Treasures from Throwaways: possibly the best vintage craft book ever!

Summer means not being able to go to estate sales with the clockwork regularity I'm accustomed to during the school year, but it also means catching up on some crucial sorting/organizing/downsizing projects, particularly with regard to my piles of books. I just rediscovered this 1976 gem, Better Homes and Gardens Treasures from Throwaways, and I'm so sorry for you all that I've only got just the one copy because look at this typewriter! You know you want the book that provides the instructions for a "Typewriter Note Holder":

The secretarial pool is no place for a standout like [this] typewriter. Instead, this old machine has joined the executive ranks and now functions as the most unique message center a family ever had. If you think painting a typewriter is a lot of work for just a message center, think of it as creating a piece of pop art—and sign it!

Well, now that is waaay too much work for me, but then I never actually craft any crafts (unless they involve walnuts or pinecones and googly eyes)—I just like to gawk at books like these. I do think this typewriter message center is magnificent, just perfect for one of those pared-down "landing strips" you see touted in the shelter mags and on design blogs. Really, I love everything about that photo, including the prop styling (who is Liz? Who is Bill? Who is Chester? Why does that mug have a "5" on it?").

But as an erstwhile fancy magazine editor, I find this craft project more poignant than loopy. Who even reads magazines now let alone wallpapers their bathroom with clippings from Vogue? This actually reminds me of what my bedroom walls looked like back in the 80s, and, come to think of it, the cork walls I've had in various former offices. Though the book instructs crafters to "preserve your 'cover' job with a clear protective finish," which would make sense in a bathroom (think what the moisture would do to this collage), they also say you can "leave the magazine pages as they are for quick patch-ups—adding new pages to fit your fancy and to maintain the fanciful wallscape." Madness.

Paging through the book now, I'm not sure why I chose to feature this TV Tube Chess Set instead of various other crazy crafts (I might have to continue this post in the near future with more pics). I guess it was just the idea of someone actually having access to TV tubes, let alone transforming them into a chess set. But according to the editors, it was no big thang: "A check at any TV and radio repair shop will net you all the old tubes you want." If you say so!

And finally, we have The Victrola Teen Bar, because who doesn't recognize the genius of gutting your heirloom Victrola?  You won't be able to spin Granddad's 78s anymore, but you can use it to serve popcorn and Cokes to the wholesome teens in your life:

An old Victrola will never replace stereo or TV as entertainment, but as a teen-age party center it's still "the cat's pajamas." Or, in latter day linguistics, it's really cool!

To put it in latter-day linguistics, LOL.

Hello again

I guess it's no surprise that I didn't post a single missive from my annual summer trip back East. I was much too busy, cavorting in lakes and municipal pools by day, watching Pawn Stars and Storage Wars by night. I managed to squeeze in a little thrifting, as well as to squeeze a few scores into my overburdened suitcase, and now I wait for my parents to box up and send me the rest (what's taking so long, guys??).

This past week, in between shuttling my kids between their various camps and shuttling my various dogs between their various vet appointments, I made some excellent purchases at the local thrifts and used-book stores. Expect to see some exciting new inventory at the etsy shoppe, as well as some seriously superconsistent posting here at Thingummery HQ.

From the etsy shoppe: glorious midcentury house illustrations

These illustrations are from the first two volumes of The Practical Encyclopedia of Good Decorating and Home Improvement, published in 1970 by Meredith Press. As much as I love the supersaturated technicolor photos from vintage decorating books, I think I like these almost cartoonish illustrations even more. If I were clever, I'd figure out how to frame them and hang them in my home. Well, maybe not so much clever, but a book butcher—I find copies of these often enough that I could slice and dice 'em, but ugh, the thought makes me sort of queasy (no offense to all the crafters out there repurposing old, unwanted books into journals and jewelry boxes). As it is, I only seem to ever come across the first two volumes in this series of encyclopedias (yes, I could track down the entire 18-volume set on ebay, but that would spoil the fun, right?). I'm selling a pair at the etsy shoppe right now, but maybe I should be just cutting them up.

Bed Bath and Totally Beyond: the Terence Conran Books

As with the Sunset Books, I bought my first Terence Conran not long after we moved into our midcentury ramshackle ranch. Even more so than with the Sunset Books, when I cracked open The House Book for the first time, I just had this feeling of YES. This is it. I didn't know until that moment that I'd aspire to bring this late-midcentury-boho-euro-eclectic vibe in my home, but so it was. 

I love, love poring over the photos in Conran's design tomes. He's lent his name to dozens, but it's the first three—The House Book (1974), The Kitchen Book (1977) and the one I'm sharing here, The Bed and Bath Book (1978)—that comprise the Essential Design Triptych, especially if you favor a slightly disheveled aesthetic, the result of too many books, kids and houseplants. This is how I imagine the characters in certain Margaret Drabble's novels to be living.

The books are big and fat and have tons of pictures stuffed onto every page—I see something new every time I look at one. Lately, I've been obsessing more over The Bed and Bath Book, not for any particular reason, though the bedrooms and bathrooms in our house are definitely most in need of a makeover. I'm just digging the James Bond bachelor pads, the soft-core erotic imagery, the Kubrick-style bathrooms and all the sunny ’70s kids with their rad Jackson Browne haircuts. 

