Decision Time

On my bathroom timeline, I said I'd order the sink faucet and vanity light this weekend. I was thinking that we'd need the light fixture once the electrical was done, and the sink faucet would be necessary to install the sink.

But then we realized we wouldn't want to install the light fixture until the very end - after sanding, drywalling, painting, etc. - so that can wait. And Darwin pointed out that the sink plumbing isn't actually changing - we're putting it in the same spot as the old sink - and we won't need the faucet till the very end either.

So we decided to save those purchases until after Christmas, when we won't be leaking money all over the place.

But I did make decisions on the faucet and light, and for me, that alone is worth celebrating.

The faucet:
Strom Plumbing Thames widespread faucet in polished nickel

This should've been an easy decision because it's the faucet that matches our shower set, but I wouldn't be me if I didn't hem and haw endlessly. I kept hoping to find a cheaper faucet, but they don't seem to exist in polished nickel. Oh well, matching it is.

The light:
Rejuvenation Three Forks in polished nickel, probably with the Classic 2-1/4" Frosted Shade, as pictured



We had a big debate on the blog over this fixture vs. a cheaper Lowe's fixture. I've had several months to think about it, and I still like the Rejuvenation one much better, so it wins. The deal maker was the polished nickel - none of the big-box-store fixtures come in polished nickel. We're spending two arms and a leg on bathtub and sink faucets in polished nickel, so why screw it up by putting in a cheapo brushed nickel light?

Plus, I'm slightly obsessed with repro and antique lighting. It makes me happy.

So that's that. Now I need to sell like mad on eBay and make the money to pay for them.

As for our timeline, we're already slightly behind. Neighbor E wasn't able to come help with the wiring this weekend after all, so that part of the timeline is pushed back. See, this is why I gave us an extra month. Valentine's Day, here we come!

Gifts for Old House People

Being the obsessed, addicted shopper that I am, I often come across random items that would make excellent gifties. Lately, I've found so many perfect gifts for old house people that I wish I had more neighbors (and money)!

I decided to compile this list instead of breaking the bank buying stuff just because it was so darn cool. Maybe this will help if you're stuck in a gift rut (like poor Darwin, who until recently received shirts for every gift, and me, who is hard to shop for because I buy everything for myself before anyone gets half a chance).

So ... what do you get for the old house lover who has everything? (when power tools aren't in the budget)

Pink Hard Hat and Pink Safety Glasses

For the girl who's really into demo. Hard hat - $19.95, glasses - $9.95



Smell Killer

The Smell Killer neutralizes odors in a 400-square-foot area ... I haven't tried it, but it sounds perfect for getting ridding of that musty, damp smell I call "old house funk." $60.00

Little Pink Tool Kit

A pale pink and black carrying case with 10 pink-handled tools - hammer, screwdriver, pliers, even a little pink level! A portion of each sale donated to breast cancer research. $79.95

Saw Cake Server (my personal favorite)

Possibly the cutest thing I've ever seen - a stainless steel cake and cheese knife shaped like a saw. I MUST HAVE THIS. $20



Home Maintenance Organizer

For a lot of us, our blogs are our organizers, but sometimes it helps to use an old-fashioned pen and paper. I can just SEE things better that way. This organizer has tips for how to handle home maintenance issues, a calendar for each season, a tool glossary, graph paper for planning things out and a place for task lists and project worksheets. $25

Hammer & Saw Cufflinks

Dress your old house lov-ah up in these adorable sterling silver cufflinks by artist Debbie Howe. The tools even have wood grain textured handles! $70

Level Necklace

Practical and purty, a necklace with a little working level hanging on a silver-link chain, handmade by artist LeeAnn Herreid. Also available are level bracelets, earrings and cufflinks. $60



Philips Head Screw Cufflinks and Earrings

Made of sterling silver and designed by LeeAnn Herreid. Cufflinks - $80, earrings - $24

Tile Pattern Plates

Created by artists training at the Savannah College of Art and Design, this set of four square melamine plates reminds me of Victorian and Craftsman tiles. And I just adore melamine. $40.



Colorful Tool Belt

These leather tool belts come in purple, royal blue, red, black, candy pink, and dark pink. You can also get them personalized with an initial in rhinestones, though that might be a little too girly even for me. $49.95

Pink Tool Belt

Yeah, another tool belt. But this one's a little cuter (and cheaper), so I had to include it. $19.99

Year-Round Terry Cloth Robe

This is the robe I got for Darwin for his birthday, perfect for warding off the old house chill on the way to the shower ... especially if you have gas heat, and you're trying to keep your bill from skyrocketing. It's a heavy, soft terry cloth and feels great on. I'm tempted to steal it from him. $39, plus $5 for monogramming to make him feel special.

Women's Coveralls

Designed by women for women, these coveralls come in full and capri lengths and a good selection of sizes. My only complaint? They need to expand their fabric choices - allover giant flowers? Just no. $59.95



Sorry guys, I know these gift ideas are a little girl-centric. I like girl things! If you've found any really cool gifts out there in the wide Internet, please share in the comments!

We Finally Have a Sink

The sink question has been heavy on my mind this week because we need to decide that before we can figure out where to put the electrical outlets in the bathroom.

