Oodles and oodles

When life gives you a flawed tablecloth

I found this Wilendur poppy tablecloth at the estate sale last week.

Along with six matching napkins. I immediately went into wonder-what-I-can-sell-this-for mode. It looked like it was in great shape - lots of body and no fading and no big stains.

Alas, as I was ironing it, I found a few light stains. And a pinhole.

Well, I certainly can't sell it like that, so I have to keep it.

In other news, I am on my own for a few days. Mr. Oodles and Miss Oodles are off on a father-daughter adventure. They're having a great time.

Don't tell them, but so am I. I ate cherries for lunch. I had a Drumstick (the ice cream kind, not the turkey kind) for dinner last night. I didn't clean up my sewing stuff because maybe I'll feel like sewing again later. I didn't make the bed. There are dishes in the sink. Not many, though, because cherries and a Drumstick don't make a lot of dirty dishes.

I'll be happy to see them when they get back. But I'll try to make the best of things until they do.

 

Today in feedsack, #4: a quilt

As quilts go, this one - which came from the Ohio auction - is good, but not great. It's not the front that made me want it, though.

It was the back. Four full feedsacks, opened up.

In the sweetest design - multicolored bows on a red background. (I've seen this print in blue, too. One sold recently on eBay for upwards of $100. People can't get enough of bows lately.)

The quilt is made up of nine-patch squares of older fabric - calico and shirting and novelty prints and such - between squares of feedsack, then longer strips of feedsack.

My favorite of the older prints is the black and white one that looks like a needle taking a stitch.

There were some full-size feedsacks in this print at the auction, but I didn't get them.

(It's not that I didn't like the print; I just didn't like it as much as somebody else, who was willing to bid higher.)

As a fan of colorways, I was happy to find a third color combination in the pattern. There's just one square in the quilt of the stripe in green and orange. (And none that I recall seeing at the auction.)

By the way, the needle holes that you might notice in some of the photos are from the yarn that was tying the front and back together - a ghastly, fuzzy electric blue yarn. It was deteriorating and falling apart already, so I just picked out the ones that remained.

 
A sweet tiny print.

Fun square flowers. I did get a few full feedsacks in this pattern.

So that's why I bought the quilt. Because it was a quilt, yes, but mostly because it was kind of an encyclopedia of feedsack.

 

New furniture

More dollhouse furniture from the dollhouse-and-furniture purchase a few weeks back.

Today is the day I can't put off cleaning my own house any longer.

I think I'd be more motivated if I had a houseful of new furniture to put in it.

Alas, I do not. Pretty sure I know the root of my fascination with doll houses. They're just so much easier to take care of.

Olive the other stuff

I spent so much time making a pile of Christmas stuff at Saturday's estate sale that I didn't think there would be much else left in the house to interest me once I got to it. Actually, there was quite a lot more. In addition to this little clock, which keeps excellent time, I found some other whatnots.

Some miscellaneous vases, a set of Easter cookie cutters, a little spice rack and some aqua McCoy.

I had never seen the McCoy icicle planter - ever, anywhere. It's huge, as ceramic planters go, and I already know exactly where it's going (on my dresser) and how I'm going to use it (for an amazing Christmas tableau, complete with a bottle brush tree, little ornaments and possibly a number of snowmen.) I think it's my favorite McCoy ever.

Because the woman who lived in the house was a kindred spirit who clearly loved Christmas, she had a number of Christmas aprons ...

as well as some sweet cotton aprons that she had stitched up, pressed and tucked away, unused.

Among them were some smocked gingham aprons. The one on the right is unfinished. I'll figure out how to finish it. Someday. Smocked gingham reminds me of my great-grandmother, who was about my favorite person in the world.

I don't buy as many linens as I used to, but there were so many at this sale that the organizers were more than happy to have people make up their own box lots and name a price. So as long as I had a box lot of aprons going, I figured a guest towel couldn't hurt. Especially since it featured a parachuting kitty with the words 'Drop in any time.'

And since there was still a little room in my box, I added some handkerchiefs. There was pretty much every kind of handkerchief, from familiar florals and monogrammed hankies to bandanas and children's handkerchiefs, and holiday handkerchiefs, and delicate lace handkerchiefs.

Then I found a whole batch of tablecloths, so I started a second box lot. There was, naturally, a Christmas tablecloth, and a Christmas table runner. (I'm wondering if I am somehow related to the woman who lived in the house. We seem to share a lot of tendencies.) To this box lot I was able to add a nice stack of never-used kitchen towels.

The next photo is kind of special, because it represents a first for me. I don't know about you, but I find the category of collectibles featuring green olives particularly lacking. It's a shame, because I come from a long line of people who really, really love green olives. Members of my family eat them by the jar. The video of my brother's wedding ends with one of my cousins squealing with delight at the reception when she discovers a huge bowl of green olives. It's one of those things that could have been edited out but thankfully wasn't.

If that weren't enough, our family's cat was addicted to green olives. If my mother poured the juice from an empty olive jar down the drain (this happened pretty frequently in our house), we knew we would soon find the cat in the sink, sniffing for olives. If he slipped outside, all we had to do was take a jar of olives outside, and we could tempt him back. All of this is true.This is not the kind of thing people have any reason to make up.

At any rate, you can imagine my delight when I found not one but TWO olive-themed objects: one, a piece of Holt Howard Pixieware, and the other a tablecloth that features large wooden bowls of salad, iron trivets and olives.

Well, if all that Christmas stuff wasn't evidence enough, now I'm convinced: I have to be related somehow to the woman who lived in that house.

