tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46906488029069919332024-03-01T17:07:36.941-08:00ThingummerySpelunking through suburbia, one estate sale at a timegefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.comBlogger266125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-59357922603696606882014-01-10T14:20:00.000-08:002014-01-10T14:20:31.249-08:00A page from my book: Inner Tube Seats<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Whatever happened to<a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-page-from-my-book-beer-can-table.html"> this idea</a>? The one where I feature a page from one of the books I'm selling at the etsy shoppe every Friday? Well, I did manage to do it once, and today makes twice. All of my usual Friday plans and routines—like hitting the estate sale circuit for the Day 2 discounts—have lately winged their way out the window for all the usual reasons (holidays, holidays). But today I'm back in the saddle, and though I visited just one sale it was the kind that really rejuvenates my interest in this whole enterprise (i.e., rifling through the things belonging to interesting people who are no longer with us). Today's sale was the estate of a lady artist who obsessively painted portraits of women—women of all shapes and sizes and ages and hairdos. I'm not saying that they're good or bad, just that I managed to limit myself to buying only four. And that two are fairly monumental. I'll post about them at a future date, but in the meantime you can check them out on my Instagram feed @thingummery.<br />
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I digress. This quartet of happy ’70s people reclining awkwardly on stuffed inner tubes is featured on the back cover of <i>Easy-to-Make Tables & Chairs,</i> a Sunset Book published in 1976. Now I don't find anything "easy to make" except perhaps a bowl of ramen, but if I <i>were</i> the DIY type, I'd make me some of these plywood chairs and parsons tables, porch swings, pedestals and of course, the rainbow-rrific "inner-tube seats"! I must've been rushing when I did this etsy listing—that is the only explanation as to why I neglected to include a shot of the "balloon chair," which requires only a cardboard box and about three dozen balloons to construct. Wanna make one? Learn how <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/162997483/easy-to-make-tables-and-chairs-a-sunset?ref=shop_home_active_23">here</a>. gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-53416146355085234932014-01-06T15:05:00.000-08:002014-01-06T15:05:00.193-08:00Tonight I'm gonna diet like it's 1965<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I noticed a significant uptick in sweaty folk at my local health club last week, which reminded me that once again I forgot to make any resolutions for 2014. Then I came across this diet book while I initiated the impossible task of cleaning out my office (that was kind of a resolution moment, right?), and found myself a game plan for the New Year: Eat, drink and be slender! Jane and Kent Voss (not to mention the redoubtable Dr. Ludwig Lederer) totally had me at hello. The first paragraph of <i>Shed Pounds with Cocktails and Gourmet Fare</i>: </div>
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At long last, here is a diet designed for those who have stopped smoking and need a weight control method which requires the absolute minimum of will power. It is also helpful for those who, having approached middle age, find it difficult to lose on the usual low-calorie diet. You may actually lose weight while eating more.</blockquote>
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Who cares if I gave up smoking 11 years ago—did you know a Manhattan only has 6.9 grams of fat? 2014 is off to a promising start. Cheers to all!</div>
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<br />gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-49108586146244105362014-01-04T09:29:00.000-08:002014-01-04T09:29:03.679-08:00Write what you like, write what you know<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The greatest thing about blogging is being able to write about what you care about. It may be surprising to some younger folk, but there was a time when not everyone and their pet poodle had the opportunity to gas on about their personal business, passions and interests in a public forum. In my days as a magazine editor, I was often asked why I didn't write more—there was always so much more glory to writing and little attention paid to the proverbial Man Behind the Curtain—and I just said that I only like to write about what <i>I</i> like to write about. Which is why, if you flip through my (not very thick) book of clips, you'll mostly find articles about Renaissance Faires and old-man bars. I must've set up a thousand celebrity interviews back in the day, but the only one I ever conducted myself was with Lucy Lawless. To say I was a <i>Xena, Warrior Princess </i>superfan would be seriously understating the case.</div>
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That's the sort of attitude that will limit one's assignments as a freelancer (why doesn't my Breyer-horse pitch have any takers?), but I got lucky recently when a former colleague gave me the opportunity to write about my love for vintage-decorating books in <i>The Wall Street Journal.</i> Check it out <a href="http://online.wsj.com/news/articles/SB10001424052702303453004579292902968797222">here</a>.</div>
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gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-64844314615837204102013-12-24T10:40:00.000-08:002013-12-24T10:40:43.918-08:00And a very merry atomic Christmas to you all<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Photo by Slim Aarons of wife Rita taken in the 1950s</span></h4>
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gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-3254704317769810492013-12-22T16:31:00.003-08:002013-12-22T16:31:28.437-08:00Now we are seven.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I continue to absent myself from this here blog, and I continue to reach for the same tried-and-true excuses (seriously, scroll back a year—if you've got nothing else to do, which I doubt—and you'll encounter the same strain of bitching). For me, the problem is the annual Thanksgiving pilgrimage to the old stomping grounds (see previous post) being followed so closely by the protracted celebration of the birthday of my second child, who, you guessed it, just turned 7.<br />
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My Finnish relations sent me this adorable postcard on the occasion of <i>my</i> seventh birthday several hundred years ago, and naturally this pack rat still has it (really, what <i>don't</i> I have?).<br />
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Anyway, I'd like to tell you that I've reformed, that I purchased and wrapped all my Christmas gifts weeks ago and sent out my holiday cards ages ago and that every task has been efficiently managed down to the most minute detail and that I'm most definitely not ailing from "cedar fever," but that, my friends, would be a lie and right now the kids are watching <i>A Christmas Carol</i> (1938 version) without me so I've really gotta go. I promise far more fascinating (and frequent) posts in the New Year!gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-70138671464947857672013-11-28T19:44:00.001-08:002013-11-28T19:44:26.361-08:00Happy Thanksgiving from the old homestead<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Jeez, it's been a while since I've been here, yet I have so much to say! For now, Thanksgiving greetings from vintage land (i.e., the house I grew up in) will have to do. <br />