If you read this blog, you know it's been a long saga. First I wanted a pedestal sink. Then I wanted a vessel sink. Then my heart was set on an antique marble wall-hung sink supported by cast iron brackets. Debates raged on this site, in my house, and in my head.

Then yesterday I had to drive to Huntsville to attend a press conference for work. It was nice being out of the office for a day - just me, the Interstate and my Sex and the City audiobook.

About halfway between Birmingham and Huntsville I saw a billboard: ARCHITECTURAL ANTIQUES.

Whoa. How perfect is that?

I eagerly turned off at the next exit, in Cullman, a town I've heard of but never been. It's old downtown was cute, busy and full of antique shops. The kind of downtown I love to see, the kind that has appreciation written all over it. (unlike our downtown, which is kind of sad)

Then I found Southern Accents Architectural Antiques. When I opened the door, I swear I heard a choir of angels singing.

It was everything I'd always daydreamed about - a shop and warehouse full of goodies. Mantels, doors, lighting, clawfoot tubs, doorknobs, doorbells, keys, newel posts, metal brackets, wood brackets, windows, iron grates, railings, gates, plinth blocks, drawer pulls. A whole outdoor lot full of beautiful cast iron clawfoot tubs and sinks in every size and shape.

And here it was! A mere 2 hours away!

But I had to get to the press conference, and I knew if I started really looking, I'd get sucked in and lose all track of time and wake up sometime the next morning clutching a pedestal sink and sucking my thumb.

So I left. I car-danced all the way to Huntsville. I giggled to myself. I tried to think of people to call who would actually care that I'd found a really awesome architectural salvage place. I was desperate to get back.

Fortunately, the press conference was pretty interesting in its own right. A plant in Huntsville is expanding, which will create 175 more manufacturing jobs. One of the reasons cited for choosing the location for expansion was the high quality of products put out by these men and woman grouped in a broad semi-circle behind us. When the governor said, "It is because of you," we all turned and gave them a standing ovation. I got a little tear in my eye because they reminded me of Darwin and how much pride he takes in his work (also at a manufacturing plant).

I thought it went well, and I was proud of myself, too, because I managed to discuss compacted graphite iron with some measure of intelligence. I'm in a male-dominated industry, so I love an opportunity to prove myself to be just as savvy as they are.

But then came the best part of the day - back to Southern Accents! Hurray!

The place was hoppin', and I think that's awesome. Give them your business, people! I want them to last forever and ever! The business was founded by Dr. Garlan Gudger Sr. in 1969, and now Garlan Gudger Jr. runs it. Which brings me to another awesome thing about this place - the staff are knowledgeable! According to their flier, Garlan has a degree in Building Science, specializing in innovative construction practices in historic properties. So cool! I asked a question, and they knew the answer! AND they were nice, especially his lovely wife whose name has momentarily left my head. I LOVE these people!

I originally asked about a marble sink, but when they didn't have one, I went out to the garden o' cast iron and fell in love with a curvy bombshell of a 1930s sink. It was gigantic and wonderful, and after a million questions that Garlan answered without batting an eyelash, I decided it would definitely work in our bathroom. Best of all, it didn't even need refinishing, so it only cost $137 after tax. Way cheaper than any of my other plans.

Never has picking up such a heavy weight been such a relief. Maybe that's because I didn't actually pick it up. Garlan and another guy did, and back at home I crushed my fingers between it and the trunk, and then a red-faced Darwin carried it into the house alone.

But it was worth it. I'm so glad I found it and so glad I found that place. I'll be dragging Darwin back there soon. Very soon.



Here's the web site: Southern Accents Architectural Antiques. They do ship, and I highly recommend them.

Here are my photos from the store.

A Good Shoe is Hard to Find

We leave for Italy two weeks from today, and for the first time I'm feeling a little nervous. I'm not afraid of the flying, the terrorists, the language barrier (grazie, Pimsleur!), the inter-city train travel, or even the luggage lugging.

I'm afraid of the walking.

When I say I have bad feet, most people think I'm just being a whiner. In part, I am. But I inherited the feet-that-kill from my mother, who inherited them from her mother.

On a normal day, walking a little way from a parking lot into the grocery store or dashing back to the art department at work, I'm okay.

But fifteen minutes into a step routine at the gym, my arches ache so badly I start scanning the room for a sharp object to put myself out of my misery. It's the same with any sustained movement - a stretching, cramping sensation in the arch that feels like it could escalate to tearing at any moment.

Besides that, if I stand up for too long, the dull-then-not-so-dull unbearable ache begins throughout my foot.

I make it through with willpower more than anything. When I went to New York City a couple of years ago, I forced myself to keep up the pace with my two male co-workers even as we traipsed all over Manhattan, looking for some specific deli one of them remembered. I looked longingly at the dozens of delis we passed as we looped up and down the streets near Times Square, but I didn't say a word. I also gamely went along on the walk to Central Park and back. I don't even know how far that is - probably not very - but it felt like a million miles.

Believe it or not, wearing a shoe with a heel helps the arch pain, which is one reason (besides the fact that I love them!) that I wear heels 90 percent of the time. I can just walk better in them.

But the heels don't work for real, sustained walking like what we'll do in Italy, especially not on cobblestone streets. For one thing, most heels don't have much cushion in the sole. For another, my foot often ends up sliding down with each step, rubbing a blister on the ball of my foot over time.

