Oodles and oodles

In which a person of limited willpower is revealed

When I wrote in my last post the sentence,"I don't think you could force me to go to an estate sale at this point," I meant it sincerely. I knew I would want to go to a sale at some point in the future, but not right away. I expected my resolve to last perhaps a month. At least a couple of weeks. Certainly more than what proved to be the case, which was about 12 hours.

For the very next morning there appeared an advertisement which seemed as if it were written only for me. Yards and yards of fabric. Quilt tops. Linens. Christmas galore. And it was about five minutes from home. The sale was Saturday morning, and I got there so early, I was #2 on the list.

Clearly since this 1970s vintage sewing box is the first thing I'm showing you, the sale did not quite live up to my expectations. All of the items advertised were there, but they weren't my style. More 1980s than 1950s.

I bought the sewing box only because I wanted the nice collection of bone crochet hooks inside. I've had good luck selling these. There were the usual other interesting bits inside the sewing box - a few wooden spools, and buttons to be covered, and whatnot - although I did discover something new, which you'll see in a minute.

Possibly my favorite thing from the sale was this covered pie plate. The only problem with it is that it is beseeching me to fill it with something pie-related. The pie plate goes nicely with a tablecloth I bought, but it's currently being washed, so let your imagination run wild. (It's a nice old white cotton tablecloth with big red and blue berry clusters.) I also bought a few newish craft things to resell, so the sale wasn't a total wash.

The new thing I discovered in the sewing box is how the plastic trays that come in it are perfect sewing-drawer organizers. I don't know why I never thought of this before, since over the years I've purchased quite a few of those sewing boxes for their contents. Because the boxes are hard plastic, they're often chipped or cracked (not to mention hideously ugly) and usually aren't even worth donating. Taking the trays out never occurred to me, though.

And since the sewing box at Saturday's sale had two trays in it, I am now the proud owner of an extremely well organized sewing drawer.

 

A lifetime supply of millinery flowers, and other topics

Instead of talking all the time about the stuff I'm getting rid of, I thought I'd change things up and show you some of the stuff I'm keeping. Let's start with millinery flowers. Last week I sold 420 millinery flowers. A few weeks before that, I sold 375 pieces of millinery fruit. It's safe to say I had more than I needed.

I decided to keep only my favorites: forget me nots, and anything velvet.

I've never seen a color of forget me not I didn't like.

They're even better when they're wrapped in tiny paper bundles. I figure I might use 10 millinery flowers a year. It's possible that some years pass without the need for a single millinery flower.

Anyway, without counting every single flower or calculating exactly how many years I might have left on this planet, it's safe to say that this many flowers should probably last me a lifetime.

I did do the math on a few other things. In addition to all that millinery, I've sold 49 aprons and more than 172 yards of fabric in the past few weeks. I don't think you could force me to go to an estate sale at this point. Fortunately, there aren't any that I really want to go to right now, so we don't have to test that claim.

An off-topic photo of the doilies that were among the linens I sorted through last week. They looked really pretty all laid out like this. Pretty, yes, but I still don't want them, so I'm selling them. It wasn't nearly as much fun as you might think sorting, washing, pressing and photographing a suitcase full of linens. You only think it would be fun because the American Association of People Who Sort, Wash, Press and Photograph Linens have an excellent public relations department and have put that idea out in the media.

I spent a good part of the weekend painting furniture. The bedroom was already empty because we'd just painted it. (Pewter, by Benjamin Moore). This is how the furniture looked after it was primed. Originally there were a variety of colors involved.

It probably doesn't look all that different here, other than being upright and assembled, because I painted everything in white enamel. There seems to be a certain propensity toward changing things around this place, and I think I'd rather change the colors of linens or pillows or something rather than paint furniture so much. As I was painting, I remembered that I paid about $10 for each of these pieces. That must be my price point for furniture. At least for furniture that needs to be repainted.