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<br />gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-17887041883482034452013-10-31T11:44:00.000-07:002013-10-31T11:44:33.444-07:00Happy Halloween<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When do kids stop trick-or-treating nowadays? Yesterday a mom I was chatting with at choir pickup made reference to the idea that this could be her daughter's last year of hitting the streets in pursuit of a sugar high. Her daughter is 10, like mine, but mine doesn't show any sign of giving up Halloween, though she has shown some discomfort with the whole dressing-up-in-costume thing. Granted, she was never a kid who liked to disappear into her disguise, with full makeup or rubber masks or odd, uncomfortable clothing, but now more than ever, she likes a costume that's basically still her—but <i>better</i>. For example, this year she is Katniss Everdeen, which is basically being herself but with a braid and a mockingjay pin and more boyish clothes and a bow slung across her back. And most important: a really excellent jacket.<br />
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I guess I was pretty much the same way. Somehow, a costume violated my dignity. I think this photo of me as a leopard (or really, a half leopard, half 1980s East Village chick, given the tights, cutoffs and boots) was taken when I was 9 years old. I remember getting those cowboy boots for my first horseback riding lessons, which I started taking at that age. You might think my mother made that costume, but I'm reasonably certain it was thrifted—my mom was always very vocally opposed to store-bought costumes back in the day, but I don't really remember her hand-crafting my brother and I costumes either. But then again, the Superboy and Supergirl costumes below have a touch of the DIY about them, don't they? Because the store-bought costumes I remember from the ’70s were the kind that just consisted of a cheap mask and a plastic apron/smock-type thingie that basically had a picture of what you were supposed to be on the front (the Hulk or Raggedy Ann or whatever). My mom didn't like those and hence we were pretty snooty about them too.<br />
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The only costume I remember wearing after the leopard was a "beatnik" outfit I assembled from my actual 9th-grade wardrobe, much of which came from a thrift store or head shop. I wore it to march with the high school marching band in our town Halloween parade, and that's the last time I remember wearing a costume as a kid (that was also my first and last year in marching band).<br />
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Anyway, the real reason I'm posting those photos—especially the leopard photo—is to marvel over our full-on 1970s kitchen, with the avocado green linoleum, the faux brick wall covering (I don't know what to call it—I mean, it wasn't wallpaper) and that crazy rice-paper lampshade, which I imagine was totally flammable and inappropriate for the kitchen. And eek, those cabinets, all of it long gone as that room has undergone many transformations over the years, but at this point it was newly expanded: the area where I'm standing used to be a pantry and a mud room and we were all very pleased with our official eat-in-kitchen.<br />
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Just a few snapshots of that 70s childhood of mine, which <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2013/07/that-70s-childhood.html">I've posted about here,</a> and I think about often, as I peruse the vintage decorating books I collect and sell in the <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/Thingummery?ref=em">etsy shoppe</a>.<br />
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<br />gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-70341598629108395642013-10-29T12:38:00.000-07:002013-10-29T12:38:02.071-07:00More things I didn't buy: special self-helpful edition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I didn't buy this copy of L. Ron Hubbard's <i>Self Analysis</i> though I picked it up, put it down, picked it up, put it down, more times than you'd expect from an unself-helpful atheist like myself. The fox terrier just really threw me—I'm a big fan of <i>The Thin Man</i>'s Asta—and in all the exposés I've read over the years about Scientology, I don't recall any references to those clever wirehairs. Obviously this was a vintage book yet there was no date—confounding! I didn't buy it; perhaps that was a mistake. Three dollars just seemed like a lot to pay for something that I remember being passed out for free in Times Square.<br />
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Holy crap. This guy. Right? How is it possible that anyone would buy a self-help book with this gleefully leering cover image? Even if it were about something as innocuous as gardening—and didn't have the icky pun for a title—I'd run away. But <i>Your Erroneous Zones</i> was apparently a massive best-seller; more evidence that the ’70s were different times indeed. Yes, this was at the same estate sale as the L. Ron Hubbard book. Obviously the departed was a bit of a seeker; here's hoping he/she found what he/she was looking for.</div>
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The seeker was also something of a hoarder. Who else would save an unopened pack of Carter's girls' ruffled leg briefs long after they could've possibly fit anyone in the house? Why weren't they donated to Goodwill decades ago? And yeah, <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2013/01/more-things-i-didnt-buy-starting-with.html">my rule of never buying undergarments at an estate sale</a> applies even to undergarments that are "new in package."gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-26232934560871295082013-10-25T12:22:00.004-07:002013-10-25T12:22:38.464-07:00A page from my book: the beer can table<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Theoretically, I'm going to do this every Friday—feature a page from one of the books currently on the virtual shelves at <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/Thingummery?ref=em">my etsy shoppe</a> (and in the literal bankers boxes in my guest room). Thanks to my days as a magazine editor, I tend to come up with all these ideas for recurring bloggy featurettes and departments that I never really follow through on because unlike during my days in magazine-land, I don't have a managing editor to prod me.<br />