It doesn't help that I have hard-to-fit feet. They are wider-than-normal across the ball and narrower-than-normal at the heel, so any kind of closed-back shoe flips up and down endlessly, rubbing a blister in just a few minutes that won't fully heal for weeks.

The last thing I want marring my trip to Italy is 10 different kinds of blisters. In NYC I "solved the problem" - aka, made it so I could at least walk rather than hobble - by buying a thick, squishy pair of pink socks.

I've also tried every kind of insert known to man, including the stick-on, back-of-the heel kind, but they don't work either.

So ever since we decided once and for all we'd be going to Italy - where I've heard estimates of walking 5 miles a day - I've been searching for the perfect shoes. I read up on the TripAdvisor forums about the most comfortable kinds of shoes, about the weather in Italy when we'll be there, about how many pairs to take.

I considered my trip to the trade show last month a practice run-through for Italy and packed as lightly as possible. I took three pair of shoes, one on my feet and two in the suitcase. It turned out to be the perfect number. That way I could rotate through them and not wear on the same blisters two days in a row. Besides, even a high heel feels comfortable when it's a change from the shoe you wore all day.

For Italy, I want to take two pairs of walking shoes and one pair of dressier shoes. But even my walking shoes can't be just your run-of-the-mill sneaker. I hate the way I look in sneakers - too stumpy and frumpy - and I wear them strictly for working out (when they're still not even that comfortable). Plus, I don't plan to take any jeans.

I found several candidates for comfort shoes: Born, Merrell, Dansko, Sketchers, Clarks. My mother made me try on her Merrell clogs, and yes, they were comfortable.

But they also suffered from a problem so many comfortable shoes have: hideousness.

Yeah, this is probably why I get so little sympathy when I complain about my foot problems. I want it all - cute AND comfortable. Is that really so much to ask?

I ended up buying dark purple Merrell mary janes and red Born mary janes for ridiculously cheap prices on eBay. And I love them, I really do.

But ... the Borns are a little too big. They have the heel-flippage problem even with the inserts, and the top of the left shoe digs into my foot a little. Just a trip to the mall gave me blisters, so what would a trek all over Florence do? I shudder to think. They'd probably be okay with socks, but I had my heart set on black tights with red mary janes.

I haven't test-run the purple Merrells yet, but just trying them on I can feel some heel-digging.

Meanwhile, I wasn't willing to place all my chips in the eBay basket, so I ordered a pair of Merrell Plaza Mocs (a black suede leather loafer with a sneakerish sole) for $90 from Shoes.com. Yeah, they're too small.

*Sigh*

Surely my perfect pair of shoes exists out there somewhere! But the fact is, Italy is only two weeks away. I'm running out of time.

Confessions of a Mindless Consumer

I've recently come to the difficult realization that I am a slob. There, I said it. While I'm confessing, I am also an addict - to clothes, shoes and antique lighting.

But I just found a cure for at least two out of my four major problems. (Winning the lottery would also be a good cure, but I digress.)

Actually, it's more of a solution or even enabler than a "cure," per se. Behold the wonder that is the Neatnix Slide N Stax:



They're so simple and yet so miraculous! Between each item of clothing is a plastic card that keeps the items separate and easy to slide out without disturbing the rest of the stack. Before stacking, you use the plastic card as a guide for tidy, slim folding. (I bought the corresponding Fold N Stax to get more plastic cards than what comes with the unit.) Another bonus is that it's easy to see what all I own, so I don't end up buying three red shirts - hmm, too late for that one.

I wish I'd thought to take a photo of that shelf "before." It used to be three distinct stacks - pants, shirts and, um, other shirts - but had devolved into one big jumble that rained clothes down on my head whenever I tried to choose a pair of pants. And let's not even talk about the shirts!

Here, I'll show you some other photos of my closet/bedroom chaos, and you'll get the idea:



About half of my summer shoe collection has navigated out of the closet and onto the floor in front of the dresser.



My bedroom closet. Believe it or not, my clothes did not cause that swayback in the rod. It was there before we bought the house.



My bedroom armoire. This originated as the place for my winter sweaters and my few dresses and pajamas. But then I bought a lot more sweaters, dresses and pajamas. It's also overflow from the other closet.

I'll wait while you turn your nose up in disgust at my meaningless, consumer-driven life.

Just so you know, I'm posting these photos not because I'm proud but because I'm ashamed. It's getting ridiculous. Not so long ago, I had trouble finding something to wear in the morning because I didn't have much to choose from. Now I have trouble because I have TOO MUCH to choose from. This is what happens to a girl when she loses a few pounds and also starts up an eBay business selling clothes that she happens to love.

We could play a "Where's Waldo?" with these photos. See if you can find the following:

My T-shirt from 10th grade gym class (hint: our mascot was the Patriot)
18 blue items (not counting navy)
My new favorite accessory, a red belt
2 cherry print items
25 pairs of shoes (visible)
2 cotton candy colored items
Evidence that I have lost my mind completely ... oh wait, that's this post.

But don't worry, I have ordered more Slide N Stax. Even if I am a mindless consumer, at least I can be a neat one.

eBay: The Mayberry Version

Before all the medical drama of the weekend, I initiated my friend Kristen into the world of the Moundville antique auction.

