was a much needed commodity.  I snapped from my lethargic gaze when Jill announced, “I think I might go shopping.”

“Shopping?  What shopping?”

“You know, take a stroll around, see if there’s anything good.”

“Who’s going to man the booth?”

“You can do it.  You’ll be fine.  Call me if you have any questions.”  And off she skipped to do what Jills do best.

ME…MAN THE BOOTH?  Madness.  I’ve never manned the booth before.  Not even at her shop.  What if someone wants to make an offer?  I don’t know what period that piece is from.  I can’t talk shop to these people…they’re pros.  Be strong.  Show no fear.  You’re a bull-shitter by heart…so bull-shit, man!

But it was too late.  The mid-morning shoppers smelled blood in the water and descended on my booth like locusts on a crop.

“Hi, can you tell me about this piece?”

“Mind if I make you an offer?”

“This dish is scratched.”

“Can you give me a better price on this?”

I was projecting “HELP” telepathically to Jill, but it didn’t work.  I opted to try my cell phone.  “Come back to the booth.  There are people here with questions.”

Jill came back just in time.  Like a priest waving a cross in front of a team of blood-thirsty Vampires, they all backed down to at least a mildly civil demeanor.  I went back to my blanky and rocking routine, shell shocked and quivering.  Charlie just shook his head.

At lunch time my stipend was a cold sandwich, a cold piece of cheese and cold water.  I felt like my internal temperature had to be close to the external temperature.  The warm smells of burgers, grilled potatoes and kettle corn teased my senses.  I allowed myself to be lulled into a wonderful carnival-style trance.  Until…

“M’kay, I’m heading out again.”

“Woman, are you mad?  They’ll tear me apart.”

“Oh, you’ll be ok.  Besides, I saw some vintage dishes I want.”

“Yea, we don’t have enough dishes,” I gurgled under my breath.  Jill gave me a defiant smile and waded into the sea of people once more.

Don’t make eye contact.  Go inside yourself.  Project that we are closed.  I tried all my tricks.  Meditate…close your eyes and wish everyone from the booth.  I opened my eyes only to find two great big-haired skinny Germans  looming over me.

“Uh, hi.  Can I help you fellas find anything in particular?”

The taller of the two said something to the other gent in Japanese.  Damnit, they’re Japanese not German you big dummy!  “Yes, vat do you know about zeese two chairz?”

HA!  I knew about the chairs!  I had found, purchased, packed and cleaned those chairs.  Looks like the Guppy just became the Shark.  “Oh those two.  They are mid-century, Herman Miller chairs.  And they are marked as such on the underside.  Really nice, really cool chairs.  I purchased them at an industrial auction.  They are in good shape, but I did spend some time returning them to their original luster.”  You used the word luster without giggling…way to go!

“Hmmmm…zey are qvite nice.  Vat is your best price on zee chairz?”

“Tell you what.  You guys obviously appreciate mid-mod like myself.  I’ll knock off 10% right now.”  Hold your ground.  Stare back at them.  The first one who talks looses, right?  Uh, oh…they’re conversing in German again.  No, it’s Japanese you fool!  Why can’t you get that right?  OK, they’re done talking.  Why aren’t they saying anything…they’re just staring at the chair.  Good Lord, the silence is deafening.  Why aren’t you people talking?  Are they even breathing?  Telepathically HELP………….Jill!!

“Ok, ve vill take zem.  You are ze only person here with ze Herman Miller.”  I have no idea how the one with the German accent learned to speak Japanese, or why.

“Oh wonderful.  I hope you guys like them.  Here is your change.  Also, here is a card for my wife’s shop.  If you are ever in Lexington, look us up.”

“Ummmm…tank you.”  The Japanese fellow attempted and gave a little bow.

“Enjoy,” I returned contently.  That’s how you do it Charlie!  Charlie approved.

During the course of the day I noticed several rude behaviors that I would now like to address.  I must first relay this story:  when I was a child I went with my mother on many shopping excursions.  If Charlie is the pro-seller, mom is the pro-shopper.  I mean, marathon runners would be winded keeping up with this woman.  Anyway, when we went in stores with breakables, I was always told, “Chad, put your hands in your pockets.”  I was a somewhat rambunctious child, but this fail safe worked every time.  To this day, when we go in an antique store, you’ll find me strolling the isles, hands buried past the belt.

That is just one courtesy that others should employ.  Here are a few more:

1.)  Don’t eat food over merchandise – the “if you break it“ rule should also encompass “if you stain it.”

2.)  Don’t swing your purses – not unlike an uncoordinated dog, sometimes you ladies don’t have a strong control of your artificial tail.  Keep it under control or hold it in your hands, especially when navigating narrow isles.

3.)  Don’t feel fine fabrics after just eating popcorn – it’s amazing vintage clothing has lasted this long.  Don’t make it age unnecessarily.

4.)  On the same subject, ask to try on clothing…especially when doing so over your street clothes.  If you’re a medium in everyday life, chances are you aren’t going to fit into that small over jeans and a sweatshirt.