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So for what it's worth, here's the first, and possibly last, installment, from a book I've previously touted on this blog as <i><a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2013/07/treasures-from-throwaways-possibly-best.html">the best craft book of all time!</a> </i>Which is saying something, because back in the 1970s in particular, crazy-awesome craft books were de rigueur. If you want to bring that artsy-frathouse vibe to your home, I suggest you check out page 27 of<i><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/162998377/better-homes-and-gardens-treasures-from?ref=shop_home_active"> Better Homes and Gardens Treasures From Throwaways</a></i> and start stockpiling those empties (and definitely heed step one—rinse those cans of Miller High Life thoroughly before you commence construction).gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-1710783046915577812013-10-24T11:48:00.002-07:002013-10-24T11:48:34.141-07:00What your book collection says about you: posthumous edition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If you google some variation of the phrase "what does your book shelf say about you," you will find a ton of goofy articles on dating websites about the meaning you can read into your prospective love interest's choice in reading material. You will also find a lot of articles ruing the ascendancy of e-books—how can we judge a book reader by his/her book covers when all we have to go on is their choice in Kindle or iPad case? Whenever I ponder this subject, like when I'm flipping through a shelter magazine and taking note of what weighty tomes the prop stylists selected for a photo shoot, I always think of that great scene in <i>Play It Again, Sam </i>when Woody Allen is arranging the books and LPs in his apartment in a studied-casual way contrived to impress his blind date. Everyone has been guilty of doing that at some point, right?<br />
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I spend a lot of time thinking about this stuff because I spend a lot of time digging through the book collections of the recently deceased, imagining what their lives were like based on what they read (or didn't read—like all those bibles and Readers Digest Condensed collections with spines uncracked). I've written about it <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2012/08/strange-bedfellows.html">here</a> and <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2012/02/shelved.html">here</a> and, well, all over this here blog. Sometimes the books line the shelves exactly as their owner left them. Sometimes the books have been picked through by family members, dealers, estate sale company staff et al., and only the rejects remain, spread across a table or two. Such was the case with this melancholy assortment that I instagrammed at a sale a few weeks ago. Thereby hangs a tale of housewiferly frustration and fantasy, no? Sheesh. I wonder how many Amazon cloud libraries look just like this, but will never be pawed through and judged at a future estate sale.<br />
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gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-7871235471932677682013-10-23T12:31:00.000-07:002013-10-23T12:31:20.759-07:00Christmas is coming (and there's nothing we can do about it)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last week, someone on my Facebook feed posted an awful statistic: There are only 10 Saturdays left till Christmas. After I recovered from an anxiety attack, I had to stop myself from immediately unfriending her since she is otherwise a perfectly nice person and it's not her fault that there's only 10 Saturdays till Christmas (wait, it must be 9 now!) nor is it her problem that at least least half of those Saturdays are already thoroughly booked. </div>
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How does it always come to this? Every year, I vow that I will be one of those people who has all their planning and shopping done by October and every year, I'm paying exorbitant shipping for not only all the last-minute gifts but for the Christmas cards that always end up being rebranded as New Year's cards. Maybe this will be the year we just go with Martin Luther King Day cards. </div>
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The only holiday-related task I've managed to accomplish before Halloween (note: we still don't have Halloween costumes and our first party is this Sunday) is to toss some holiday books up on the shelves of <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/Thingummery">my etsy shoppe</a>. Check 'em out, if you like<a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/Thingummery?section_id=12660428"> lots of fun, inspiring photos of old-school Christmas </a>crafting, cooking and all-round merrymaking, midcentury style. It might just take your mind off our dwindling supply of Saturdays...</div>
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<br />gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-18239924496193421612013-10-08T15:51:00.002-07:002013-10-08T15:51:07.667-07:00More things I didn't get: obsolete technology redux<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You all know I have a weakness for obsolete technology, for the dinosaurs of the pre-digital age, and it often takes all the self-discipline I can muster to resist buying stuff that tends not to work and serves no purpose (unless dust magnet counts as a purpose). The cute Smith-Corona Coronet, above, was fairly easy to pass up given the $75 price tag (hello? what?). And I've been pretty good about limiting myself to just one vintage typewriter, my super-rad<a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2012/06/baby-you-can-drive-my-typewriter.html"> Smith Corona Super G</a>, unless you count that powder blue Smith-Corona Galaxie 12 in my garage (anyone want it? They are a bitch to ship). </div>
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I did not buy this Atari 400 "home computer" because it was part of a box lot that was going for a few hundred dollars, and I wasn't really sure what the market value would be. I also knew the value didn't matter, that it would end up in the garage because Lindsay, who became visibly emotional when I showed him this pic, would never let me resell it. </div>
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Ah, the Kodak Carousel. As I've observed in the past, there really does seem to be one tucked away in the closet of every midcentury tract house in town. I can't even begin to fathom what kind of camera I would need to produce slides, and if it's possible to still make slides, or would I just have to buy someone's old vacation slides and view those? I do love a good slide show. Maybe I will break down and buy one next time...</div>
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I didn't buy any of these cameras. I see so many cameras and we have so many cameras, I can't see adding to our collection (the two Polaroid Land cameras, the two Lomos, the Lumix, the Nikon, the Olympus, the various underwater cameras belonging to the children, the two videocameras...I'm sure I'm leaving some out) when all I ever use is my iPhone.</div>
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I didn't buy this portable Zenith Solid-State turntable and radio—oh, wait a minute, yes, I did! I cannot resist a $5 turntable, no matter how filthy it is, and the radio works like a dream! Radio may be a fogey medium, but it's not obsolete (yet).gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-82135452167398798912013-10-04T06:48:00.000-07:002013-10-04T06:48:06.946-07:00I just can't quit you, books. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Just when I vow to suspend all used-book-buying endeavors until all used books have been profitably sold, comfortably shelved or generously donated, two library sales and one tantalizing estate sale crop up on one weekend and so here I go, off to the races once again, hoping that I find some finds on par with these volumes, randomly pulled from my stacks. Happy weekend!</div>