I've mentioned this auction before, and my thoughts of it are usually accompanied by guilty stomach pains (rather than gall bladder) because I always manage to spend more money than I planned.

The Moundville auction is "special." It's the auction for folks who don't mind their "antiques" a little dinged up, and who don't mind wading through a bunch of junk to get to them.

When you walk into the auction building, the first thing you notice is the heat. The room is packed with stuff and bodies, and there's no A/C. Your thighs stick to the metal chair, your clothes cling and crumple, your hair wilts, your face shines. You learn to wear extra deodorant.

Once upon a time, you were an auction newbie, terrified of accidentally bidding on something, but now you wave the index card with your buyer number on it to cool your face. You are unconcerned about being misinterpreted because now you know that eye contact with the auctioneer is the real key.

On all four sides of the room, antiques and non-tiques are piled, chairs on top of tables on top of desks. You wedge yourself between dressers and sideboards, around people and armchairs to check out the goods. You find almost nothing you want, let alone must have. That scratched up table might be good for the sewing machine. That chair is kinda cute. That rug is okay.

Then the bidding begins. Furniture, collectibles, glassware, picture frames, and other random junk surfaces in the arms of the shy, sweaty teenage assistants. Some stuff looks so much more appealing now that it’s out on display. Other stuff is hideous, but you must whisper about it behind your hand because at least one person here will want it.

One auctioneer down front singsongs the bids into a microphone, while several guys stand around the perimeter calling a staccato “yep!” when they see a bidder’s hand. When the bidding is fast and hot, you hear, “Yep! Yep! Yep!” and you slide forward in your seat to get a better view.

The other auctioneer is a character, like a grumpy guest star on the Andy Griffith Show. He barks orders at the teenage assistants, and he might even snap at auction attendees who are chit-chatting instead of bidding.

But he’s half the fun. You never know what he might say. He could wave his hand toward a table of glassware and say, “Let’s sell some of this junk next.” Or if the bidding isn’t going well, he could make outrageous – yet convincing – claims about the item’s value, or even berate the audience for not bidding. Then he could make you laugh or remember your name, and you would shake your head and forgive him.

The auctioneers, the stuff, the cheap prices, the hard sell, maybe even the heat – it’s a lethal combination. You bid on one item, and when you win it, you’re hooked. The bargains keep on coming. You find yourself with two rugs when you only needed one, and oh no, another chair! You write down the wins on the back of your index card, and the numbers are so small that you feel a little giddy. But then the column gets longer.

When you’re ready to leave, you hint to the auctioneer which items to put up for bid next. He obliges, and you end up with one more item, one more number on your index card.

Then you go to the checkout counter and hear the total and try not to flinch. All those great bargains you got add up to a big fat sum plus 10 percent plus tax, and you write a big fat check for way more than you planned to spend.

Your husband grumbles – or if he’s not there, you text message him, and you can imagine him grumbling. But he (or some other hunky male) obligingly loads up the stuff anyway.

On the way home, you talk about your wins in glowing terms to keep the guilt away. You unload the stuff and find places for it, or pile the more useless stuff in a corner somewhere and forget about it.

And just as you’re making vows not to attend another auction for a while, a sheet of tri-folded hot pink paper arrives in the mailbox. Across the top in black: AUCTION.

You’ll be there.




Bridge lamp with painted glass shade, $20, a purchase from last Thursday.

85

Last night I discovered that 85 is my lucky number. Or unlucky, depending how you look at it.

We went to an auction at our usual place in Moundville. We didn't really need anything, but several members of the Eutaw posse were going, and I couldn't resist. I told Darwin we were going for pure entertainment. I wasn't going to buy anything. I didn't even want to buy anything.

It's amazing how little I know myself.

Even after we strolled the place checking out the stuff, I saw nothing I just had to have. Darwin shot down my interest in a green-upholstered ladies' Victorian rocker and an old oak icebox. I liked a marble top round side table but figured it would go too high. I saw a beat-up mahogany desk that could work as a sewing table but only if it went cheap enough.

But then something happened. Once I was in my seat, watching each piece get hauled up front, talked up, chatted over among our friends, the quivering in my stomach began. It got worse when several nice items went for cheap prices and worse yet when I let Darwin distract me out of bidding on an old brass floor lamp that went for $35.

The first thing I bid on was the little marble top table. It was going so cheaply, after all, and it was so pretty. Besides, we'd bought a plain wood one for $75 at a previous auction.

I bid up to $85 - high as I really wanted to go - and then waited anxiously for the next bidder to fire back. But no one did. The table was mine and at a perfect price!

The win did something to me. The next thing I bid on was a pair of old wooden butter molds. Why on earth would I ever need a mold for a pound of butter? Okay, they're cute. But why? I got those for $25, my only not-so-bargain of the night.



Then came the oak icebox. Suddenly, with the cheap prices tonight, it looked more appealing. Then we found out the ornate original door handle was tucked safely inside the top, not missing as I'd thought.

Darwin shot me warning looks. Don't do it! Don't do it! But I've wanted an old icebox ever since we bought this house. I love anything that reminds me of the old way people did things.

So I bid. Again, up to $85. Darwin whispered, "No more! Don't go any higher!" So I waited, hoping. And by george, the other bidders stopped! The icebox was mine!

