Oodles and oodles

Hidden treasures

One stop this morning, and the finds ranged from the cute to the crusty. This is some of the cute: enamel flower pins and a Weiss rhinestone butterfly pin on a feedsack. (Even Mr. Oodles remarked that it is unusual to find a feedsack around here. He is catching on.)

The drawers are a little crusty, but they'll clean up, and they're cute as can be, in their own vintage industrial way. They're sitting on a metal milk crate which I didn't need but couldn't leave behind.

There was some miscellany, like ticking pillow covers and a stand-up frame.

A quilt top in very happy colors.

The fabric cut for yoyos came in a box lot, and the cute ones (puppies! pink!) were on the bottom.

It is easy to exaggerate, but when I say this is a fraction of the spools I bought, would it be OK to describe them as a lifetime supply?

Rattling around in the bottom of the box of spools was the head of a china doll. I would like to cast away my other chores and sit down and make her a little body and a dress. Just like Ma in "Little House on the Prairie" would.

The rusty drawers were filled so full of hardware they were difficult to open. I persevered and got them open and found all kinds of mysterious stuff, and one thing I could identify, which is this folding ruler. There were a lot of car parts, and the only thing I know to do with them is to look up the identifiable ones on eBay. It appears that one of the gadgets in the drawer sells for more than I spent on everything this morning. I do love those hidden treasures. I did not know I loved hidden car part treasures, but I am about to find out.

A feedsack fashion show

It's been a busy week at the Oodles household. The elder Oodles came from Pennsylvania to visit for a week, and the reason for the visit was our son's college graduation - hurray! There was a great deal of driving, celebrating, cooking and visiting, and I only barely managed to squeeze in one somewhat unnecessary thing I wanted to do, which was a load of recreational laundry.

The recreational laundry consisted of feedsack, but feedsack sewn into clothes. I've only ever found a piece or two of feedsack clothing, usually an apron, so this was a pretty good haul. (It came from that great auction a week or so back.) Skirts, particularly pink flowered ones, were popular in this family. They were made simply, with just a waistband and a side placket sewn right onto the edges of the feedsack. No pattern required.

There were patterns available, however, for dressier clothes.

Like this blue skirt with a matching jacket.

There also were patterns available for children's clothes.

Like these little girl dresses.

Patterns were available for big sisters, too.

(Pink was a very, very popular color in this family.)

No pattern required for this two-sack nightgown.

Shapeless, yes, but extremely cute circus print fabric.

All of these pieces would have displayed better if I'd taken them down and lovingly ironed them. Which I did not do. Except for two pieces that really required special treatment.

One being this one-piece sun suit, made in a young teen size. Sweet? Bittersweet? Cute? Odd? Please discuss.

I think we're all going to agree on this outfit.

Sweetest feedsack Easter dress ever. 

 

 

 

The riffraff

Things one would rather not hear while waiting in line at an estate sale:

"Now that his girlfriend's out of jail, he's been really busy."

"At least the cops were really nice about it."

"I apologize. I haven't washed my feet for a few days."

Things one is happy to hear half an hour before the sale is scheduled to start:

"Come on in!"

Things one is happy to hear, once inside, from the person running the sale:

"Jade-ite? Is that what you call that green glass?"

So this morning's haul included two drinking glasses (the tulip one's a tall Swanky swig, which are hard to find), a cast iron letter holder, a head vase, salt and pepper shakers, and all that green glass: two mixing bowls, candlesticks, a toy teapot, a measuring cup, a refrigerator dish, a vase and a pouring cup.

If getting to this means putting up with the riffraff, I'll do it.

Return of the aprons, 2013

A couple of years ago, I began using my patented apron rating system to evaluate various sales and auctions. I was quite enthusiastic about it at the beginning, less so as the season wore on, and even less so as I considered how much work I was creating for myself in the years that would follow. Last year I used it on special occasions, as the spirit moved me. This happy apron-wearing woman, on the cover of a little gem of a booklet acquired in a box lot Saturday, inspired me.

And when this apron-clad woman appeared in quick succession, I knew I needed to pull the apron icons out of storage to rate Saturday's auction. Which was held at a farmhouse occupied until recently by a 98-year-old woman who never threw anything away.