In an amazing step in my personal growth, I took apart my oak pedestal dining room table, managed to fit it in the back of a Honda hatchback (no small feat), and took it to a professional to have it refinished instead of doing it myself. Having fallen victim to the propaganda from the American Association of People Who Sort, Wash, Press and Photograph Linens, there was no way I was going to believe anything from the American Association of People Who Strip, Sand, Stain and Varnish Dining Room Tables.

 

The case of the empty suitcase

The decluttering project continues unabated. I'm loving the way that space is magically appearing. This morning I went upstairs with one thought in mind: What can I get rid of next? I saw a vintage suitcase that looked promising.

Vintage suitcases make great storage. But sometimes I think I fill them with nothing but good intentions.

This one, for example. All of those linens and doilies that I really didn't want but were too good to throw away or donate went in this suitcase. I'm pretty sure I didn't intend to buy any of these - they just came in a box with something that I did want.

Lots of pretty linens stitched with care.

Lots of lovely crochet.

A little tablecloth appliqued with crinoline ladies. The skirt is open on the sides, so an embroidered napkin can be tucked in. I vaguely remember acquiring this.

I had forgotten all about this.

A stamped embroidery piece for a child's apron.

With scotty dogs on the border.

All of it deserves a better home than a suitcase. So my project today is getting it ready to sell. (At the urging of some of you, there's now an eBay link in my sidebar.) And the suitcase is empty already, and since I never liked it that much, it's going to the town Swap Shop.

I think the house feels lighter already. It helps that it's a beautiful sunny day, and that a bluebird has been singing his heart out all morning.  

 

 

Fresh starts and gingham checks

I like graph paper. I like to make to-do lists on graph paper so I can draw a tidy little box next to each item and mark it off when the chore is done. That's probably why I like gingham. And January. A fresh calendar, a new year, all those open calendar squares filled with nothing but possibility. I spent a lot of January thinking about fresh starts. More to the point, I spent a lot of January doing some particularly non-blogworthy activities but getting what feels like a good beginning.

One piece of fabric, one color of thread, and a hundred different designs that can result from it. This is chicken scratch embroidery, which also has been called depression lace and gingham lace. (I think I like those names even more.)

The reason I have my gingham aprons out is because I'm selling them. Actually, I'm selling pretty much my whole apron collection. It feels good. Every year I go on a decluttering binge in January - I think a lot of us do - and somehow it never quite works. Now, I'm not a big fan of self-help books, and when I heard a radio talk show advertise an upcoming interview with the author of the book "Throw Out Fifty Things," I mentally - perhaps actually - rolled my eyes. Been there before. If you ask me, 50 is on the low end of the decluttering scale.

But I enjoyed the interview enough to read the first chapter of the book on Amazon (you can read it here), and here's the part that made an impression on me: She's not talking about 50 items. She's talking about, say, 50 collections. If you pack up 50 of your old books, you aren't done. That's not 50 things. That's one thing: your old books.

And somehow, that made a lot of sense to me.

By the end of this week, I'll have sold (or given away) at least 50 aprons. I had a good collection. I've even exhibited them a few places locally. But for the past few years I've had them stored in a huge vintage suitcase. Every once in a while I'd forget what was in the suitcase, and I'd open it up and see the aprons. And I was not excited to see them. It was more like seeing a relative you know you should love but don't really enjoy.

So the aprons: that's one thing. I took boxes and boxes of books to our local library yesterday for their annual sale. That's two. Vintage wallpaper, vintage millinery - out. I have washed, pressed, folded, photographed, sold and shipped literally hundreds of yards of fabric in the last couple of weeks: All the fabric that I said I'd sell someday has either been sold or will be in another week or two. An attic closet filled with household whatnots - cleaned. So I think I'm up to around six things. It seems like a lot of work to have only six things to claim, but I think that's the point.

So that's where I'm at and what I've been up to. (Can I just say how nice it was to hear from some of you who wondered where I'd been? That was just very kind.)

Am I done collecting? Not a chance.

Am I done sorting? Not a chance of that, either.

(I'm adding this only because some of you will ask: If you're ever interested in what I'm selling on eBay, you can always search by my seller name, kremisclub. I wanted this post to be something other than a big old advertisement.)  