I was giddy with this development; Darwin was less so. In the end, he was pleased with all the purchases except that one. For some reason, that icebox is one giant oak thorn in his side.



But I'm getting ahead of myself. There was more.

A nice 1940s buffet for our dining room - $85 (see there! Lucky.)
Two Hitchcock-style (but not Hitchcock) chairs - $50
Green-upholstered Victorian rocker (got it after all) - $80
Gorgeous, large, rich-colored, excellent-condition Oriental rug - $140

Fitting it all into our vehicles without the need for the usual trailer-fetching/strapping-everything-down rigmarole - Priceless.

P.S. I'll update this post with pics this weekend.


P.P.S. More pics to come; I was busy cleaning like a fiend this weekend.

Lotsa Loot

Actually, not so "lotsa." I bought a little less stuff and spent significantly less money at this year's Antique Alley sale. Still, I am thoroughly pleased with my purchases and today I'm feeling as light as a fat-free biscuit since I didn't spend a jillion dollars.

My first and favorite purchase was a medicine cabinet for the bathroom. No, not just "a" medicine cabinet - THE medicine cabinet. It's the absolute perfect medicine cabinet for our bathroom, and I love it dearly, so much that (watch out Darwin) I may one day run away with it to Cancun.



It has adorable shabby chic chippy off-white paint. Underneath the paint, the cabinet is mahogany! So I may strip it one day, but for now I like the chippy lead-o-rama paint. (Have I mentioned I'm already planning an early death due to lead poisoning?)

It has two doors with beveled mirrors on the outside and racks on the inside, plus shelves in the cabinet, and it has a keyhole but of course no key. This thing is HEAVY!

Also, the antique store lady pointed out a paper label on the back that says (I think) R.J. Horner, which was supposed to impress me and make me feel guilty about getting a bargain on the cabinet. I'm not impressed and don't feel guilty. Names on antiques mean nothing to me because I don't know what I'm doing. I just say, "ooh pretty" and I must have it.

Which does nothing to explain my purchase of this:



It's a turn-of-the-century Hitchcock chair, which I'm told should also impress me. I paused and touched the chair on my way into an antique shop, and the proprietor immediately began regaling me with all the wonders of the chair and saying the word Hitchcock and lot, and telling me its never too soon to start building a collection of "good" antiques.

My translation: buying this chair is the equivalent of buying a designer purse, just so people will know you can afford to pay for it.

Somehow in all this, I became convinced (with the help of my trusted antique dealer friend down the street) that the $85 for the chair was a bargain. So I bought it, maybe because I hadn't found much else of interest at the sale and I wanted to buy some more stuff, darnit!

Maybe it is a bargain. I don't know. But I do like the chair, and it does look nice in our house. I just had to endure the not-another-chair looks from Darwin when I brought it home. Hey, at least it wasn't another bed, right?

So then we went back on Saturday morning in hopes of scoring some baked goods from the Mennonite ladies. They weren't there (or were sold out already), so we bought yummy cookies from a church group instead.

On our way back to the truck, I noticed a chair (yes another chair) that I hadn't paid much attention to on Thursday. It looked like a very low-to-the-ground rocker.



We strolled over and discovered that it was an 1890s folding camp rocker with a carpet seat. The seller told us the Victorians liked to go all out with silverware, china, etc., when they camp (could be true, I don't know), and they'd take these cute little rockers to relax in.

Well, one of my favorite things to collect is antique stuff that can still be used the way it was intended (like the 1920s toaster I got last year, which Darwin now uses).

Darwin liked the chair, too, but wasn't sure. Meanwhile, I spotted a 1940s handpainted cookie jar and fell in love. With the black, yellow, green and pink on this jar, it couldn't match our kitchen any better if it was covered with clutter.



That decided it. Like an idiot, I offered $100 for the chair ($58) and jar ($45) without doing the math properly first. The seller accepted, saving me a whopping $3. I'm an idiot. Oh well.

Anyway, I'm feeling no buyer's remorse about any of my purchases, with the possible exception of two pots of zinnias, which are presently dying on my front porch. If they can be rescued, I'll post a pic once they are planted in the front pots.

Guerilla Antiquing

If my mom had a super power, it would be bargain sniffing. She jokes that she grew up in the Depression (she's actually a baby boomer) because she's a bit of a cheapskate and hates to throw anything away.

Though it perturbed me in high school when she bought me a generic brand of the must-have Gap denim shirt with pearlized snap buttons, I now appreciate the bargain-hunting skills she taught me.

Said skills are what led me to my brilliant master plan to get bargain antiques.

This weekend is the infamous Hwy. 11 Antique Alley Trade Days in Eutaw, held on the courthouse square. If you recall, I got quite a haul there last year. (If you don't recall, check out my loot here).

I don't often feel lucky when I get sick, but last year it worked in my favor. I was out of work sick that Thursday, the first day of the four-day Antique Alley event. When I felt better in the afternoon, I descended upon the square with checkbook in hand and beat all the poor Saturday saps to the best bargains.

So this year I'm planning another coup. I've taken off work tomorrow and Friday with the express purpose of scooping up antiques and spending all my hard-earned eBay-selling money (what change is leftover after all the shoes I've bought this spring).