Ping! (Don't you love the sound the first apron icon of the season makes?)

The auction was in Pennsylvania, my homeland.

But in a part of Pennsylvania where I'd never been. Which took me through some pretty little towns, across a few rivers and into the mountains. Unexplored territory, and beautiful scenery.

And I didn't get lost. Which, with my sense of direction, is a pretty big miracle.

Four aprons, and the bidding hasn't even begun!

I had called the auctioneer earlier in the week to inquire about the feedsacks, which were not shown in the photographs on his web site, and which were intriguingly yet somewhat incompletely described. He was nice as pie, called me right back and did his best to describe them. And then he said this: "They're in mint condition. All you'd need to do is worsh them."

And as soon as he said "worsh," I knew I was going. "Worsh" is Pennsylvanian for "wash." I grew up with "worsh" and its verb form, "worshing," and it tugs at my heart.

An apron for speaking my dialect.

I arrived, went straight to the feedsacks and found they were just as lovely as he had said.

And there were a lot of them. Forty or fifty.

times 10

or

 times 10.

OK, actually there's just one apron being awarded for that, but it was pretty exciting to see them.

Nobody was especially interested in bidding on the feedsacks, except for the people who bid on everything. There always are a few of them. I let them win one lot that I felt was kind of marginal. That seemed to satisfy them, so I got all of the rest.

Lack of formidable competition. 

Not only was there lack of competition, there was a great deal of curiosity as to what the feedsacks were and why I was buying them. I had lots of pleasant conversations. One of them, with a couple maybe in their early 40s, went something like this:

Them: What does your husband think about you buying all of this?

Me (cheerfully): He's fine with it. (They express surprise.)

Them: So when you want to go out of town like this, you just go off and drive there yourself?

Me (again, cheerfully): Yep. (Again, they express surprise. Like women can do this kind of thing nowadays.)

For feeling like a feminist trailblazer.

One of my favorite things at a sale or an auction is Drama That Does Not Involve Me. There was LOTS of drama at this auction. The woman who died had a very large family, which had split into factions at some point. Probably half of the people at the auction were members of one faction or another. And rather than setting aside their differences so that everyone could get a memento or two, they bid against each other. Viciously. Like $90 doily viciously. Like $400 photo album viciously. Fortunately, none of them were interested in Auntie's feedsacks.

I'm only awarding this apron temporarily, because as interesting as it was to see all of this play out,

it really was unfortunate and sad. And an excellent object lesson in why it is much better to cooperate than to fight.

A local service club provided the food, and they had signs everywhere proclaiming "We have GOOD lemonade." There was something so charming about those signs. And the lemonade was pretty good. But what was particularly amazing was the number of homemade pies - fruit pies and berry pies and cream pies and nut pies. Pennsylvania is a great place to get pie.

In addition to all of the feedsack, there were so many other things that I liked. Ornaments and patterns and household whatnots and things I'd never buy except at the end the auctioneer was selling them for $1. I left feeling like I had just had about a perfect auction experience. I stopped to buy gas at the service station in town. As I approached the cashier, money in hand, I noticed she had kind of a troubled look. She was looking at the man behind me. Who, it seemed, had followed me into the gas station. And was a little rough around the edges.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, and both the clerk and I stiffened. This was going to be the part where my luck ended. With a convenience store holdup. I knew this day was too good to be true.

"I noticed the license plate frame on your car says you bought it in Syracuse," he said. "I grew up there!"

And then we had a nice conversation, and he wished me a pleasant visit.

For not being the victim of a convenience store holdup.

Ready for the tally?

A perfect ten. You felt that coming, didn't you?

 

Time for an adventure

I have not had a proper adventure since my trip to Ohio last summer. Thanks to that trip, I have a deep and abiding love for Ohio and its people. However, there is no disputing that using the words "adventure" and "Ohio" in the same sentence means that someone needs a big dose of fun. So I got up before dawn Saturday and headed out on a day trip to somewhere I'd never been. I came home with a box of sewing notions.

A box of sweet old patterns and some of the usual suspects: housewares and Jade-ite.

Not one of the usual suspects, an old pair of children's roller skates.

Decorations for every holiday, including placecard-size honeycomb turkeys that I adore.

