did you buy that new?

Moving House: *Definitely* Not New

The house isn't just not-new; it's not ours.  We're going to be renters again, after having owned two homes in the last seven years, and it's - a lot discomfiting.  It's also a little embarrassing, and I am having to face down my ego, high-noon style, something I don't enjoy too awfully much. 

I keep trying to make myself take some photos of the house we've rented, and while it's a cute bungalow, a very Portland house (or Berkley, if you're familiar), I just can't get past how dingy and beat-up it is.  Plus the kitchen is just the most disheartening thing ever, if you're me and you've been living in two brand-new kitchens in the last several years, one of which you designed your own self and though you didn't spend TOP dollar on it, you sure spent plenty, and it was *nearly* your dream kitchen, and damn, if that isn't nearly close enough.  The kitchen in our rental has no dishwasher (unless I'm standing in it).  It's got some seriously banged-up counters and cupboards.  The paint is this off-white mess of chips and scratches and warps and the floor is awful.  The oven is old and white and ugly, and it isn't gas, it's electric, with one of those flat cook-tops my husband and I both despise, and the only other appliance (because there's not even a fan above the stove, which, by the way, is literally three feet from the bathroom door, *small shudder*) is the small, ancient refrigerator, an off-white affair that has probably seen some serious use.  There's actually an ironing board intact from the initial structure inlaid in the wall that, when you pop open the cupboard, drops the iron out. 

I am trying SO VERY HARD to imagine it painted (we're attacking it this weekend with masses of leftover paint from our current house + a few extra buckets that I'm spoiling myself by purchasing), clean, and established with our things inside, and desperately trying to convince myself it will be sweet and lovely and dollhouse-ish, TRYING. SO. VERY. HARD.

I'll take some photos of this crazy project-to-be so you can get the before-and-after feel, and I really pray that you'll think it's nice, and I pray equally hard that I will, too.

(It's in a fantastic neighborhood and great school district and we got it for a song -- per month -- and it is NOT an apartment and there's a yard in back and they allow pets so we were able to acquire a puppy AND a kitten because we're desperately mad, and I feel very fortunate to have this chance to reboot our financial lives, so please don't think I'm not seeing the silver lining.  I am.  I just want to see it with a bit of freshening on its face, and I'm having a tough time visualizing the whole thing.

Did I mention the house is less than 900 square feet?  And we currently live in a 2500 square-foot house?  *tears silently at hair*)

Five reasons I'm in "PYREX LOVE"

posted by Marcie

• Pyrex is still cheap and fairly easy to find at the thrift shops.
• If you don't have time to search the thrift stores you can find tons of vintage Pyrex on ebay for reasonable prices.
• Pyrex is green! The refrigerator dishes offer a food storage alternative to yucky, phthalates-leaching plastic food storage.
• Pyrex comes in so many different patterns and colors. There is something for everyone.
• Pyrex displays beautifully. It's an easy way to decorate your kitchen with design and function!

For more delicious pictures of Pyrex check out the Pyrex Love flickr group

a chair, slightly rough, yet better for the wear.

Posted by Debbie.

I found this chair at an estate sale one gray-yet-warmish Saturday in early summer; in fact, it was the day before Mother's Day, come to think of it, so it wasn't true summer; late spring, rather.  I had to stand in a queue, my number, on an unevenly trimmed yellow paper, scrawled in black sharpie, #57.  Or maybe it was #58.  Oh!  I know what - I'm confused because a woman who had #57 gave it to me, saying that she would be late for work if she waited.  I laughed because it only nudged me up by one, but that was still pleasant.  It felt convivial.

A woman behind me in an Obama t-shirt regaled her queue neighbors with tales about people who are banned from the estate sales in the area; about how rude the collectors are, how they even thieve, arrive before the thing has been officially declared open and just abruptly walk through, taking things and haughtily peacocking amidst the scene.  It sounded scandalous!  I had no idea.  She even told of some collectors who tried to break into the sale she and her sister had put on, but that, presciently, the sisters had chosen to sleep in their family member's home, and noticed the skulking of some fellows popping their heads up to peer through windows in the back in the dead of night.  Which made me not want to ever host an estate sale.  Creepy.

When I finally got in, I was fairly pleased; the house was in the period that I most adore, the fifties, and the woman who had left it had a quietly sweet taste.  Things had been cared for, and loved.  Something I'm always so happy to see.   It imparts a sense of the person, of their nature, an element of the treasures you might bring home that you never get when you buy new things.

I wended my way toward the main bedroom, scraping the walls to avoid the people ambling large through the narrow, almost-dainty hall.  Tilted my head to peer at the furniture (bedroom furniture has been simmering on my back-burnered mental list of late, tho we cannot afford such items, even priced for estate sales; generally, the pieces of good quality are priced in the several-hundreds range).   And a chair popped out at me; a little crumbling around the edges, but seemingly in good shape yet.  A slipper chair with maple legs.

As I trundled it out, I saw my friend, Nora!, just coming in the door.  She complimented me on the find.  I smiled and said, accusingly, "So you weren't even going to *tell* me you were going estate-saleing today?"  She responded gently, her usual manner, with something acerbically funny.  Which I might have noted to tell about now, if I weren't caving under the weight of my new $65 chair.  My Mother's Day present, in fact.

antique bling: somehow, SO much more fabulous.

Posted by Debbie.

Some of my favorite thrifted and estate-sale-purchased discoveries.

Even the shell came from an estate sale.

This piece is, quite possibly, my all-time-favorite thrift item.  $.99 for a clasp that can go from trashy to classy (claspy?) in the blink of an eye.  Hooray for San Diego thrifting!  (Oh, and the shelf on which the clasp is situated was also an estate-sale purchase.  It's a rolling cart with a - working! - hot plate.  For $15.  Hot dog!  Or, uh, hot fondue!)

(The aforementioned cart, in the left corner, which supports a hodge-podge of literature and drink materials; coincidentally, so do I.  Or not so coincidentally.   Also, while we're in this space, you may as well know that the table was purchased second-hand and extends to fit about seventeen-hundred people, or maybe only fourteen, which kind of feels like seventeen-hundred.  The chairs on the long ends were salvaged from someone's curb, repainted and reupholstered by yours truly.  The centerpiece on the table consists of two heavy glass candle holders I inherited from my maternal grandmother, and the turquoise cinder receptacle in center, full of shells that were a gift to my son from his -- still very much alive at 90! -- great-grandmother, came from the estate sale of a woman with exquisite taste.  More photos to come in future of a small, well-edited selection of pieces from her once-incredible collection.  I only wish I'd had a thousand dollars to spend the day I wandered through her slightly-musty, yet darling, home.)