5.)  Don’t smoke anywhere near a booth – ashes get on items.  But also, fire around antiques is never a wise idea.  As a general rule, keep cigarettes confined to asbestos antiques only.

6.)  CONTROL YOUR KIDS – you would think that would be self explanatory, but it ain’t.  Seems common courtesy is becoming less common every day.  It’s rarity is matched only by common sense.

During the occasional lull, we would strike up conversations with would-be consumers about a wide array of topics:  the weather, other cool booths and even our own personal lives.  During one of these particular asides, I was privileged with my own private giggle.  While Jill conversed with an older gentleman about her chickens and play-farm life, his grandson had picked up the “Jolly Pecker”…an old vintage wind-up novelty that jumped around when released. What was it?  Well, I’ll let you figure out what the “Jolly Pecker” did.  Needless to say, the grandson pondered its usage for the duration of the chicken conference.

Another funny consistency was the number of mothers and fathers who showed their sons and daughters a magic device known as a typewriter.  It had no screen, nothing to plug to the wall yet it still produced nicely typed correspondence.  The children were amazed.  We promptly changed the description on the tag as a “vintage laptop” to hopefully widen its appeal.

The day slowed as the sun perched atop its highest nest.  I was now fully thawed.  But the suns rays began to softly encourage me to close my eyes and sleep.  I had to fight the urge.  I became semi-delirious once more.

A big-boned gent walked through with a t-shirt that said “Wussy.”

A pre-teen boy walked through attempting to sell a “blue duck.”  I am not sure if he was a budding young picker / entrepreneur or a figment of my imagination. Our Burlington Guru Charlie was watching my slow descent with amusement.  I just didn’t have the show stamina he possessed.

Jill left her post again with strict instructions:  “Absolutely no discount while I am gone.”

Shoppers descended.

“How much for this bowl?”

“Is this original?”

“Do you know where the bathroom is?”

“I can’t pay $100.00.  Would you take $10?”

A fella’ carrying a large metal horse walked into our booth just as Jill returned to spell me.  I launched into a drunken rendition of “A horse is a horse, of course, of course…”  I was immediately silenced and shooed from the booth to go wreak havoc on our competition.

I walked the grounds, pumping much needed blood back into my brain, and participating in my favorite spectator sport:  people watching.  There was such a fun crowd at Burlington.  Old and new.  Hipster and traditional.  Bargain hunters, consumers, users, admirers and reminiscers.  The variety of fellow man varied as much as the items on display.  Odd, quirky, beautiful, useless, fascinating and unique, the horizontal merchandise matched their vertical counterparts in quality and quantity.

We accidentally pulled off one veteran move:  we brought our own food.  Not only did it save us a pile of money, but it probably helped increase our selling stamina as well.  We didn’t have to leave our post to grab food, which conserved our much needed energy.  But more importantly, the food itself, although it smelled divine, was too state fair-ish.  I’m sure if we would have partaken of the food trucks, the grease would have immediately begun to thicken the blood already feebly attempting to pump through our tired veins.  It would have caused our eyelids to grow heavier and heavier until we entered into a perpetual state of slow motion.

I noticed there was a camaraderie between booth owners.  For one, we all shared a good-hearted us vs. them attitude.  Not in a malicious way, just a simple nod that we are all after the same thing, but in different ways.  Nobody spoke to a neighboring booth owner’s client, while they were in the booth.  Additionally, if the booth didn’t have the item that you were after, they were glad to point you in the right direction.  You also didn’t badmouth your neighbor.  I never heard uttered, “Good grief, he has such junk.  And it’s way too expensive.”  The sellers presented a common professional front.  It was quite impressive.  It was sort of like being in a card game with them.  However, in this game, they didn’t show their cards, but they really didn’t hide them either.  Direct competition for the consumer dollar was right next door, but each neighbor handled themselves with a level of decency that, if extended to the world outside the Burlington gates, would create a modern utopia.

Our first Burlington Show, or any show for that matter, was drawing to a close.  Dust blown onto our sun-blocked skins created a grimy film all over our tired bodies.  Guru Charlie had finally sold the “Boy Scout Plow,” his signature piece I had heard him pitch dozens of times through the course of the day.  He had also donned a goofy white wide brimmed hat that seemed to inexplicably draw the antiquing masses toward him.

The lady in the booth across the drive from us brought several ornaments and other knick-knacks to Jill, for free.  Jill had purchased a few things earlier in the day from our across-the-way neighbor, and, seeing Jill’s appreciation for such things, let her have them instead of risking breaking them on the long journey back to their home.  That is not the first time people have offered stuff to Jill for free.  She has a way about her that lets people know she’s not just here to make money.  That’s a bonus.  The real reason she is here is because she has a deep admiration for beautiful and unique things.  Makes me wonder why in the hell she likes me….  Jill, upon receiving her new loot, immediately shut down and started rifling through it.  She would be no help loading.  She had touching and feeling to do.

