Shopping with the pro.

People of the Vintagesphere, are you ready to rock?

I said, People! Are you ready to rock?

I can't heeeear you!

Oh there you are. Ok, I hear you. Well then, let's get on with the show. I give you, Shopping with the Pro! Who's the pro? He's the Antiquer of All Antiquers, the Country-Crossing Thrifter of Doom, Your Garage Sale's Worst Nightmare, he's Andy, my brother from another mother!

Ok, for reals now: My cousin Andy came to visit over Memorial Day weekend, and in four short days we took the Twin Cities vintage scene by storm. Fueled by chocolate-pecan-pie-bars (thanks, Pinterest!) and ice cream, we hit yard sales, a flea market, antique shops, thrift stores and my favorite hideaway (La Garage in North St. Paul). When we weren't shopping, we were planning sipping margaritas and planning our next hunt. (You know, strategy.)

Ah, Stillwater. You took two precious days to get through.

Andy's from the New York side of the family, and comes from good antiquing stock -- his parents own a shop in upstate New York (where you can't throw a rock and not find something with a cool history) and he even wrote his thesis on a Depression Glass company from West Virginia.

The Master, looking longingly upon a set of dishes in his beloved Caprice pattern.

A self-described "Glasshole," he specializes in glass and pottery and can ID a valuable piece from a mile away. And the best part is, he's no snob. At least not in the bad way. If I'd pick up something fake or otherwise undesirable, I'd look to him and he'd explain its flaws. Then, when I found something better, he'd examine it for chips and tell me the story behind the item. That's the way antiquing should be: part lesson, part inspiration, part whim. (My trips are usually 100% whim.) With that, I give you, the haul!

I've developed quite the thing for Hazel Atlas, oh and yes, that's a pig's head. 

I found a ton of Hazel Atlas glassware (Eureka, apparently I love Platonite!), some various other entry-level Depression Glass pieces, the obligatory Red Wing item, some tulip-adorned nesting bowls, a snazzy 50s pitcher, a cherry-motif platter, some 50s Hawaii tourism literature, a ceramic pig bust (deeper research has shown it to be a kitchen-towel holder, nifty!), a children's chair to fill a sad corner of the living room and a giant pickle jar to fill with sticks and the sheet-music flowers I keep meaning to make.

That's a Hazel Atlas Moderntone cream+sugar+milk set in front, and an adorable Dutch-looking jar behind it.

I'm not including photos of Andy's haul, partly because it didn't all fit in one shot, and partly because it's not my haul to brag about. But suffice it to say that he found some much more braggable items than I, in terms of value and significance. We made a late-night haul video as well -- 35 minutes of loopy, at times gloriously bitchy, antique magic -- but I'll spare you the insanity.

Oh yeah, baby, we hit the mother flea market in Elko. It was like a zillion degrees but we pressed on.

The pitcher I bought, on the butcher-block island and next to the pig I wish I'd bought, too.

As it stands today, I'm not sure which of my goodies I can part with for my Etsy shop and which must remain in my vise-like grip. For the meantime, I'll just enjoy the memories and daydream about my next adventure with the pro.

I'm your handyman

Ever notice how it seems fewer and fewer kids these days know how to hammer a nail, change a tire or fix a leak? Count me as one of those kids -- I never took shop or home economics class in school (was it even offered?) and both me and my husband have to call on my Dad for more "huh?" moments than I'd like to admit.

A couple weeks ago, I stumbled upon what seems like the ultimate guide to handiness -- pre-cordless drill days -- the 1957 Handyman's Book by Better Homes & Gardens. Sure, it was written for dudes (note the swooning wife in the lower left corner of the cover) but the tips inside apply today to either gender, whoever's not afraid to get his or her hands dirty.

It's 400 whopping pages of know-how, with 50s graphics and photography, and plenty of basic tools. Whatever did they do before laser levels and stud finders?

All the essentials for a budding workshop.

Who said tools were exciting?

The inside cover shows a dad and adoring son, working together on what appears to be an "early American" end table, a popular style in the 50s. Remember the "I Love Lucy" episode when she did her whole home in "early American" style and blew the budget Ricky set for her? She had tons of 'splainin to do for that one.

I was thinking this reference book would be the perfect conversation-starter on the coffee table, so I wasn't sure whether to add it to my shop. But wouldn't this make the cutest graduation or housewarming gift? So, since I don't have either of those occasions on this summer's horizon, I decided to leave it up to fate and listed it at my shop and *BOOM* 90 minutes later, it sold! Here's hoping it goes to a guy (or gal) with a sense of humor. Oh and duh, what an awesome Father's Day gift -- darn!

Look Mom, I'm in 1962!

Sometimes, when vintaging (my new verb), I find a house that I'd like to own just for a weekend. I know, I know, it's a crazy idea, but it's a mini-fantasy. Like this weekend, for instance, we stopped at a sale in the Highland Park neighborhood of St. Paul, and the street was lined with adorable houses, the sale being at this cutie pie. I could've played house in there for days.

The interior had the requisite "fancy" living room — the kind Grandma never lets you play in — and beyond the dining room was the most clever, gasp-worthy sweet use of a passageway I've ever seen. It was half butler's pantry, half breakfast nook, and connected the dining room to the kitchen. The light doesn't do it justice in this photo, but talk about cheery... it's exactly the kind of place you'd serve your friends some kind of jello mold and gossip about the neighbors. While wearing a frilly apron, of course.

The coordinating curtains, cushions and wallpaper just screamed happy. And Saturday-morning pancakes.

  

I would never paint our cabinets, so I just have to drool over other people's white cabinets.

The upstairs bedrooms featured cool built-ins (including a built-in corner vanity — sigh!) and I picked up a few cool scarves, a Bermuda purse set, and some shoe clips, all in red and navy. Definitely this lady's favorite colors. Then we went to the basement and voila... the ultimate party room!

Who wants a Manhattan?

Seriously. This basement covered all the retro-basement bases. Bar? Check. Wood paneling, preferably with scalloped trim? Check. Sleek, cool, uncomfortable furniture? Check. Naugahyde? Check. Even a fake window with installed lighting. Freaking. Out. Standing.

Nevermind the merchandise and exercise bike. That's an emerald-green banquette overlooking a handpainted faux window. With curtains, even! 

 

 

If only I had a brick-and-mortar shop x 500. That's an adorable folding table on the left, part of a two-table set. I wussed out. At $6 apiece I wussed out. Dammit.

Totally, totally the kind of house — and basement — for hosting one heck of a party. And running around with curlers in your hair, eating ham loaf (what is it, anyway?) and white bread, and pouring stiff drinks for your husband. After sneaking a few of your own.