My second in command/medic will be my long-lost friend Kristen L., who may be returning to our fair city soon for a new job in nursing.

I hope to post soon with news of my victory. Fingers crossed, people!

P.S. I accept donations to the cause in the form of ad-clicking! ;-)

Excuse to Buy a Table Runner

It's official. We can now have dinner parties. Expect your invitations in the mail any day ... I just hope you like frozen pizza.



When we bought the table a couple weeks ago, it had a few little problems. The legs were a bit wobbly, but a little screw tightening fixed that.

Four of the screws holding on the tongue-and-groove boards that let the table expand for the leaf were missing and had been replaced with screws an inch too long. When Darwin started to tighten them down, he realized just in time that they would poke through the tabletop. He bought new 1.5-inch screws and removed the assembly and turned it around so he would have fresh wood for the holes. He also fixed a piece of the table edge that had come loose from its curve and been screwed down in the wrong place.

On Sunday we set the table upright in the room for the first time. It is just the right size for the space, with enough room to add another leaf (we'll probably have one made or maybe Darwin the handyman can make it himself). We've gotten so used to having a big open space in the dining room that I was worried having all this furniture in there would restrict traffic flow into the living room. Fortunately, that's not the case.

We bought a rug at the last auction that fits with the colors of the room but may be too small for the table. We haven't tried it out yet. For the moment, the paint-stained carpet gets to stay.

I'm still not sure how I like the Eastlake parlor furniture next to the Queen Anne dining table and chairs, but for now it's OK. How can I complain about that when I have a $10 dingy yellow thrift store armchair sitting in the corner?

Now that I'm looking at the picture again, I think it needs something. A table runner, I think, to break up all the almost-black of that table. Yes, I've seen some lovely ones at Pottery Barn via eBay ...

Hope He Doesn't Notice the Subscription to Swank

Last week, I finally bought a new welcome mat for the front door. Until now, we never remembered to dispose of the green fake-grass mat the POs left. Every time I went outside to get the mail, I'd see it and think, "Ugh" ... and also wonder about what the postman and UPS person must think of us.

If you think about it, your postman/woman must know a lot about you. Imagine each piece of mail as a clue. The catalogs, the magazines, the forms requesting donations for the local fireman's association. Your postman knows if you are a member of The National Arbor Day Foundation, if you receive a lot of Christmas cards, if you like to shop at Granny Panties R Us.

Because of my eBay habit and general love of online shopping, we receive a lot of packages. Some teeny tiny, some enormous, some light, some heavy (the ones containing the world's heaviest tp holder, for example).

We get the same catalogs as all our local old-house fiends friends - Rejuvenation, Van Dykes, Renovation Supply. Plus Anthropologie (and its universe), Hobby Builders Supply (dollhouse stuff) and Pottery Barn.

The postman must know that we have gas heat and satellite TV. If he wanted, he could even know the exact amount of our water bill each month and mentally label us frequent or infrequent bathers.

Also, several times a week, he finds the little red flag up on our mailbox and a Priority Mail envelope inside, addressed to someone living in someplace exotic like Delaware or Texas. He must know I sell on eBay. Then I wonder if postal workers love eBayers or hate them.

Maybe postal workers have no opinion about eBayers or water bills or green welcome mats. Maybe the post office is required to hire only non-nosy humans, in which case I'd better steer clear.

But I still want to make a good impression on the postman. I hope he sees this pretty new welcome mat while he's struggling to heft a gigantic package up onto the porch and thinks, "Hey, these *&@$ lazy @$$holes finally did something right."

Black Beauty

We've had a turning-point event at 1902 Victorian. An event that will change the way we work on our house - what we can do and how fast we can do it. An event that will affect our lives and our finances for a long time to come.

Darwin bought a truck.



It's a black 2002 Ford Ranger with 29,000 miles. Darwin is a Ford man; as anyone from Alabama knows, a man must swear allegiance to one American-made vehicle brand at birth and never veer from his chosen course.

Darwin did swerve a bit 18 months ago. Before we moved to this house and this commute, he traded in his gas-guzzling Ford F150 for a compact Mazda car. We thought this was a fabulous idea at the time, since Darwin has a 1988 Ranger that's been his ongoing project (besides the house) for the past four years. We thought he might finish up that truck one day this century, and we'd have a truck. Ha. Silly, naive fools!

Finally, we decided we couldn't live without a truck any longer. Without one, we had to rely upon the kindness of strangers (or our beleaguered friends) to transport auction purchases, cast iron bathtubs and the like.

Now, we can transport the cement backerboard to tile the kitchen countertops, wood to build a corner hutch in the kitchen, the TV to the repair shop, insulation for under the house, and about a million other projects put on hold around here because of this very reason.

The truck will also help us financially because, though it has less miles than Darwin's 2004 car (yeah, that commute puts a lot of miles on 'em), it is considerably cheaper and will eliminate a car payment. Also, since it's a little truck, the gas mileage is only slightly worse than the car's.

So this is an exciting development. This means no more excuses!

The Heaviest TP Holder in the World

I bought this old toilet paper holder from eBay, along with some other bathroom stuff:



It looks pretty ordinary, but no. This toilet paper holder doubles as an arm-strengthening device. Just sit on the toilet and while you, um ... do your business, just lift the toilet paper roll, HOLD, squeeze that tricep. Feel the burn!