I watched our neighbor Charlie a lot during the day.  I watched him deliver his pitch, approach customers, take them in and explain to them how this or that would illuminate their lives.  He was charismatic.  A born salesman, but also an interesting character.  Everything he did seemed spontaneous and accidental, which is why I knew it was deliberate, maybe even rehearsed.  You don’t get that level of fluidity on a whim, it is painstakingly acquired.  He showed us the ropes, helped us along the way and even gave us bottled water when the day was done.

When the last heavy piece was loaded and the trailer was latched down for the trip back to Lexington, Charlie asked how we liked the sale.  Would we be back?  We both gave a less-than-enthusiastic maybe.  Guru Charlie told us some more tales allowing us enough or a pause to our breath.  He told a couple of jokes that seemed to lighten the mood after such a long day of loading, unloading and loading again.

As Charlie offered his parting words, words I have since forgotten but remember them to be witty and wise, he quipped over his shoulder, “Throw that damn TV away.  You’ve got Charlie!”

     By the end of the day, I liked Charlie.  He would be our neighbor and the one consistency for the entire Burlington season.  Over time Jill did buy some stuff from him, but no amount of profit from the items he sold would reimburse him for his Guru wisdom, constant companionship or general kindness to two “kids” way over their heads, and only Charlie, with his goofy hat and kind way, would be there as the life preserver to remind us that, old or new, anyone in this business has to be a little crazy. 

Father’s Day Burlington Show – Seller’s Nightmare, Buyer’s Dream

18 Tuesday Jun 2013

Posted by opidells in Featured Treasures

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boonton, boontonware, burlington, fiberglass lamp shades, ironstone china, mid century, silver plated flatware, VINTAGE

Last Sunday, which just so happened to be Father’s Day, we sold at the outside Burlington Antique show for our third month in a row.  Whether it was the 60% chance of rain, the holiday, or the combination of the two, this month was a total bust for us as sellers.  We sold three items: a telephone, teal-colored vintage fan, and some old metal pieces purchased by an artist for use in a sculpture.  This didn’t even make enough to cover our admission fee and travel expenses, but that didn’t stop me from shopping!  Chaddy Daddy manned the post, happy to People Watch and chat up a stranger, while I got my fix of vintage wares. Check it out!  If you are interested in any of the below for purchase either in the brick and mortar shop or on Etsy, just send me an email at opidells@hotmail.com!

(Click on an image to view the gallery. Hit “Escape” to exit back to post.)

1940’s Sea Foam green Bath Porcelain Wall Mount Tile Fixtures
Jadite Towel Bar (without the mounts…another bummer)
Cup Holder

T.P. Roll Holder (without the bar…bummer)
Shelf Mounts that can be used as a Towel Hook
W.M. Rogers Vintage Silver Plated Flatware in the Mayfair Pattern circa 1923

Vintage Kitchen Organizer complete with slots for paper towels, foil, and wax paper


General Electric Telechron Mid Century Electric Copper Clock
This clock must have hung above a short-order grill because I spent hours scraping the grime off the white numbering.

Cool atomic age clock hand design…
Vintage Midcentury Teal and Gray Two-Tiered Fiberglass Lamp Shades

Super Fun Celebratory Martini Shaker with 3 shot glasses
It says it all from “Best Wishes” to “Cheers”, “Ding Dong the Bell” “Good Luck”, and “Happy Times”!

Large set of sea foam green dishes by Boonton. These were well-loved and used often. Not a mint perfect set by any means.
Light scratches on the plates…
Some staining in the cups…

…but the butter dish is pretty awesome!
Incomplete set of Rice Island Casual China in the Sea Flower Pattern
…a rarer set with a sweet design.

Incomplete set of Ironstone Sheffield China in the Golden Meadow Pattern
I bought this set mainly for the mustard colored salt and pepper shakers, and cream and sugar…

The Ugly Side of Retro – An Update…

18 Tuesday Jun 2013

Posted by opidells in Using Vintage in the Home

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bradbury & bradbury, bungalow, bungalow kitchen, kitcen renovation, kitchen restoration, vintage wallpaper

Newly Instlled HVAC

Modern Luxury in a 1920’s abode…central heat and air.

So very few updates have been made since the first post about the rental home renovation, but I am excited about them nonetheless and wanted to share.  The new HVAC unit has been installed, which is ultra-exciting because this means all future “sweat-equity” we put into this house will be done with a lot less sweat…at least in the upcoming summer months.  As well, we removed the floor furnace so that the open space can be covered with hardwood…

Floor Furnace Removal

Floor Furnace Removal

We also removed some paneling in the kitchen to discover a beautiful array of post-war era wallpaper…

(Click on a photo below to view the gallery.  Hit Escape to exit back to the post.)