As well as a wonderful Valentine's cart to fill with amazing valentines.

Only a few of which have been discovered.

And including Christmas, of course.

But all of this was kind of a bonus. Because there's pretty much only one thing that can convince me to drive 160 miles to an auction.

And that's feedsacks.

Lots of 'em. As days go, it was a pretty awesome one.

The power of negative thinking

The implied complaint in my last post, about the lack of good stuff at thrift stores over the winter? I'm standing by it. Clearly it encouraged my local thrifts to up their game this week. I am really, really done with Thrift Store #1. The only reason I went to Thrift Store #1 today was because I had to go to the bank, and it's right across the street from the bank. I peeked inside, and there was a nice Gooseberry print Pyrex bowl. Well played, Thrift Store #1. Apparently you are following the lead of Thrift Store #2, which offered stacking Fire King mugs yesterday. Not my style, but reliable sellers. I appreciate the effort.

It also was a nice touch, Thrift Store #2, putting out that box of aqua cocktail napkins. You remembered I have just a little bit of a thing for cocktail napkins. I will not forget that.

As for you, Thrift Store #3? You knew I had pretty much written you off. I had stopped visiting every week. Sometimes I didn't come in even when I was at the store next door. But this week: kismet. I visited. You had a vase waiting.

Not a Jade-ite vase, but very pretty. And clearly from the same mold. You're trying, Thrift Store #3, and it has not gone unnoticed.

You're listening, thrift stores, and you're trying. I stand by my earlier complaint. Keep trying, though. You might just win me back.

Gimme an H

I'm not sure what this H stood for originally, but I found it Saturday, when I was sort of playing hooky. My son was playing in his final college golf tournament, which meant I could walk in respectful silence for four hours and watch him hit a ball that is so small I can't follow where it goes, or I could say hello to my son, leave my husband at the golf course, and go treasure hunting in a new area. As decisions go, this one was not difficult.

As luck would have it, there was an estate sale five minutes away. It was Day 2 of the sale, so I knew the best stuff would be gone, but the H was still there. And maybe it stands for holiday, because I found a Christmas table runner and this fabric. Just a little bit of it, but still: how many vintage President's Day fabrics am I likely to find?

This fabric came from an antique store, but it had a flea market price, and there is nothing I like better than fabric that would have made my grandma a nice housedress.

These flowered glasses, from the same antique store, are not Swanky Swigs, but they are awfully sweet just the same. I seem to be having a pretty good run of finding pretty glassware this spring. Hurray!

Speaking of Swanky Swigs, I found one right off the bat at the estate sale. And since it was Day 2, it was half price! Hip hip hurray!

It was a pretty fun day, tooling around by myself in an area I don't know very well. We met up at the end of the day for dinner, and it was warm enough to eat outside on the restaurant's patio. (I think I've used up my quota of hurrays.)

On Sunday I cleaned up flower beds, my husband mowed the grass, and we both swatted at black flies. (If you've never encountered black flies, just imagine mosquitoes, only more annoying.) But I'm not complaining, because spring not only means great weather, it means the sale season has arrived. I have been saving up my thrift-store finds all winter for one mega wrap-up post in which you would gasp at the amazing things I found. Ready?

A Fire-King casserole, a kitchen clock and one of those shiny chrome paper-towel-and-wax-paper holders. Wait, let's do that again, in case you missed something.

Yep, here it is! The sum total of what was worth buying as I visited every week at least one, usually two, sometimes three and on a few occasions four thrift stores.

And that, friends, is why the arrival of the sale season has me saying: Thank heavens!

 

 

Yard sale discoveries

Because there were no estate sales that seemed worth the drive this morning, I went to a couple of nearby yard sales. I found a few things, mostly of a Christmas nature: a felt stocking, a forest of bottle brush trees, a glass garland with bells, and a few organza-and-mercury-glass ornaments. At the first sale, a woman offered me some unsolicited advice and used an ethnic slur so shocking I was speechless. At the second sale, a man appeared, took a quick glance around, and asked "Got any firearms?" The answer, thankfully, was no, because this man seemed to me the kind of guy for whom background checks were invented. There was just a general air of weirdness, and I remembered that one of the reasons I've come to dislike yard sales is the unpredictable craziness. There is craziness at estate sales, too, but I recognize a lot of the people who go to them and can somewhat anticipate what will happen.