This is the only explanation that comes to mind for a toilet paper holder that weighs probably 6 pounds.

Update: Ok, so it only weighs 2 pounds 10 ounces. That's still really heavy for a TP holder!

Auction Madness

This weekend was 50 percent awesome. I won't go into detail about Saturday, but it involved some food poisoning and many many trips to the bathroom. Sunday, needless to say, was much better. We went to an antique auction in Moundville (the same place I bought our Eastlake bedroom suite).

At first glance, the place looked sort of empty and depressing, more like a garage sale than an "antique" auction. But we actually had a wonderful time and got some good bargains. So did our friends S&B. Wish you all could've been there - no wait, that would mean more competition for me.

The largest purchase of the day is the one I'm least certain about. It's a Queen Anne repro dining room table (with leaf) and six matching chairs. The pieces have a very dark - almost black - finish, which looks nice with the pumpkin-colored walls, and I got it all at a bargain price ($460 for table and chairs) because the underneath needs some screws replaced. The chairs have some grandma-ish green fabric that's actually sort of cute.

But the Queen Anne stuff looks totally INSANE next to the Eastlake parlor set I adore so much. Oh well, I guess the parlor set will have to relocate. We've been needing a dining room table for a while now. We are quickly approaching mooch status, since we're always visiting our neighbors for dinner and never being able to return the favor.



Another important purchase was a washstand that we plan to convert to a bathroom vanity. That's right - we're taking your advice, people. I love this little washstand. It's got a nice, weathered color and is banged up and pathetic enough that I don't feel too bad about slicing and dicing it. This was also a bargain (in my opinion) at $105. It's a little narrow front to back, so we'll have to buy just the right sink to fit it. We'll probably remove the top part and hang a mirror/medicine cabinet on the wall behind it.



The rest was just fun stuff. Darwin bought a mandolin for $50. I bought a vintage glass refrigerator set and three wooden RC Cola boxes. Also, last weekend at that antique mall with the sink, I bought a fan with teenage Shirley Temple advertising RC Cola. Note her Hitler-esque staple mustache.

I'm not sure what the recent RC Cola fetish is about, but it might have something to do with the Moon Pies I've been eating lately.

Antique or Vintage?

At an antique mall in Georgia, I found a wall-hanging sink with separate hot and cold faucets. It was kinda Art Deco looking, and the faucets looked like chrome - not nickel - with straight lines, no curves.

Does anybody know when the elusive "they" stopped making sinks with separate faucets?

We had a sink with separate faucets in my dorm room in college. That dorm was built in the '20s, I think. Boy was it hard to wash dishes in that thing ... which is why I piled all my dirty dishes underneath and never washed them. Yep, I was a great roommate. ;-)

Take a Swim in East Lake

Yesterday I spent a good chunk of time browsing eBay, narrowing my search only with the category Antique and the search term Eastlake. I found some really cool stuff.

On the beadboard is the outline of some kind of shelf that once hung at about head height (my head - 5'4"ish). Like this clock shelf. It's exactly the right shape for the space - long shelf on top, longer-than-usual, narrow brackets holding it up.

I debated buying it for a while, but it's kinda beat up, and that's the very spot I plan to put my vanity. A real vintage/antique vanity with a little stool I can spin around on to gesticulate to Darwin as he brushes his teeth at the sink.

Speaking of stools, I found this darling and lovely piano stool. Sadly, it's in Connecticut, and it looks like it wants to be more expensive than I want it to be. Oh well, I guess it's really too pretty to relegate to a bathroom anyway.

Then there's the shaving mirror with towel bar and the walnut towel rack. Somebody please come up with an excuse for me to buy at least one of these!

As for things I actually have bought, check out these sash lifts:



And these weird-but-neato glass sofa glides:



Also, a co-worker has offered me a pristine-condition 1955 cast iron wall sink. I'm going to take a look. Though a wall sink wasn't what I had in mind for our master bath, it could potentially work for the half bath when we get around to that.

Man Oh Mantel

Oh boy, today has been a good one. I'll get into the bathroom project tomorrow when we've done a little more work on it. Today I'll tell you about the mantel.

We went to lunch at the Eutaw Diner downtown with a group of fellow Eutawans and decided to walk there since the weather was so nice. Along the way, we passed a house that is being renovated - practically rebuilt because it was in such disrepair - and decided to stop in and say hi.

Now this house is cool. The back half was built in 1817! That makes it one of the oldest (if not the oldest, must research more) house in Alabama! The front half was built in the 1840s. It is in terrible condition, and the new owners are saints and more to restore it. When the owner told us about the 18-inch-wide heart pine boards they found in the upstairs of the 1817 part, I got tears in my eyes. This place is something special and was literally about to fall down.

Well, the first thing I noticed when we walked through the front door was a gorgeous Victorian mantel, obviously not original to the house. As we stood around chatting, the owner mentioned that she was planning to sell the mantel for $200 if we knew anyone who needed it. Forget bargaining, I said, "WE WANT IT!" probably much too hastily.

We did a quick measurement and determined that it will fit on the fireplaces in our house! Hurray!!!!!

If you haven't noticed, I'm excited, ecstatic, thrilled! All the mantels in our house have had their upper parts with mirrors removed. This one coordinates beautifully with the mantels we already have. *SIGH* I'm in heaven!