Pretty Stars on the Ceiling
Post-War Tea Pots
Post-War Fruit in a Bowl

Mid Century Strawberries
Post-War Red and Black Leaves
Yellow Bouquet and Chickens in a Basket

If you enjoy the bright colors of vintage post-war wallpaper, you can find new reproductions at Bradbury and Bradbury.  Here is a link to some of the designs they offer:http://bradbury.com/postwar.html. In addition to post-war era, they also have wallpaper in the following themes: Victorian, Modernism, Arts & Crafts, and Damasks.

 

The Ugly Side of “Retro” – It’s Not All Cute and Kitsch

12 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by opidells in Using Vintage in the Home

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1920's bungalow renovation, bungalow, faux wood paneling, kitchen remodel, retro house, ugly house, vintage house

Most likely, I am writing this post for myself, but by the off-chance that you are a regular reader or shopper, you may be wondering what we’ve been up to lately.  As if my shop hours aren’t irregular enough, lately I’ve been even more M.I.A. than usual with the shop door closed up and no sign nor notice of opening up any time soon.  Well, I promise we’ve not been lounging on the beach sipping peach mojitos and working on our tan lines…although that sounds ideal.  Instead, we’ve been pursuing the ever scandalous title of “slum lord and lady” by purchasing a foreclosure house with overly ambitious dreams of fixing it up to hipster-living standards on an unrealistically cheap budget…heavy sigh.

The house is an ugly reminder that not all things “retro” or “vintage” are desirable or attractive.  Shag carpet and popcorn ceilings may come back in style one dark, apocalyptic day, but I’ll take my chances and feel secure in my decision for removal.  With all due respect to the house, it does have good bones underneath the faux wood paneling and cheap, dated  linoleum.  It’s a 1920’s bungalow, single story with approximately 1,100 square feet, 2 bedrooms, one shamefully dingy bath, a den, large eat-in kitchen, and attractive detached garage. It has a nice, big covered front porch that just begs to be adorned with a vintage metal glider for lazy summer evenings and a fenced yard great for the containment of a furry companion…but those are all the good things I can squeeze out of this generous description.

1920's Bungalow Labor of Love

1920’s Bungalow Labor of Love

Although Chaddy Daddy and I agree on most things, our ideas for the house differ greatly.  Being more business savvy and numbers-oriented than I, Chaddy Daddy saw this as a basic turn-key rental with a few necessary updates such as a deep cleaning, new locks, and HVAC.  I, on the other hand, saw this as a project house with every intention of restoring it to its former 1920’s charming self, complete with vintage appliances, porcelain sinks, and aluminum-trimmed laminate counter-tops.  Of course, I quickly realized, with Chaddy Daddy’s incessant reminders that this wasn’t possible, nor realistic, on the budget we had agreed to if we had any chance of making our money back in this lifetime. A girl can dream, right?

So we’ve compromised and I’m going to have to find creative ways to turn this beast into a beauty without breaking the bank.  Although not the most creative, nor exciting way to do this is referred to as “sweat equity”, meaning doing as much of the work as possible on your own. This may sound fun at first to all you aspiring do-it-yourselfers, but try pulling ten thousand carpet staples out of oak hardwood flooring by hand all sunny Saturday afternoon and one’s definition of “fun” rapidly redefines itself (see earlier vision of sipping peach mojitos on the beach).

So far, we’ve ripped up all the carpet to expose well-weathered hardwood floors underneath, both oak and pine in different sizes, however, painted…and not a nice paint job, I might add.  I can’t help but imagine some former sick, sadistic home-owner haphazardly splattering cheap paint all over the once-beautiful hardwood floor laughing salatiously at the thought of someone like me gasping in horror.  I can hear him now…”I’ll get those hardwood floor-loving sons of bitches!”

Chaddy daddy attempts to reverse the adulturous atrocities of the hardwood- floor hatin' former owner...

Chaddy Daddy attempts to reverse the adulterous atrocities of the hardwood- floor hatin’ former owner…

Now let us move on to the rest of the house…if you can stomach it.

The Bathroom

(Click on a photo below to view the gallery.  Hit ‘Escape’ to exit back to post.)

Oh the horror…
Bathing in the tub may require an updated tetanus shot and result in being even dirtier after a shower than before.
As if the particle board base of the fiberglass, sea-shell shaped sink isn’t enough, the clash of faux gray, marbled wall paneling with the clammy-colored bath tile tops it off while attempting, in vain, to offset the puke-green paint and palm tree decals.

The Kitchen

(Click on a photo below to view the gallery.  Hit ‘Escape’ to exit back to post.)

The solid-wood Maple cabinets aren’t bad and may be redeemable under the inch-thick layer of grease and grime.
At one point in the past, some former home owner decided to cover the white and gold-speckled laminate counter tops with faux wood contact paper. Not sure which was worse…
Two-toned awkward cabinetry and 1980’s wallpaper border compete with the faux wood paneling for title of Most God-Awful

The Den (of Iniquity)

(Click on a photo below to view the gallery.  Hit ‘Escape’ to exit back to post.)