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<br />gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-86868035864439105292013-10-02T10:48:00.000-07:002013-10-02T10:48:16.920-07:00What the kids scored: Polly Pocket, the Book of Lists, rainbow suspenders and so many cats<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is the face of my younger daughter when she learns that she has to accompany me on a thrifting expedition, but it's definitely not how she looks when she makes a great score—like those rainbow suspenders she's wearing, which are straight out of the <i>Mork & Mindy</i> era (I took this picture at art camp; her face is a reflection of the searing San Antonio summer temperature, not of her feelings about Robin Williams). She Morked out for a good two weeks after finding these suspenders at my favorite church-basement thrift shop in NJ; she even watched a few episodes on You Tube and mastered all the Ork lingo. Now I'm on the lookout for one of those puffy down vests.<br />
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I had to bring <i>both</i> of my recalcitrant daughters to a sale on a fancy old-school street around the corner from our house—thank god they had two vintage Bluebird Polly Pockets playsets of equal merit, perfect bribe fodder. One kid got the house set and the other got the vet's office. I'm too old to appreciate Polly Pocket, but these are cute, and sort of strange, and apparently collectible.<br />
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I am most definitely not too old to appreciate <i>The Book of Lists, </i>published in 1977, with which I bribed my elder daughter at a recent estate sale. She was absorbed by it for days. We'll see if she keeps returning to it the way I used to: I remember checking this book out at my local library <i>so. many. times.</i> My favorite list? "14 Preserved Anatomical Parts of Renowned People," because it notoriously features Napoleon's one-inch penis, alleged to have resembled a seahorse. Now I can't pick the book up without being sucked in by "Shoe Sizes of 20 Famous Men," "16 people Who Have Taken Opium," "10 Famous Librarians" and "9 Nations That Can Blow Us Up in 7-10 Years," including, improbably, Finland, Romania and Yugoslavia, but also Iran and Pakistan. Everyone should have a copy of this book in their bathroom, along with <i>The Andy Warhol Diaries</i> (but that's a post for another day).</div>
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My kids, particularly the younger one, are cray-cray-loco for cats. Ours died a year and a half ago, and while his robotic litter box and cat fountain remain in the garage, still I am unable to commit to a new cat. So I've been <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2012/06/tiger.html">filling the void with cat books ever since</a>. At this sale, my daughter scored not one but three excellent cat books. We just finished reading <i>Socks</i>. I have already <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2013/01/being-ramona-appreciation-of-beverly.html">celebrated Beverly Cleary on this blog</a>, but I didn't realize that her remarkable powers of empathy somehow extended to the feline species as well. How does she do it? That woman is a national treasure. Reading <i>Socks</i> nudged me that much closer to admitting a new Socks into our lives. Don't tell my kids I said that.</div>
gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-22230890551207123862013-09-23T12:12:00.001-07:002013-09-23T12:12:47.272-07:00This week in bloggery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This week, I'm hanging out over at <a href="http://www.vintagechildrensbooksmykidloves.com/">my pal Burgin's blog</a>, celebrating a few of my more recent vintage kid book finds. Well, some of them are recent, like Tomi Ungerer's <i>The Sorcerer's Apprentice</i> (pictured above, and I'm just noticing that the sorcerer looks just like I do when I score an excellent book at an estate sale or library sale). I got Elissa Jane Karg's incredible <i>How to Be a Nonconformist </i>(below) last spring at a library sale. What a great book that is! Check it out <a href="http://www.vintagechildrensbooksmykidloves.com/2013/09/guest-post-how-to-be-nonconformist.html">here</a>. And later this week, I dare to attempt to describe the weird wonderfulness and wonderful weirdness of Dare Wright. I've been sitting on this first edition copy of <i>The Lonely Doll Learns a Lesson </i>for a few years now, and that's long enough! Time to move on.</div>
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Meanwhile, in anticipation of everyone's holiday shopping needs, I've been working my way through the stacks and listing as many books as I can over at <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/Thingummery">the etsy shoppe</a>. In honor of Vintage Kids' Books My Kid Loves, that obviously includes <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/Thingummery?section_id=12555338">lots of children's books,</a> but I also have scored copies of <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2012/02/scavullos-80s-ladies.html">Scavullo Women</a> and<a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2013/07/treasures-from-throwaways-possibly-best.html"> Better Homes and Gardens Treasures from Throwaways, </a>the subjects of two of my most popular posts. Now they can be yours at very reasonable prices! Woo-hoo!</div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now for sale at the etsy shoppe</span></h3>
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<br />gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-64956619990558130452013-09-16T14:55:00.000-07:002013-09-16T14:55:59.858-07:00More things I didn't buy, starting with wine bricks and ending with Teletubbies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I didn't buy these wine bricks for $3 apiece, but I totally would have if I could've come up with any reasonable place to put them on my ramshackle estate. I'd never heard of wine bricks, but I think it's a pretty brilliant idea. If you have someplace to put them. I saw this massive wine honeycomb at a very unusual midcentury house; the kind that always gets called "Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired" cuz they don't how else to explain it. In this case, the real estate jargon was actually kind of accurate.</div>
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I didn't buy any of this amateur art, made by a particularly prolific amateur artist, even though it made me sad to see it unwanted by the family (rule #37—that is never a good reason to buy anything!).</div>
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I did not buy this cute Swedish holiday wall hanging because it had an unpleasant brown stain on it, about the size of a quarter. In hindsight, I should've bought it and tried to actually implement the advice in one of <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2012/01/hometown-heroine-2-heloise.html">my many Heloise books</a>.</div>
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I didn't buy this terrifying Teletubbie head, and I'm pretty sure I don't have to explain why.</div>