 

 

  

Note to self: Go to more sales

It's been so long (months!) since I've been to a sale that when I went to one over the weekend, I kind of forgot what to do. I saw this little notepad holder, for example, and thought it was sweet. It took a few moments before I realized that I could pick it up, see if it was priced reasonably, and, if it was, purchase it. I never realized that vintage shopping skills could become rusty. Let my close call be a lesson for us all.

I rallied somewhat after that and found a Pyrex casserole in the Friendship pattern. My friend who collects this (you know who you are!) gets first dibs.

Cute little salt and pepper set.

I love these ones - Lefton pine cones. I'd like a whole set of pinecone dishes to go with them.

And a stack of crocheted aprons, but I'm embarrassed at how terrible the photo is, so it's little.

Also, there's a Wilendur rose tablecloth in the dryer. And several strands of glass bead garland, but I'm pretty much done with looking at anything Christmas related for a while, so I put it away, unphotographed.

For the first outing of the year, after a long drought, it was an OK sale. And having discovered how rusty my shopping skills have become, I've resolved to really work on them in the new year. 

 

 

Things that are hard to part with

I've been cleaning out ruthlessly. Clothes I don't like that much - gone. Christmas decorations that haven't been out of storage for years - gone. Sewing patterns I will never, ever use again - gone, gone, gone. A deeper cleaning than I've done in years. Storage areas that have been unexplored for some time, organized and neat. It feels good. But I realized there is one category of items that I can't part with easily.

And that is toys.

I have some of my toys (Barbie dolls, a bride doll, toy dishes), and I miss some of the toys I didn't keep (my stuffed white cat, Frosty, and my Nancy Drew books). I have some of my mother's toys. I have my dad's all-time favorite toy, his sled. I have some of my grandmother's toys. I think I even have some of my great-grandmother's toys.

And, of course, I have toys that once belonged to people I'll never know. Apparently I collect doll-size roller skates (all of these from just the past few months ... isn't it amazing what you can accomplish even when you aren't trying?)

(Black velveteen cat, original owner unknown.) I went to a friend's yard sale this summer, and she was selling her son's Lego collection. I was amazed. You can do that kind of thing? Sell toys your children have outgrown? It was a foreign concept to me. And when it came time this week to decide - do I want storage space, or my children's toys? - I couldn't do it. I could not give away those toys. And boy, are they taking up space - storage tubs of wooden trains, Lego blocks, Playmobil figures, American Girl dolls. I would bet that two-thirds of the storage area in my attic is home to toys. They're all neat and organized and out of sight, but still - this is a small house. I could use that space.

But at least most of the toys that somehow come into my possession now are tiny.

Easily confined to a single drawer.

It's hard to imagine a kid being excited about getting a tiny paint roller and tray, but I think it's great.

This, however, might be my favorite toy of all: a tiny wall pocket, shaped like a cup. It's about the size of a half-dollar. I think it wants to be in a kitchen with red-checked wallpaper and a farmhouse sink.

This box of ice cream cones is maybe 2 inches long.

The cones inside are even smaller.

And if you think the ice cream cones are small ...

you should see the emery boards, which might be an inch.

Reading glasses?

Just the thing for perusing the latest issue of "Weekly News."

Having confessed my inability to turn my back on any toy, I have to ask ... is there anything you just can't part with?

 

Getting back to work

Our buddy next door really wants us to come out and play. He can be very insistent. First he comes to the side door and cries pitifully. Then he goes to the back door and barks. Finally he comes up on the porch and stares through the living room window. A chocolate lab can be very hard to ignore. There are those big, sad, brown eyes. Not to mention the snow-covered face.

We're resisting his charms, however, because it's time to get busy around here. I've got a car load of stuff to take to the thrift store - I so want to have a pretty, well-organized work space. And I've got a lot of stuff I said I'd sell after the holidays. I'm looking forward to updating my Etsy shop. Doing eBay listings, not so much, but that's what I need to do today. I'm easing into it with apron patterns.

I've seen a lot of feedsack in my day, but none that I recall liking as much as this. I think I need to keep it at least a little longer.