 

 

 

 

Wonderland

The phrase "lots of Christmas" in an estate sale listing can mean one of two things: lots of bad Christmas decorations (i.e., most things made after I was born), or lots of good Christmas decorations (things older than me.)

 Fortunately, the latter applied Saturday morning.

There were decorations I'd never seen before, like a three-piece band in its original "Merry Miracles" box.

Decorations I've seen and wanted but didn't have, like a pair of spun-head pinecone snowmen riding in silver cages.

There were milkglass Christmas bulbs.

And a Santa and reindeer set in its original box.

Oh, and there were ornaments, too.

American classics.

Handpainted ornaments from Poland.

Original boxes.

Odd and interesting colors.

Lovely stripes.

Beautiful indents.

Early favorites to take the "Best Panorama" award at the next AOVCOA&S ceremony.

And my most favorite spun-head creation ever: a penguin.

One apron for being close to home.

One apron for not spending too, too, too much.

One apron as a personal pat-on-the-back for not sleeping in when that's what I really wanted to do.

One apron for the person running the estate sale, who let us in 15 minutes early rather than making us stand outside in the rain.

One apron for a season's worth of Christmas ornaments (well, close) in one stop.

One apron for being home by 11 a.m.

One apron for a spun-head penguin.

And three aprons for all of the non-Christmas stuff yet to show you.

A ten-apron sale. But you kind of felt that coming, didn't you?

 

 

Today in feedsack, #3

Steel yourself for some feedsack greatness.

A border print, yes.

But not just any border print.

A border print that comes with its own fringe.

So that all a thrifty housewife would have to do is open up the feedsack and sew one seam at the top for curtains.

I have a pair of these, unopened, and I just basted each of them across the top so you could see them in place. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with them. I'm keeping them, yes. But I'm not sure if I'll use them. I don't think I could bear to remove that label. Or take out the stitching. But if I could get past those two hurdles, I could definitely live with them as curtains.

What would you do?

Underfoot

Too bad I spent so much money on feedsacks Saturday, because there was a lot of good stuff to buy. Those glasses on the end are Swanky Swigs - the only kind that aren't clear with designs. (And the only kind I don't have!)

Sigh.

And if I'd only had unlimited funds AND a truck ... think of the fun! I'm pretty sure I could have moved right into that house and been happy. That dining room table is spectacular.

Fortunately I had a little money left to get something I have always wanted: handwoven rag rugs. My great-grandmother had a loom in a little room off her kitchen, on which she'd weave rugs. People in her neighborhood would bring her fabric and outgrown clothes, and she'd transform them into rugs. Unfortunately, we loved the rugs so much we wore them out. And I've always wished I had some.

Like so much else in the house, the rugs weren't used and were in perfect condition.

So pretty and colorful. And I'm pretty sure there's a lot of feedsack in there. I can almost pick out some of the patterns.

One of them is made largely of old denim. 

I bought a bunch of them, but I can only keep a few. It's going to be very hard to choose.

 

 

NOS

If you've spent any time on eBay, you know what NOS means: new old stock. Old stuff that's never been used. Usually perfect and lovely. NOS makes my heart beat faster. Feedsacks make my heart beat faster. NOS feedsacks - well, I'm surprised I survived the experience.

None of the feedsacks I got Saturday had been used. Lots of them have their original paper labels. They were stored inside this little house, along with a ton of other stuff. The auction was on behalf of the people who bought the house, contents and all, and despaired of the idea they'd ever be able to sort it out themselves. No one seems to know why one of the previous occupants had so many feedsacks. (Or so many pillowcases - there were hundreds. Or dishtowels. Hundreds of them, too. It was kind of a hoarding situation, except the things that had been hoarded were beautiful and perfect. Not like any episode of "Hoarders" I've ever seen.)

I arrived in Ohio for the auction preview Friday afternoon. The auction was Saturday morning. The hotel where I stayed Friday night sent me a survey today. One of the questions was "How well did you sleep?" Since there was not an option for checking "I kept waking up because I was thinking about those feedsacks," I said I slept well. But I didn't.

Here are some of my favorites. Well, they're all my favorites, but here are some. For the most part, I was able to get more than one of each print ... in some cases five or six of each. They were not cheap. That's all I'm going to say on that subject.

Sometimes I love orange. Sometimes I don't. I love these.

I limited myself mostly to small prints and bright backgrounds, but I couldn't say no to lavender.

Aqua. There's no need to say more.

I love finding prints in different colorways. And this is just a great print already.

Another great print, and amazing color.

And a tiny nautical print.

Really tiny.

I didn't get much else at the auction, but I did get a few other things ... yes, there is a break from feedsacks in the near future! 

Going to extremes

Would you drive 500 miles (one way) to an auction?

Would you if you heard there were hundreds of feedsacks?

Some of the prettiest ones you've ever ever seen?

I would. And I did.

So I am back today from my new favorite place, northwest Ohio, with 77 of the best feedsacks ever. 

When holes in fabric are a good thing

This is a feedsack. If they all came looking like this, you wouldn't be wondering how to tell feedsack from other vintage fabric.

Know how often I find them like this? Almost never.

Sometimes I find them still sewn into a sack, but without the label, and that makes them pretty easy to identify, too.

But if all you've got is a piece of fabric - how do you know whether that's feedsack? There's only one way that I know of, which I learned from Sarah, who knows her way around a feedsack. And from anything I've read, it's about the only sure way to identify feedsack.

Feedsacks that are still sewn closed have stitching like this.

Here's how they look on the other side. When that heavy string is removed, it leaves telltale holes.

Which look like this. Which is how you tell whether fabric is feedsack.

Pretty easy, no?