<br />gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-41696720051132137572013-09-11T11:12:00.004-07:002013-09-11T11:12:53.133-07:00On Dansk ice buckets, butter churns and what I learned from the Kovels<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If you are a very serious student of midcentury design, this item needs no introduction. For the uninitiated: It's a teak ice bucket designed by Jens Quistgaard for Dansk around 1950. A solid, heavy, wonderful object that reminds me of Vikings (which I believe was the intention) but also of a bull's head, or maybe a goat's head, or some horned creature (Satan?). In other word, it's more than a mere receptacle for ice, not that I could imagine ever putting actual ice in it.<br />
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So if you're a hardcore midcentury person—a completist, like the homeowners featured in the pages of <i>Atomic Ranch</i> magazine—this is also the sort of object that you would pursue single-mindedly, cost be damned, for your Danish modern sideboard. That's not my trip; I don't like to pay top dollar for anything, and I'd rather spend years on a quest than pull the trigger on ebay or etsy or rubylane or firstdibs. My patience was rewarded several months ago when I spied the telltale teak "horns" in the corner of an image in an online preview for a nearby estate sale. Somehow I managed to restrain myself from going to what looked like a promisingly eclectic sale (not an art teacher this time but one of those "world traveler" types) on the first day when there would be no discount. On day 2, I arrived not long after the doors opened (i.e., right after I'd dropped the kids off at school) and made a beeline for the corner where I was pretty sure I'd find the bucket if no one had snapped it up on the first day, and, lo, there it stood, at the discounted price of $30.<br />
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When I removed the lid to make sure the inside was that trademark orangey red, I found a note, written on the backside of a page from a 2002 desk calendar. I scanned the note below:<br />
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Apparently the previous owner of this ice bucket was, like me, a fan of <i>Flea Market Finds with the Kovels,</i> a great show that aired on HGTV back in the early 2000s and featured the First Couple of Collectibles mixing it up with dealers and collectors at flea markets across the country. Dang, that was good TV! Frank Kovel would sign off every show with words of wisdom to the effect that if you see something and you like it, BUY IT. Cuz if you don't, you'll end up regretting it. Words to live by, even though they might eventually cause some space issues in your house. </div>
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Well, I followed Frank's advice and bought the Dansk ice bucket, which the woman running the estate sale thought was some kind of butter churn (apparently she had not bothered to remove the lid, where she would have found the deceased's helpful note). I also bought the "Black Couroc Bucket with the birds" for five bucks, which I resold in my antique mall stall for $25. Contrary to what the previous owner had hoped, Couroc is definitely collectible but doesn't fetch the big bucks, like Jens Quistgaard for Dansk. But I very much respect the spirit in which that note was written—the thrill of discovery that something you own has a far greater value than you'd imagined, that it's desired by others but you're the one who's got it and you're not selling it. I <i>get</i> that. Which is why her note remains inside my ice bucket, instead of ice.</div>
gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-111569564936108762013-09-10T11:39:00.000-07:002013-09-10T11:39:27.233-07:00New discovery: Woodstock Handmade Houses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'd never heard of <i>Woodstock Handmade Houses,</i> written by Robert Haney and David Ballantine and photographed by Jonathan Elliott, until I liberated it from the clearance shelf at my local Half Price Books (ha! love that I can still make scores there). It is funny to find a relic from upstate New York here in San Antonio, but it's not like I'm the first New Yorker to relocate to this godforesaken place, and doubtless not the last. Anyway, this book is light on words, heavy on spectacular photos, but here's the first lines from the introduction:</div>
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When the American dream still seemed a good trip, about seventy years ago, some nonconformists got together to explore a different lifestyle up in Woodstock, where the Catskill mountains start getting tall. They were mostly artists, craftsmen, tinkerers and thinkers. In those days they got labeled: Bohemians. Today, perhaps they'd be tagged freaks. Their first shelters were sometimes just a hunk of oilcloth or a free flop in a farmer's barn. But when they really started to build they went heavy on imagination, light on money.</blockquote>
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Let me say up front that while I admire the houses-yurts-forts-domes-secret hideouts featured in this book, I don't think I'd want to live in one. I'm intimately familiar with New York winters and these singular domiciles don't seem to come equipped with many of the basic amenities. But, holy crap, aren't they incredible? I mean, call it outsider art, hippie homesteads, freecycled, upcycled, the original green design, whatever. Some rose out of the ruins of old schoolhouses, churches or barns; others appear to have sprouted from the trees. </div>
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According to the introduction, both authors had built and resided in their own handmade houses. I wonder if they're still standing? Or if any of these houses remain? The book was published in 1974 so who knows? I'd like to assign some intrepid reporter to go find out, please.</div>
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<br />gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-70337202096395872682013-09-04T12:07:00.001-07:002013-09-04T12:08:49.708-07:00My kind of estate sale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Two Fridays ago, I went to my ideal estate sale. It had all the ingredients: unrehabilitated (i.e., smelly), overstuffed, shag-rugged midcentury house belonging to (dearly departed) art teacher. I've addressed <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2012/02/old-school.html">this topic in a previous post</a> but I'll reiterate: Yes, I feel like the lowest bottom-feeder when I trawl the classifieds for the estates of artists and art teachers—but I can't help that they always have the best stuff!</div>
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The first clue that you've stumbled upon my ideal estate sale is in the photo above; the house <i>must</i> have a built-in stereo/PA system, preferably in the kitchen. (I still nurse regrets about the House that Got Away nine years ago, which featured just such a hi-fi—the controls were housed in a built-in desk in the center of the kitchen. I love my ramshackle ranch, but, alas, she does lack a built-in sound system.) </div>