I've seen a lot of apron patterns, too, but there's something on this one that I don't remember seeing before.

A note about the size of feedsack required to make the apron. That one line is enough to get me thinking about farmhouse kitchens and chickens and the scent of homemade bread. About my great-grandparents and how Nanny sent Pap-pap to the feed store with a list of what feedsack prints she needed for her sewing projects. Did she wake up in the morning, thinking how great it was that she lived on a beautiful farm with fresh eggs waiting to be gathered and fabric ready to be stitched into aprons and housedresses?

Well, probably not. That was her everyday life. But I think for the most part she  appreciated it. And really, given the fact that my work sometimes involves old apron patterns and pretty fabric, I should be pretty happy, too.

A vintage tea towel for the year ahead

There are two kinds of people in this world:
Those who like New Year's Eve.
And those who like New Year's Day.
I think you probably know which kind I am.
If you don't, here's a clue: It's 10 a.m., I've been up for several hours, and the laundry and meal plans are well enough under way for me to spend some time taking photos and reading.

I like New Year's Day. I like the idea of fresh starts and lofty goals, of a clean house and organized rooms. Most of the Christmas decorations stay out until the twelfth day of Christmas, which is January 6, unless I get very restless and take them down before then. I'm moderately restless now, which is why I'm quietly removing Christmas decorations here and there in a way that my tradition-bound family won't notice.

Which is how I discovered this tea towel, because I was taking the Christmas tablecloths out of the Hoosier to store them away. These reds and greens blend right in with the remaining holiday items,

while reminding me of some of my goals for the New Year. In addition to liking these lovely colors and graphics, I'm also embracing the numbers. The fact that cream and lobster have the same number of calories as a bunch of grapes makes me feel so much better about my splendid dinner last night at Moro's Table (a restaurant that is worth driving to from no matter where you live, even if that's across the country). It began virtuously enough with cauliflower soup and roasted beet salad, then ventured decadently into red wine, beef and an amazing bittersweet chocolate bread pudding. (Lest that sound dangerously like an actual New Year's Eve observance, let me point out I was home reading a good book by 10 p.m.)

So my tea towel is a friendly reminder of goals for the year. Here's to fresh starts, new projects, fruits, vegetables and hope in 2012.
 

 

 

A last minute Christmas Eve house tour

I was trying to remember why I don't post more the week leading up to Christmas because it's kind of the high point of my year, and then I remembered why: BECAUSE IT'S THE WEEK LEADING UP TO CHRISTMAS. Today, however, the sun came out (miracle #1) and I had a few spare minutes (miracle #2, but one that resulted only from my desire to get out of the kitchen, so maybe not a miracle). Anyway, here is a last minute tour of my Christmas decor.

A Putz scene with oversized churches, made more festive ...

when the church in back lights up. Nothing makes a Christmas Eve more festive than a blinking light-up church.

Especially when it competes with the blinking light-up tree across the room.

The Village of Putz is experiencing some suburban sprawl. I don't think I added many houses, but I put them all in one spot this year.

Some new residents. My friend Martha and I had been discussing our mutual love of crepe-paper figures, and she told me she was sending some tiny ones she recently acquired. When she told me I would be surprised at how tiny they are, I have to admit that I scoffed. How tiny could they be?

Oh my goodness. They are THAT small.

Part of the Santa collection. There's a smaller shelf of Santas, but I forgot to take a photo of it, apparently. (I know, I know. Christmas is ruined.)

I'm going to step into the kitchen only for one minute so you can see the Santas out there.

Brownie cupcakes for Santa's snack plate tonight.

This year's favorite cookie, ready to go in the oven - chocolate shortbread cut out with a vintage pine tree cookie cutter.

Always the last decoration to go up, the manger scene, with its many mismatched animals and figures.

It's finally here, my favorite day of the year. I hope you have a magical Christmas!


 

  

 

Welcome to the third annual AOVCOA&S Awards!

Last year's winner of the "Best Indent" award, accompanied by the 2009 winner

 If this year's awards ceremonies seems a little disjointed and poorly organized, I apologize. Up until very recently, I thought I had found the perfect people to present the awards - engaging, eager for publicity, apparently with nothing else to do.