The den floors were discovered to be level concrete underneath which, although ugly, is a good, solid base for attractive tile or modern flooring.
The monochromatic monotony of the tacky built-ins and more faux wood paneling taunt me from the asylum and force me to visit my “happy place”…

Other Rooms

(Click on a photo below to view the gallery.  Hit ‘Escape’ to exit back to post.)

A charming arch leading from the front room to the middle room is one of few redeemable qualities of the house.
Commercial-grade dangly, over-sized sliding venetian blinds make me feel like I’ve just stepped into some sort of 1980’s corporate hell…
The ominous floor furnace awaits the poor unsuspecting tender feet of a wobbly-legged toddler like the cruel obstacle course for the newly mobile it is…

The front room is cute with a small, but of couse non-working fireplace.
The afformentioned painted hardwood floors...
The afforementioned painted hardwood floors…

Now that you’ve seen the Nightmare, it can only get better from here, right?  That’s my hope.  HVAC is being installed and the hardwood floor doctors have been called in for emergency floor repairs in an attempt to save the wood beneath from the hideous paint job.  The floor furnace is being removed and patched over with hardwood so Child Based Services won’t lock me up after the first prospective tenant’s newly-mobile toddler sautees its tender toes to well-done while learning to walk, and those awkward two-toned kitchen cabinets are living on borrowed time.  I look forward to the fun parts, like picking out paint colors and tile samples, and putting it all together to see a vision manifest beautifully.  Stick it out with me and stay tuned for updated posts and pictures on the progress.  Send me your thoughts, suggestions, laments, criticisms, “girl, what the hell we’re you two thinking?” comments, and what ever else you can think of.

Who knows, she may be so cute in the end that the rental applications come flooding in by the dozens! But then there I go, unrealistically dreaming again :)….

Mountain Mushroom Festival 2013

22 Wednesday May 2013

Posted by opidells in Pickin' and a Grinnin' - Chad's Rants from the Road, Uncategorized

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estill county, festival, kentucky, morel mushrooms, morels, mountain mushroom festival, mushroom

Today was fun.  And quick…therefore a quick blog for a quick day.  Today we went to the World Famous, least I say, famous throughout the entire Universe, Irvine Mountain Mushroom Festival.  The Mount Mushroom Fest is held every year in late April and celebrates the notoriously elusive and highly delectable Morel Mushroom.  If you like mushrooms, the Morel is the bestest of the bestest.  I have had Morels in featured dishes at fancy restaurants, but they are mostly the dried and shipped type.  The ones in Irvine are straight out of the fertile grounds on Eastern Kentucky, exploding with flavor.

I would venture to Irvine simply for the promise of being able to buy bulk Morels.  But Irvine went a step further and added a festival to frame around the fun guy.  (Fun guy…as in fungi, get it?)  And I love festivals.  I have been to the Chicken Festival, the Poke Salad Festival, May Days, Court Days and long since earned my ten-year pen for traveling to the Wool Festival, my personal favorite.  But somehow this year was to be my inaugural Morel Festival venture.  I was very excited.  Promises of greasy food aromas, the sounds of music and the bustle of a small Kentucky town made me smile to my core.

Our big Suburban boat left the docks close to noon.  We headed toward Winchester for the first stop:  we were to pick-up Jill’s grandfather, affectionately known as Papaw Gene.  Those of you familiar with Jill’s shop already know that Papaw Gene is an Opidell’s celebrity.  His wife was Opidell herself, for whom the shop was named.  Papaw is quite a character and I was excited to have him along for the journey to eastern Kentucky.

Our next station was Trapp, Kentucky, USA.  We pulled down the driveway to Jill’s folks house and, after finishing off the last of his breakfast, collected Jill’s father and set off.  We chatted about Kentucky and how much even in the hills of eastern Kentucky that things have changed from all our childhoods.  Bluegrass music hummed through the speakers, a perfect soundtrack for the adventure we were on.  After about 45 minutes and several straightened curves later, we arrived in the big city of Irvine.

The streets were lined with cars.  The sidewalks were chocked full of people, walking, shopping at road-side yard sales and socializing in a way only a small town can.  Parking was as scarce a commodity as the mushrooms we ventured out to purchase.  A handful of budding young capitalists set up “$5 parking” signs.  Churches, Boy Scout groups and regular folks with large yards were amongst the lot to cash in on the popularity of the little mushroom.  In the end, we settled on a parking lot / yard sale as the location to hitch our mount.  I openly speculated that they made more on the parking than the yard sale.  The lot owner just smiled and added our five-dollar bill to her growing stack.