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Still, it's not like you can <i>buy</i> the sounds system, so let's move on to the craft room. Is the existence of a craft room a good sign? Why yes, yes it is—especially when it features a wall of shelves groaning under the weight of vintage decorating, crafting and art books. I scored books for myself and I scored books for t<a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/Thingummery?ref=em">he etsy shoppe, </a>including doubles of some<a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2013/07/treasures-from-throwaways-possibly-best.html"> great books I've featured on this very blog</a>, which I'll be selling soon. </div>
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This lady had a ton of diet and exercise books, including Jane Fonda and Heavyhands and all that kind of thing from the glory days of aerobics. Mostly I resisted, but I had to get this ’70s gem from Family Circle, <i>How to Stay Pretty & Trim</i> (hint: it takes lots of Jell-o salads!).<br />
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I bought a pile of crafty books. <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2012/06/shes-so-not-crafty.html">As you know, I'm no crafter </a>so these will probably get listed on etsy. Then again, they are so very pretty...</div>
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And I'm not sure I've seen more Sunset Books in one place as I did here. As you also know, I have <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2013/06/sunrise-sunset-books.html">a bit of a Sunset Book obsession</a> so not one could go unpurchased. But now I face the conundrum of what to sell because I like to hoard the various editions of each title. So, for example, while I have <i>Cabins and Beach Houses </i>(sixth printing, May 1959), I did not have (till now) <i>Cabins and Vacation Houses</i> (seventh printing, May 1970), which means I've gotta keep both, right? (Another awesome thing about this estate sale is that the homeowners appear to have actually used their Sunset Books to build shelves, furniture, weird cabinets—all the stuff I enjoy looking at but would never attempt to make.)</div>
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And just to clarify: This family's library was not confined strictly to crafting and DIYing and decorating and other artsy stuff. Makeshift shelves and DIY bookcases filled every room and were grouped by theme: theater arts in one of the bedrooms, psychology in the living room, classic lit in the den. I bought this 1950 Perma Giant edition of Emile Zola's <i>Nana </i>cuz the silhouette illustrations by some genius named Fred A. Mayer are absolutely amazing. I'm thinking about buying another copy online (they're quite cheap) and pulling the pages out for framing, but since dissembling books makes me feel like a monster I'll probably never do it. </div>
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When previewing this sale online, my kids were excited to see enough textiles to fill one of those punnily named sewing stores (we patronize one called Yarnivore). The older daughter has recently taken up finger-kintting, which I don't understand, but basically she makes very long chains that end up stuck between sofa cushions So both kids put in orders for specific colors of yarn, which I ended up totally having to fight for in the apparently very popular sewing room (yes, there was a sewing room, separate from the craft room). Why so crowded? It seemed that a search party had been sent to this sale by one of our local cults, possibly Yearning for Zion. Not that I'm any kind of expert on our local cults. </div>
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I'm making this assumption because the party consisted of one stern, Amish-looking gentleman bossing around several meek women of varying ages, all of whom wore hand-sewn, floor-length dresses, Little House on the Prairie–style. Perhaps they were just odd, and had made their sartorial choices of their own free will. Perhaps. Since they seemed to be focused on furnishing their compound and dressing their family—as opposed to buying old books to hoard or resell—we didn't really throw elbows, but I gotta say the action was pretty hot in the sewing room. I barely got out of there alive, with just a few technicolor skeins tucked under my arm. But that's what made this my ideal estate sale—driving away with a car full of stuff, and a story to tell.</div>
gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-43312791639258279172013-08-29T14:52:00.001-07:002013-08-29T14:52:36.406-07:00The return of the Trapper Keeper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Having school-age children will make you nostalgic for all kinds of things that you didn't think twice about back when you had them the first time around. For example, I've had borderline-Rosebud yearnings for my fire-engine-red Mead Trapper Keeper, the binder-cum-briefcase thingie that all ’80s kids carried with pride in junior high (Lindsay and I had a protracted discussion about this last night—by high school, the Trapper Keeper had lost its luster and was replaced by multiple single-subject college-ruled spiral notebooks, one for each class). </div>
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Anyway, I can't tell you how many times I've thought "I loved my Trapper Keeper therefore my children shall have Trapper Keepers and love them as well" (really, I can't tell you how many times—it's too embarrassing). I always assumed I'd find one at an estate sale or thrift store, but it's never happened. Which is both frustrating and not: I mean, this is just the kind of grail I enjoy questing for, so I purposely avoided searching for one on ebay or etsy—I only do that when <i>Iabsolutelyhavetohavesomethingthisinstant</i>. Otherwise, I prefer the leisurely thrill of the hunt.</div>
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Well, the hunt is over. Kind of. Yesterday, I found myself at Super Target, futilely searching for some last-minute supplies in the desolate echo chamber that is the back-to-school section of any big-box store three days into the new school year. Only the least popular items remained; the aisles resembled an Island for Misfit School Supplies: Bieber notebooks, grimy white binders, folders with the wrong kinds of brads, #2 pencils that aren't Ticonderogas and...Mead Trapper Keepers?!?</div>
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Hello. Apparently I've been asleep at the wheel for a good six years because according to my friend Wikipedia, Mead reissued the Trapper Keeper back in 2007. In my defense, my kids were one and four years old at the time so organizing homework in a snappy retro binder wasn't a big priority—I guess that's why I missed all the fanfare when it made its triumphant comeback: "Trapper Keeper, the iconic school supply that defined organization is back and better than ever" trumpets the Mead website. </div>
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Feh! The new Trapper Keeper totally sucks. Or, okay, it's not how I remembered it. For one thing, the snap closure doesn't work. For two, it's encased in clear plastic that gets all scuffy and gnarly—hence the abundance left on the shelves at Super Target, destined for the clearance section. And I won't even buy one when it's 75% off! They are an abomination. So naturally, I was driven to google the vintage variety, and naturally ebay and etsy is crawling with them. Average price? Around $75. Curse you, vintage resellers!</div>