I'm talking, of course, about contenders for the Republican presidential nomination.

I had invited several former and current front-runners for the nomination to present the awards, but it was clear from the first rehearsal that the ceremony would be a disaster. Mitt Romney would come out and give an award, and five minutes later he'd want to go back on stage and say he'd changed his mind. Newt Gingrich showed promise - he's so elfin-looking! - but then he wanted a seven-figure "consulting fee." Rick Perry would say there were three nominees for an award, but then ... well, I think you know what happened. Oops.

It didn't take me long to realize how unsuitable they were for the job. Any job. So when I just happened to mention that very few Iowa caucus-goers pay attention to the awards, they vanished! Just like that! Poof! Sorry to send them your way, Iowans, but the preservation of the Academy comes first. Let's bring on our first award-winner!

Outstanding Performance by an Unsilvered Ornament

Well, this is a surprise: this small red unsilvered ball with its stenciled church scene is so similar to the 2009 winner that some untrained observers thought they were one in the same. The judges were in agreement: It's not just hard to beat a snowy scene with a church steeple and a full moon. It's impossible.

Best Figural Ornament


It's looking like another big year for red. This glass clip-on mushroom looks as if it just popped up from the forest floor. A forest floor covered with glass bead garland and silver tinsel, perhaps, but a forest floor nonetheless.

(The judges are murmuring. They're talking about something they've just noticed. It looks - I can't be sure - it looks as if they might have changed their mind about one of the award winners.)

Best Santa

So that's what they were talking about! The judges had selected a different Santa as this year's award-winner, but then they noticed this one off to the side of the mushroom: an old fashioned Santa molded into a delicate glass oval. He is a beauty! (But I think the milkglass Santa is weeping. The milkglass Santa was sure this year was his year. Sorry, milkglass Santa.)
 
Best Indent


From the judge's notes: We hardly can overlook the fact that this ornament is stunning not only from the front ...

but from the back! Bravo, handpainted indents from Poland!

Best deer

Last year, blog reader Jennifer, in Maine, asked if I could choose a Best Deer ornament. I liked the idea a lot, but I didn't think I had any deer. I had forgotten this one, and it's a beauty! The judges, who have always been partial to panorama balls, were especially taken with the sparkly white glitter and the snowy night it evokes.

Best Bird

 
The Academy loves these birds. The Academy found several of these birds this year, and that made the Academy really happy. They come in different colors (there also are red and yellow birds on the tree, but in hard-to-photograph spots), and they're handy because they clip onto the top of a branch - just the thing to fill in awkward bare spots. Well done, little bird!

Best New Ornament of the Year

Is it a card? Is it an ornament? Is it a calendar? It's all three, and it's got one of the cutest puppies in the world popping through a horseshoe. And if that weren't enough to love: there's a complete calendar for 1936 attached, and 1936 is the year the Academy's founder's mother was born. No 1936, no Academy of Vintage Christmas Ornaments Arts and Sciences. This isn't just a cute ornament, according to the judges. If not for this ornament, or at least the year it represents, none of us would be here tonight.

Kind of gives you the shivers, doesn't it? It's like being present when history is made.

Well, we've come to our final award of the evening.

Best Christmas Ornament Reminiscent of a Joni Mitchell Song


A pair of doll-sized leather ice skates. Because your favorite album ever is "Blue." Because you spent the better part of your prime dating years pining after someone who was completely unavailable. Because you majored in English. Because secretly you're kind of happy when it's cold and drizzly outside. Because you find it a little annoying that the whole world loves Jane Austen now, and you loved her before they started turning all of her novels into movies.

Because your favorite Christmas song isn't a Christmas song at all but a break-up song:

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace ...

I wish I had a river
I could skate away on ...

And because you didn't even have to go to a lyrics web site to look up the words to Joni Mitchell's haunting "River" because they are Etched Into Your Soul.

OK, guilty on all counts. Love that song. Love those skates.

And even if that song doesn't exactly say "Merry Christmas," I will. Merry Christmas!