We entered the main festival area.  What a sight!  Everything was Morel Mushrooms.  There was art done by local school children proudly displayed outside on shop windows, t-shirts, hats, artwork and even a huge wood carved Morel sculpture on Main Street.  How could anyone make a caricature out of this spongy fungus?  Welp, Irvine did, and with great success.  The sounds of bluegrass and gospel music filled my ears as we walked by the main stage.  My emotions went back and forth between wanting to slow way down and die, and to wanting to jump up and stomp my feet and holler.  Such is the nature of Bluegrass music.  One minute you’re wanting to kill someone, a minute later you’re wanting to die.  Guess you have to have Kentucky blood to really understand.mush1

Jill talked her father and grandfather into putting their heads in one of those photo cut-out posing things.  Only thing is, the cut-out was a Morel mushroom.  Too funny!  I took the picture.  It isn’t the best picture I have ever taken, but given that I was giggling at the sight of three generations of Hensley’s posing as fungus, I think it came out pretty good.

Three Generations of Shroom Heads

Three Generations of Shroom Heads

We continued down the midway.  There was regular and goat soap, hot dogs with peppers and onions, recycled bottle candle holders, pop guns, funnel cakes, fresh pork rinds and cracklins, church brownies, kids running everywhere, folks catching up, chatting, sitting, meandering, leaning, and fun all around.  We met Fritz the police dog, who had a tick on his eye.  “Hell, I tried to get it off her, but when I did she nearly bit me.  I figured she can just keep that tick then,” her partner told me.  Fritz and her handler were newly assigned partners, still trying to get used to each other.  Time will tell who becomes the true master.

Fritz the German Police Dog with a Tick on her Eye...

Fritz the German Police Dog with a Tick on her Eye…

We even got a glimpse of a celebrity…Tim Farmer, host of Kentucky Afield on KET, put on a Morel cooking demonstration.  “Y’all like butter?  I like butter.  Can’t go wrong with butter can ya?”  he asked the crowd while whipping up some good smelling vittles.mush3

When we had seen all the sights we could see we headed toward the parking lot-garage sale.  Jill had about a pound and-a-half of Morels she snuck in and purchased when the other negotiator low-balled lower than the seller would take.  Jill’s fierce negotiation tactics had paid off when she offered just a bit higher.  The seller cried, “sold to the purdy lady,” and off she went like a thief.  We boarded the truck and headed back thru the town, quickly returning to the wildness of east Kentucky.

Papaw Gene reminisced about a grand hotel serviced by a sulphur-springs in Estill County.  I thought at first he surely had been mistaken.  Afterall, sulphur springs are great tourist destinations.  How could that have closed?  But sure enough, when I returned home I looked into the validity of his memory, and found that there is a spring in Estill County.  A spring that most likely pre-dated human’s existence in North America.  And there had been a grand hotel near the site of the spring, boasting 120 rooms and several cottages.  Unfortunately it burnt to the ground in December, 1932, never to be rebuilt.  What a shame.  It would seem that a draw like a big hotel and springs could really bring Estill county back financially.  But on the other hand, seems like they are doing pretty well with the mushroom festival.  Still, makes me wish I could see the grand old hotel back in its glory days.

On the highway back, we chatted and gossiped and told lies.  It was nice to take a lazy drive thru the gateway to eastern, Kentucky.  It is nice to get out-of-town once in a while and rediscover your roots.  It makes it even nicer to be with people who remember how it was back in the good ol days.  Chatting with Jill’s grandfather gives him a chance to remember, and us a chance to imagine.  It’s like modern folk-telling, passing down memories from generation to generation so they aren’t lost forever to time.  It’s sad and beautiful simultaneously.

We dropped off Jill’s dad without visiting since Jill was heading in to her shop.  I pointed the nose down the last section of curvy roads toward Winchester.  It’s not possible, nor would I want it to be possible, to get together with Papaw Gene without remembering his wife Opal, born Opidell, and remembering.  I knew it would make Jill sad, but sometimes remembering isn’t for us…it’s for the person remembering.  He said he missed her.  I silently thought to myself.  I never knew Jill’s grandma before Alzheimer’s had already started affecting her.  However, I do remember that she was a firecracker.  She was feisty and didn’t mix words, had a good sense of humor and a warm way about her…accepting me even though she may not have even known who I was.  A grandmother in all senses of the word.

“You know..don’t wait until it’s too late to tell someone how you feel about them,” Papaw Gene cautioned.  Knowing how he felt and feels about his wife, I bet Papaw relayed his feelings loud and clear.  You can’t tell them too much though.  I bet that is what he really meant.

We entered the traffic of the interstate as Jill and I sat quiet.  We smiled at each other, our hands meeting as we headed back to our lives together, raising chickens, watching ducks, playing with dogs, polishing antiques and contemplating the next adventure.  Although, tonight the adventure would be no adventure.  We would relax, spending the last moments of the day gazing out across our lawn and giggling at our neighbor cursing his weed eater while we sipped wine, happy to have each other, if not forever, at least for tonight.

Columbus, Ohio Pickin’ Trip Part Three – Andre the Giant and Auction Time!