We may trade it out with the mantel that's in the entry hall because that mantel, while pretty, has previously been chopped up a bit. The top board doesn't match (which I discovered when I started stripping the paint), and the columns on the sides have been moved and probably cut down at some point.

This new mantel will make a fine statement as the first thing you see when you enter our front door. It would also look lovely in the dining room.

The only trouble with the new mantel is a bit of termite damage on a couple of non-decorative, easy-to-replace boards.

We went back over and paid for it, then the owner's sons helped us haul it home. We're planning to strip it (and of course, repair it) before we install it.

Okay, I'm off to help with the bathroom demo some more. One last thing - hurray! Hurray! Hurray!

Mmm, Spending Money Tastes Good

In these cold days, I take comfort in anything that can make me feel a little warmer. Even when it's just playing tricks on my mind.

Yesterday my sister and I did some last-minute Christmas shopping. I haven't been to a Bath and Body Works in about a hundred years, because it is The Bad Place. The place that makes me want to spend lots of money on products that I'll crowd onto the linen closet shelves with all the other products I don't use.

As usual, I bought lots of things. I can't help it. I like things that smell like food but have no calories.

The best thing I got was the Wallflowers "continuous home fragrance" plug-in. Now, even when the house is cold as a witch's you-know-what, the smell of Sweet Cinnamon Pumpkin in the air lets me pretend it's toasty warm inside ... and that something delicious is cooking instead of nothing.

I also got some Warm Vanilla Sugar perfume and some Pink Buttercream Frosting hand lotion. And my wristwatch smells like peppermint because it's been riding next to the gum in my purse. Yep, I'm just drowning in the holiday spirit. And I feel strangely hungry. Wonder why that is?

Edited to add:
When I talked to D on the phone this afternoon, he said the house was "cold as a well digger's ass." Guess the pumpkin-scented air didn't make him feel as warm as it did for me.

Christmas Collection

This weekend we put up Christmas decorations. I do solemnly swear not to leave them up until February this year. Okay, I take that back. I will probably leave them up until February or maybe even March. And it's not just laziness. I love Christmas decorations. I admit it.

For me, the highlight of our trip to Gatlinburg was the hour I spent in a Christmas store. Every year I go shopping the week after Christmas to get ornaments and decor 75% off. Yes, I'm becoming one of THOSE people.

I have a three-part theory about my love obsession for buying Christmas ornaments.

1. They are fairly inexpensive, so I feel I can buy them impulsively.
2. Unlike other decorative items, I don't have to think about where to put them or whether they match anything in my house.
3. They're just pretty! Each one appeals to me visually, and all together on the tree it's almost more prettiness than I can bear.

This year and last, I bought so many ornaments that *gasp* I'm now out of room on the tree! I've been trying to enforce the rule that I will only buy it if I truly truly love the ornament. I try to do that with clothes, too (with mixed results in both cases).

In Gatlinburg, I tried to make myself buy only ornaments that I couldn't find at home. Like the mermaid and the blown-glass seahorses, the glitter-topped cupcakes and the watermelon slice. The miniature mandolin for Darwin.

Still, I love my old favorites best: the globe and the pink rose that reminds me of the rose in Beauty and the Beast, my favorite Disney cartoon.

For your viewing pleasure, a (very) small part of my collection:





And last but not least, the tree:



We'll just pretend that woodwork behind it is finished. Christmas is the time for using your imagination, right?

Clothes Horse Reined In

This weekend was productive but not in the way I planned. I didn't work on the drywall-over-beadboard problem, but I did clean out and organize my closet. I have what some might call an overwhelming mass of clothes. A swarm. An avalanche. I regularly sort through them, but I still keep buying new stuff, too.

And I still have a surprising volume of old - like high school old - stuff hanging around. I tend to have sentimental attachments to objects, including clothes. I keep it if I wore it for a significant event (the teal satin shirt I wore the night I met my very first boyfriend, the turtleneck I wore to cover up my first hicky) or if I just really loved it (the pin-striped summer suit that made me look skinny, the fuschia sweater I wore all the time in college).

I allow myself to keep the things that I have strong emotions about because just looking at them takes me back to that place in time ... the night I kissed the much-older boy in a parking lot, playing Spades all winter in the dorm common room, that romantic late-night dinner at an Italian restaurant on our honeymoon, my first grown-up job, my wedding, ninth grade Homecoming when we decorated the hall with streamers and glow-in-the-dark paint.

But every time I do a sort, I can let go of more. I examine each item and ask myself a battery of questions:

Do I even like this anymore?

Would I wear this even if it still fit?

Did this really look that good on me in the first place?

Will this ever come back in fashion?

When the answer to all or most is a resounding NO, I can get rid of the item with no regret. Most of the time I donate or try it out at a yard sale. I sold lots of my skanky "juniors" clothes from high school at a yard sale two summers ago. This weekend I listed some stuff on eBay.

My vast collection is dwindling, and that's a good thing. Even now, I have two closets and an armoire packed full, along with seven or eight plastic bins and one dresser. Before I started the frequent sorting policy? I couldn't even venture a guess.

I know what I should do. For every new item I buy, I should ditch one old thing. But who can keep track of all that?