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P.S. If you are wondering what the photo above has to do with anything, it comes from <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/154906083/sunset-book-childrens-rooms-and-play">a Sunset Book I'm selling at the etsy shoppe</a>, <i>Children's Rooms and Play Yards,</i> which was published in 1980 (the Age of Trapper Keepers). The photo appears in a section devoted to "enriching" a child's room and the caption is quite funny: "Classic technology clusters around an intriguing—if still costly—newcomer: a home computer....The computer broadcasts math exercises via the family TV (it can also straighten out a parent's tax confusions)."</div>
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P.P.S. Yes, that's Lori Loughlin starring in the Trapper Keeper commercial posted below. You may know her as somebody from some show called <i>Full House</i>, but I will always remember her as Jodi from the great noir-y soap opera, <i>The Edge of Night.</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A Trapper Keeper I didn't buy at Target.</span></h3>
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gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-78675435248749260992013-08-26T09:54:00.000-07:002013-08-26T09:54:13.060-07:00More things I didn't buy: Game of Thrones edition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I bought a ton of stuff this past weekend at one major blowout of a sale (books!), but now that school has started and I'm back in the blogging saddle, I need to catch up on some old, dusty posts first. Like, don't you want to know all the stuff I <i>haven't</i> been buying? Starting with this totally awesome lantern sconce, which reminds me of <i>Game of Thrones,</i> probably because I really, really miss <i>Game of Thrones</i>, though it wouldn't be out of place in any medieval-style restaurant or B-movie. I appreciated it, but I didn't want it. There is a difference.<br />
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I seriously wanted to buy this giant medallion/sun dial wall plaque thingie (is it Mayan? Incan? cursed in some way?) because I have seen similar ones proudly displayed over fireplaces (as this one was) in many of my <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2013/06/sunrise-sunset-books.html">vintage Sunset Books</a>. It's clearly the only place you can hang one of these things. But in my house that would mean relocating the family-room flat-screen and I don't think that's a negotiation I would win.</div>
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It amused me to see someone's old cache of <i>Playboys</i> squirreled away in a closet at an estate sale. I'm guessing this is where the original owner kept them and the estate-sale company didn't have the stomach to display them more prominently. All my early encounters with <i>Playboy</i> were in the closets of friends' parents or brothers (I think that sounds worse than it was), so this came as no big surprise. Sadly, these issues were all from the ’80s and I draw the line at the 1970s when buying nudie mags (and $3 each? Oh, honey please).</div>
gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-25982343305305705942013-08-21T16:03:00.000-07:002013-08-21T16:03:55.891-07:00And the living is easy...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here in San Antonio, despite the continued triple-digit temperatures, summer is most definitely winding to a close. School inexplicably begins the week <i>before</i> Labor Day (this either has to do with bureaucratic hokum or with air-conditioning), so we've got little choice in the matter: The new lunch boxes, backpacks and shoes have all been procured; the outdoor pool at the health club is now closed so the lifeguards can get educated; even our own pool has become mysteriously chilly. Last week I tried to get my kids their umpteenth pair of replacement goggles only to find that the pool section at the sporting goods store had been subsumed by the hunting and fishing department. No more wacky noodles, no more inflatable recliners. All of which leads me to believe that there's a conspiracy to make us forget that summer actually ends on September 21, not August 25, so we'll sooner submit to the lash of structure and routine and punctuality and carpooling and early-birds-always-getting-the-worm. Bleh.<br />
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But before it's too late, before Summer turns into a pumpkin, I wanted to share this dreamy coffee table tome I picked up at the used-book store at our city library (a signed first edition—I love that store!): <i>Summer Places,</i> written by renowned critic/bon vivant Brendan Gill and photographed by Dudley Witney. Published in 1978, it's a quintessential hostess gift—a visual survey of the great, historic summer towns and summer homes across North America, along with some nostalgic summer rhapsodizing courtesy of Gill:<br />
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Unfailingly, summer places have been the agreeable ghosts that accompany me throughout the winter and help me survive its bitter humors. They are robust and yet tender-hearted ghosts, not shadowy, unfeeling ones, and I hold out my hands to them for warmth. As I grow older, these ghosts of mine remain ever the same age, ever youthfully on tiptoe. It is morning with them; there is dew on the tops of the hedges among which they stand and somewhere far off a glint of sea.</blockquote>
I spent the bulk of my childhood summers at<a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2012/10/wish-you-were-here.html"> the Jersey Shore</a>, a place that's full of robust yet tender-hearted ghosts so I <i>think</i> I know what he's talking about...<br />
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But does anyone read the text in a coffee-table book? It's all about the photos. Some of the ones in this volume are a bit blah to my eye; too many architectural details of grand old seaside hotels, too many empty landscapes. It feels a little lonely, like maybe it should've been titled <i>Off-Season Summer Places.</i> I prefer the photos that feature actual human vacationers (maybe because I like to look at the clothes, hairstyles and eyewear). Still, it's all here—the salty breezes, the smell of lake on your swimsuit, the creak of a saddle, the clamor of the boardwalk, the clink of boats nudging the dock... Sayonara, Summer.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Playing shuffleboard and beanbag in Quebec</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On the beach in Galveston, TX</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">East Hampton, Long Island, NY</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Asbury Park, NJ</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Camp at Lake Timagami, Ontario</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ranch near Cody, WY</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A shell shop in Galveston, TX</span></h3>
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<br />gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-82107252194248402232013-08-02T15:32:00.001-07:002013-08-02T15:32:47.213-07:00From the etsy shoppe: Architectural Digest Celebrity Homes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMNvxK7nEubibXamXNRoFekc3Gd3__L-ldscmUlFkORCMAk07Fx3sY6rmVu1wYFni1mkzDtWTrvyOeSW3WdwUE6BvcR3j4oVx0giAZqvQebhgOvx5uFW59Gbspb4iXatuLyRjNBSbT-YL5/s1600/ADceleb1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMNvxK7nEubibXamXNRoFekc3Gd3__L-ldscmUlFkORCMAk07Fx3sY6rmVu1wYFni1mkzDtWTrvyOeSW3WdwUE6BvcR3j4oVx0giAZqvQebhgOvx5uFW59Gbspb4iXatuLyRjNBSbT-YL5/s640/ADceleb1.jpg" width="457" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Coco Chanel's staircase</span></h3>