12 Friday Apr 2013

Posted by opidells in Pickin' and a Grinnin' - Chad's Rants from the Road

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andre the giant, antiques, auction, heywood wakefield, picking, sunday

Part Three

My prayers of completely bypassing winter for warmer days of Spring went unanswered. The whiteness illuminating from the reflecting snow outside crept into our room far too early considering our diligent tour of as many of the city’s sights, sounds and tastes as palatable in a single evening. We slowly began gathering our things, resembling a pair of zombies searching for their morning “Brrraaaaiiinnnnsssss.” Grunts and moans were all we used to communicate while the antidote for our sickness in the form of thin hotel room coffee brewed atop the cabinet. Showered, shaved and ready to meet the world, although we were not fully awake, the cold Ohio air would soon remedy that.

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Breakfast was one of the best I have had in many days. Grumpiness soon began to lift, no match for freshly brewed coffee, eggs, turkey sausage and a big stack of buckwheat pancakes with organic syrup and fruit. Usually I opt out of the fruit-on-pancakes option fearing healthy food would throw off my delicate balance permanently. But the combination was wonderful. I emailed myself a note to learn how to make buckwheat pancakes. Jill, sensing our trendy surroundings, and gazing at me head first in my portable device, said, “You’re such a yuppie. You know you fit right in.” I would argue, but with coffee in one hand and an iPhone in the other, I looked like the plus sized poster boy for Apple.

Plump and happy, our final stop was on the horizon. Jill had found a sale where some elusive Heywood Wakefield pieces would be on the block. Given their rarity in these parts, we had to go wade in to see if we had even a grim chance of acquiring a couple of pieces. We were once again venturing into uncharted territory. Sunday auctions are infamous for commanding larger prices, at least in our experience. That coupled with heavy advertising, and our chances were slim.

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(We think this was Ursula from the Little mermaid as a brunette...)

(We think this was Ursula from the Little mermaid as a brunette…)

The auction was held in a large warehouse on the outskirts of town. We parked and headed in amongst trucks with trailers, trucks with campers and several box trucks lettered with their companies names. Not a good sign. Neither was the scene inside. The place was packed. I mean packed. I actually had a concern that if we were able to bid, the chances the auctioneer could see us amongst that sea of people was slim. The auction crowd filed in while I observed them, totally unaware of my secretive judgments. Townsfolk laughed and joked with each other, kidding that they didn’t even bring money to the auction today, just wanted to get out of the house. Others downplayed their interest in a particular item they happened to be examining or hovering above for the better part of an hour.

Low bid numbers lingered. High bid numbers feverishly searched for particular items they had on their checklist. I sat back an watched the floor come alive with bidders and gawkers alike. The items sat in their prospective spots, shiny and proud, awaiting their appearance on the grand auction stage. A half-hour before the auction began, the auctioneer began piping in twangy old country music thru static filled speakers. Since my location was not in some dive bar way too early reflecting on my misreable life, I did not need the accompanying soundtrack. Especially not at a packed auction house on a Sunday morning.

Sounds of Conway Twitty’s “Play Guitar Play” filled the room, along with laughter and unwinding tape measures. Note to self…bring ear plugs to the next auction. I watched as an old farmer inspected a beautiful nude painting well beyond a comfortable time period. I’m talking, closer to five minutes, inspecting only one particular area of the painting. It was a site to beyhold, though it seemed everyone was straining not to see this particular site. I recall jotting down several notes to remember to write about the experience: John Deere hat, farmer long stare, over-the-shoulder exposed boob. Think that about sums it up.

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Lingering a little too long in front of the topless art…

The auctioneer was friendly and full of energy. He started with the standard terms and conditions of the sale, buyers premium, pick-up and obligatory praises aimed at the snack bar located in the back, although nobody in the house could ignore the presence of the snack bar, especially its wafting smells. Like an explosion, the auctioneer perfectly timed the collective coffee surging with the bloodstream and his opening cry of, “Hey, Hey Mama, let’s go!!” We all jolted forward in our seats and the auction was off.

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Opening prices were high, as they usually are. Early on everyone has buying fever and many let the auction format get the best of their judgement. The “buy, buy, buy” frezy is difficult for anyone to thwart. During the show, I noticed a frail lady directly in front of me. She wore square glasses and a lacey shawl, delicate clothing to match her equally delicate disposition. I noticed she was constantly scanning the marketplace for her mate. Every few moments she would begin her laborsome task of moving her tiny frame into position to scan up the long isleway to look for her fella. Sitting directly to her left was a portly lass sporting an Ohio State crochet bonnet and matching sweatshirt. The big gal kept edging closer and closer to the frail lady, practically edging her out of her seat. Now, as a big fella myself, I can tell you this move was intentional. Just because you have extra meat on your bones does not mean you are unaware of your outcroppers. She was annexing the poor little old lady’s space like Germany annexing Poland. I immediately had distain for a person I had never even met. Here’s the most annoying part: while the little old lady turned to scan the crowd, the big gal would peer over her shoulder to see what she had written down about the previous or upcoming auction items…a definite breach of auction eddiquite and ethics. After edging the old lady for about an hour, the little old lady got up to look for her fella. The portly gal immediately gave her seat to a couple who asked if the seat was avalible. I began to say something but didn’t. Turns out, the new couple were even more annoying and, while sitting on each other’s lap, slowly edged out the portly lady until she left…never to be seen from again. Mu-ha-haaaaaa.