I've been selling copies of these books pretty regularly over at the etsy shoppe, but I also have given quite a few as gifts. I was inspired by a gentleman of a certain age and disposition who, upon seeing me reading one at my mother-in-law's house, recalled a time when The House Book was a standard gift for engagements and housewarmings. In light of today's Supreme Court decision, I imagine there are going to be more engagements than ever that ought to be celebrated with a little Terence Conran. 

Sunrise, Sunset Books

First edition 1968, fourth printing, 1970.

Sunset Magazine is what you might call venerable; a lifestyle mag focused primarily on the West, it's been around since the late 19th century. I'm not sure how well it's doing these days. For a time, a few years back at least, I noticed they had prime pockets at the check-out at my local supermarket chain, but I haven't seen a copy in ages. I would thumb through it, hoping their sense of style would be somehow frozen in time (frozen in the 1950s-70s), but alas, why would it be? 

Anyway, there's no reason to bother with the magazine when so many copies of their floppy midcentury guide books and idea books can still be found at garage sales, thrift stores, library sales, etc, at least in this part of the country. I started buying Sunset Books not long after moving into our midcentury ramshackle ranch house and only when I started taking inventory of my piles a few months back did I realize quite how many I had amassed over the past eight years. I've sold almost all of my doubles, triples and quadruples at the etsy shoppe (very pleased to be spreading the Sunset goodness all over the country), but I can't bring myself to get rid of the revisions and later editions of the originals, even though the content is often not that wildly different. 

It's those covers! Just look at how "recreation rooms" evolved into "leisure rooms" and on into "family rooms, dens & studios." The names changed, but the propping didn't necessarily: guitars remain a feature, as do art projects, though painting is replaced by textile art and then the typewriter.  

Second printing of 1974 edition.

First printing, October 1979.

I love the way the kitchen covers progress (or regress, depending on your POV), especially the way the model moms are dressed—I'll take the ’70s cover, thanks! Especially those Bertoia counter chairs. But why are the mom and daughter shooting daggers at one another a la Betty and Sally Draper over a bowl of fruit? When did a mother ever give a kid the stink-eye for helping herself to an apple? Mysterious...

Fourth printing (December 1968) of 1967 edition.

Revised edition, first printing, April 1974.

Sixth printing (June 1980) of 1976 edition.

Even more mysterious is the transformation of the children's craft book covers over just a few years, from primitive illustration (love the dollhouse) to pitiful elephant craft to menacing puppet. But I like it.

Tenth printing February 1970.

Tenth printing February 1973.

Second printing April 1976.

Important news!

The news is simply that I still exist. 

I have not abandoned this blog as I have abandoned certain others; I've merely been sucked into the whirling eddy that is summer vacation. I'm not sure who planned out this summer, but whoever did certainly didn't give much careful consideration to my needs—for instance, my need to go to estate sales every Friday, to buy things to keep, to buy things to sell, to buy things for seemingly inexplicable reasons to be examined here, on this neglected blog. To research the value of things bought, to photograph them endlessly, to list them on etsy. Or to clean and then carefully arrange them in my teeny antiques mall stall, where they can be ignored by the kind of foot traffic that doesn't know from MCM to midcentury-atomic-eames-era-retro-danish mod-60s-70s-kitsch-whatever. Right now this summer is panning out to be just like the school year except that the kids aren't in school. I entertain them all day and then shuttle them to various one-hour-long extracurriculars, idle in parking lots and waiting rooms with other idling parents. What nonsense! Who's in charge here?

But today I can thank Carl Hiassen for deciding to write compelling novels for the young; right now, having played tennis, gone swimming and consumed tubs of Orange Leaf, my girls are working their way through his audiobooks, some of which are at least eight CDs long. Hurray! So I have been uploading a ton of photos for the blog as well as listing like a mofo at my etsy shoppe. Expect a flurry of postings and listings this week. As for the next two, I'm off to the homeland, where the flag flies forever half-mast for James Gandolfini, so it remains to be seen if I'll be able to keep it up (if nothing else my right thumb should be very busy instagramming). 

In the meantime, today I have Mad Men on the mind, having actually watched the season finale last night with the rest of the devotees of Sunday-nite prestige programming (previously it was shunted to Monday viewing in favor of Game of Thrones... now True Blood has been relegated to Monday nites). 

I found the episode quite satisfactory, and look forward to the final season (isn't it supposed to be final—it should be), mostly so I can continue to enjoy the great work the production and costume designers are doing, as that midcentury style evolves deeper into the ’70s. Do we think Banana Republic is going to embrace the Raggedy Ann polyester plaid pantsuit look and come out with another Mad Men line of chic office-friendly attire for youngish ladies? Har.

Coincidentally, I was seeing a lot of these Kodak slide Carousels on the estate-sale circuit these past few months. It's impossible to look at one without thinking of that tour-de-force Don Draper pitch scene that closed the first season, right?

Still, that's not quite enough to get me to buy one, as much as I love obsolete technology, just... no. I've got limits, though sometimes I forget what they are.

More things I didn't buy: baby books and old undies

Even on half price day, I'm not buying your old slips and bras! I've got limits.

I didn't buy this totally rad midcentury hanging lamp because it was SOLD. Curses.

I didn't buy this vintage baby book because I already have plenty of vintage baby books and no babies to speak of. But it bums me out every time I see discarded memorabilia of this caliber. Seriously—no one in the family wanted this baby book with all the great ephemera (receipts for flowers sent to hospital, etc)? Tsk. Heartless savages.