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I hope it's not troubling anyone that lately this blog has been more bookish than thingish; that's just where my head's at during these waning, hideous days of summer. I know in other parts of the world early August is prime-time hazy crazy dazey what-memories-are-made-of, but here in San Antonio you just want to wither and die. So I like to stay hunkered in my cave as much as possible and sort books.<br />
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<i>Architectural Digest Celebrity Homes</i> is a great big honkin' coffee table book published in 1977. I'm not a huge fan of the magazine—too glossy, too remote—though I admit I haven't really read it since the renowned EIC Paige Rense "retired" a few years back. When Conde Nast shuttered two of my favorite shelter mags, <i>Domino</i> and <i>House & Garden,</i> they sent AD in its place and mostly it collected dust. This book, however, is different. I love it because it's a 1970s time capsule; the selection of celebrities is just the right mix of right on and WTF. Gayelord Hauser? Who he? Sybil Connolly? Huh? But then: Woody Allen, Pauline Trigere, Robert Redford, Joni Mitchell, Bob Newhart, Diana Vreeland, Sonny & Cher... The list goes on (and on—I also have the second volume, which I'll feature at some point).<br />
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For the most part, the interiors in this book are not my particular cup of tea—too much toile, too many French antiques, heavy fabrics, you know—rich people stuff (though Joan Crawford's pad was pretty cool). But imagining Woody holding court at his farm table or Truman Capote descending the spiral staircase into his Hamptons library? You gotta love it. I've got<a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/153941230/architectural-digest-celebrity-homes?ref=shop_home_active"> a copy for sale </a>at the etsy shoppe, but you can be sure I wouldn't be selling it if I didn't already have one in my library.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Woody Allen's dining room</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Senator Edward Kennedy's living room</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Pauline Trigere's guest bedroom</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Barbara Walters' living room</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Truman Capote's living room</span></h3>
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<br />gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-16805721279886615412013-07-30T13:49:00.002-07:002013-07-30T13:50:21.122-07:00More things I didn't buy: matches, family pics and FDR<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg99VcBeZv3ibNLTIRQ_bZRrmuS9amWCOJnpN-cgAur-M5AsuxUpfwMEIhRxUA7_v7RCBuxfUPyHe9Y7bAM61zTMb3uefxrAqIGC9FiXreyA9_DY5Npei3_T91r_J5liz6mVo0YYycrN7vN/s1600/matchesdidn'tbuy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg99VcBeZv3ibNLTIRQ_bZRrmuS9amWCOJnpN-cgAur-M5AsuxUpfwMEIhRxUA7_v7RCBuxfUPyHe9Y7bAM61zTMb3uefxrAqIGC9FiXreyA9_DY5Npei3_T91r_J5liz6mVo0YYycrN7vN/s400/matchesdidn'tbuy.JPG" /></a></div><br />
I didn't buy this nice assortment of vintage matchbooks because I've already got a <a href="http://thingummery.blogspot.com/2013/03/matchless.html">well-documented matchbook problem</a>, so I tried to do the right thing. I'll admit to being annoyed/pleased/relieved/annoyed when someone else snapped up this collection as soon as I set it down. [<i>Grits teeth</i>...] <br />
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I didn't buy this portrait of FDR, though I quite liked it. It was kind of expensive; there was some paperwork detailing the provenance that was somehow meant to justify the price but since it wasn't something readily googleable, I passed.<br />
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You've heard me make this lamentation before—seriously, surviving family members? You're going to sell off your ancestral photos to strangers? This sale, one of the best I've been to all year, was absolutely chock-a-block with personal mementoes—amateur artworks, certificates, trophies, tons of photos, scrapbooks, albums, even the family Weimeraner's AKC papers (somehow I did end up with those...). Let's just say I wasn't the only customer feeling judgey, though I'm sure they had their reasons mutter mutter blah blah...gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4690648802906991933.post-18693201223398817382013-07-29T15:15:00.000-07:002013-07-29T15:15:49.777-07:00Bonsai and cigarettes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQc9Voe8jrq2_XEFWUanKfYrPvFiXWF0wyr2tV8VLXQ2Q9Jz0sLqhgkEUudq0Wd9rqK49Zr5CLcB6MadPg2mr3rDyAhXg_j9RxHRAe-gxRtjqIAVaUsXvBIgUn5fRXgnFXwt2oAEf7wRJA/s1600/bonsaicov.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQc9Voe8jrq2_XEFWUanKfYrPvFiXWF0wyr2tV8VLXQ2Q9Jz0sLqhgkEUudq0Wd9rqK49Zr5CLcB6MadPg2mr3rDyAhXg_j9RxHRAe-gxRtjqIAVaUsXvBIgUn5fRXgnFXwt2oAEf7wRJA/s640/bonsaicov.JPG" width="544" /></a></div>
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I am a known houseplant murderess, which is a drag considering what an important role a few well-chosen plants plays in attaining that midcentury-to-1970s design vibe. But I shouldn't really have plants in good conscience, and I certainly can't have bonsai. The guilt of tossing a snake plant (a.k.a. mother-in-law's tongue) after a year of hard duty in my sun-scorched house and simply replacing it with another $10 specimen from Home Depot pales next to killing one of these ancient jewels of the herbaceous world, the product of millennia of painstaking study and artistry practiced in various parts of Asia since at least the 6th century.<br />
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Though I do get tempted. There is an elderly gentleman in my neighborhood who sells bonsai from a rickety old book case in the gas station parking lot across from the middle school. (Normally a place you'd expect to see a taco truck in these parts, but, no—bonsai.) But I resist and make do with adorable books about adorable bonsai, like <i>Bonsai Miniatures Quick & Easy </i>published in 1973 by a fellow named Zeko Nakamura, described as a Zen Buddhist acolyte-turned-famous-movie-and-television-comedian. And renowned bonsai expert of his day, apparently.<br />
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But what I really love about this book is the way the bonsai have been photographed alongside cigarettes, matchbooks and attractive men's watches to show their diminutive scale. Genius!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"A light-hearted approach"</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Note the matchbox next to the bonsai containers. Yes, that's how small they are. I want to eat these containers they're so dang cute! </span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Cherry blossoms and ciggies. Another freaky juxtaposition.</span></h3>
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<br />gefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453234595693184516noreply@blogger.com0