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There were some memorable moments at the auction. The auctioneer, when things were lagging, would sell items to the cadence of one-little two-little three-little Indian. That was odd. As was his bid-calling assistant who, as far as I can tell, was a bit shell shocked from the auction format. He would yell a hearty “Yuuuup!” at weird times, and twice when the auction was over and the auctioneer was describing the next item. The auctioneer would make a quip at his expense and the sale would continue without missing a beat. Once while auctioneering a pool stick set, the auctioneer said, “What-ya-got-thar? I can’t see on-a-counta the rack.” I leaned to Jill and said, “He’s talking about you, you know.” I giggled despite the swift elbow to the ribs. There was an Andre the Giant look-alike that helped display items.

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Andre the Giant as a Cowboy

He had a chew in the entire time, never saw him spit once. And his greasy finger-nailed hand would proudly display some of the finest antiques in all of Ohio. Then there was the flannel clad chunk that also helped hold up items. When he did, his big round belly would show and Jill would snicker every time. And lastly was the apprentice auctioneer. Described by my partner as a Mad Men stand-in, he was handsome, well groomed, well dressed and, well, out of place. As the final items crossed the block, he was called in as a sort of third-string auctioneer. Fortunately he did a nice job coming off the bench.

The auctioneer’s had two O’s in his name. As a huge James Bond fan, I automatically gave a lot of favor to anyone with double-o status. It was a fun auction. Jill won some, and lost some. Most importantly she won the main couple of items she wanted, which included her coveted Heywood Wakefield night stands, now a welcome addition to our bedroom. I loaded while Jill paid, our standard end-of-auction arrangement. Afterwards we headed to a local Mexican restaurant, another post-auction tradition. Jill had a glass of wine and I had a beer. No margaritas due to some oddball local blue-law that said those two alcohol drinks were ok, but hard liquor, like the kind found in a Margarita, were bad. I’m sure the Lord would be pleased that little town took such a hard stance. We enjoyed the momentary downtime as we prepared to head south again.

“I had a good weekend,” I toasted. “Me too,” Jill returned. “This has been a pretty lucky weekend.” “What do you mean,” she asked. “Well, you were lucky to win the original auction items. Afterall, that’s why we came up in the first place.” “True.” “And we were lucky to find the first ever February Garage Sale.” “Don’t know if that was luck so much. That was just bizarre.” “And how about the room? That was lucky.” “More for you! Since it was right in the middle of the cheerleader invasion of 2013.” “Well then, you have to admit the luck we found in this place. Probably it’s the luckiest ever!” “That’s true,” she said. “I did get some furniture I’ve been wanting for a long time. You’re right, we did get lucky.” “Hmmmm. That’s not what I was talking about. I meant here…here. We are lucky to find this place. Afterall, this is the first Mexican restaurant ever that has delivered our food without the plate being hot. ‘Hot plate.'” She giggled. And I’m serious. It’s the Mexican restauant Holy Grail. It’s called Fiesta Tropicana in Lancaster, directly across from Carnival Foods. Good food, good prices and no hot plate. (Feel free to use that catch phrase fellas. I got plenty more!)

Heywood Wakefield Bedroom Makeover Part 3 of This is Probably the Last Post…

05 Friday Apr 2013

Posted by opidells in Using Vintage in the Home

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heywood wakefield bedroom, makeover, vintage bedroom, vvenetian blind lamp

Well, it’s been a while since I blogged about the Heywood Wakefield Bedroom Makeover.  I thought I would give everyone a break because you Readers may be a bit sick of my obsession.  Anyhow, the bed arrived on March 4rth, 2013 and Chaddy Daddy worked hard putting it together while I snapped pictures like an eager paparazzi.

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We opted for a platform bed kit as well so we could get rid of the box spring and be lower to the ground.  That way it won’t hurt so bad when I edge Chaddy Daddy out so far he topples to the floor…it has happened.

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Kitty helped by making sure the mattress didn’t go anywhere during the setup…

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Here she is all dressed up and accompanied by her trusty sidekick nightstands!

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Chaddy Daddy surprised me with the pair of Vintage Venetian Blind lamps sitting on the night stands.  I found them on Etsy and he snuck and ordered them for me…isn’t he sweet???

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Chaddy Daddy also refinished the Mr. & Mrs. Chest of Drawers and mirror.  He did such an awesome job.  The pictures can’t show you how wonderful it looks and smells now compared to before!

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So here are a few full circle pics of the room…

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Now I need wall art and accessories…. What should I put above the bed?

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What about above the High Boy?  I was thinking about a starburst mirror!

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I’ll have fun finding the little details one piece at a time during our treasure hunts and pickin’ trips.  The hard part was finding all the furniture pieces and that’s over…for this room at least :).

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