There are odd people at estate sales, but at least they're my odd people. Not random ones.

With that, I'm going to put my new spun-head angels away and stay home the rest of the day.

Vintage toys and other playthings

I found this little metal stove at last week's estate sale. My teapot is a little big for it, but I like the look nonetheless.

I found this wicker cradle on my fourth or fifth pass through the house. I can't imagine why it hadn't been snapped up - maybe because it was filled with hideous stuffed animals. I probably could have sold it half a dozen times on my way out. People kept stopping me to admire it. Well, too bad, because I had plans for it.

I thought it would make a pretty good place to stack up little quilts. And provide a reason to accumulate more little quilts. I also had a family member in mind when I got it.

What cat does not enjoy being forced into a strange new place (especially one that rocks) while being told to hold still for a photo? Patch is responding as well as can be expected.

Hey, remember a couple of weeks ago, when my poor Polly cat was so sick, and the vet didn't give her much of a chance, and I was pretty much spending my time force-feeding her and sniffling?

Well, she's fine. She made a miraculous recovery. Here she is, waking up from her afternoon nap today. It's embarrassing how much I love this cat.

Meanwhile, Patch has decided she has had quite enough of this photo session.

I think I'll go back to my original plan. Just quilts, no cat.

Time to make a plan to hit a few sales Friday. Is it just me or are these weeks just whizzing by?

 

The list of what could go wrong

Do you worry about everything? I do. Friday night, I was worried specifically about a sale I wanted to go to Saturday morning. Would I find it? Would I get there on time? How early should I get up? If I got up too early, would I be so tired the rest of the day I wouldn't get anything done? At 2:35 a.m. (by this point it was Saturday, not Friday) I worried that I wouldn't get any sleep at all. Then I realized that it was not 2:35 a.m. It was 12:35 a.m. (The clock is on the far side of the bed, and I hadn't craned my neck far enough around to see all four digits.) Suddenly all was right with the world, and I was about to get two hours of sleep I thought I had been robbed of.

I sprang out of bed (sort of) at 4:15 and headed to my destination. I had a full tank of gas. I had coffee. I had cash. I had a baggie full of Frosted Mini Wheats to munch on. I drove. I thought I found my destination. The sun had not yet come up, and I was in the country. I got out my flashlight and checked the house number. It seemed like the right place. But there was no sign to indicate that a sale would be held at that location. And no one else in sight.

I spent the next hour in a state of even greater anxiety. Did I have the wrong day? Was I positive this was the right spot? Why was no one else here? Would the state trooper who no doubt was being summoned at this very minute believe my story, that I was innocently sitting in a driveway thinking that an estate sale would occur? Should I start a list? If I started a list, would it be recognized as the Official List to Get Into the Sale, or would there be a dispute?

Another hour passed. The sun rose. I tried to read the book I brought, but I found it hard to concentrate. At 7:15, a van pulled up. It was not a state trooper. Just an ordinary kind of guy. 

"Is this where the estate sale is supposed to be?" he asked. I thought I might cry with relief. "Is there a list out?" he asked. I told him I had started one. "Well, you seem to know what you're doing," he said.

From there, it was easy. It was even fun. Other people showed up. They signed the list. The list I had started. My list! When the man running the sale showed up, he asked me to help hand out the numbers. Oh, the awesome responsibility of being Number One on the list!

Of course, the best part of being Number One is getting first crack at the good stuff.

Beautiful Fire King cups and saucers, and that set of pretty glasses (gone almost as quickly as I listed them) and a dozen Swanky Swigs, and some interesting vintage kitchenware.

A sturdy Hazel Atlas chopper, the ubiquitous folding yardstick, a nice Christmas tin.

 
This clever napkin holder that I'm selling even though I really don't want to.

The odd bits of Christmas. And (no pictures yet) a very cute toy that I'm still working on, and a shoebox full of buttons that I'm sorting through. And the one item that made me gulp when I looked at the price tag, then realized that if you're going to get up at 4:15, you'd better have something to show for it.

That would be this.

Actually. these. Which proved to be the perfect antidote for all of that pre-sale anxiety. What, me worry? I can't wait for next weekend.