Junking

Kitchen Sink Dreams

I’m back at my friend Shay’s place in Ellijay, finishing up a three-day writing binge. It’s been a very productive week. Fifty pages–plus a plotting break-through on THE FIXER UPPER, plus some more excellent junking. I get to go junking if I finish my daily page quotas. Among the treasures I’ve found on this trip are an enamel-topped side table–perfect for a beach house nightstand, because Mr. Mary Kay is bad about knocking over his water glass while fumbling around in the middle of the night. I’ve also found some things for MAISY’S DAISY, my antique booth at Seaside Sisters on Tybee Island. Also–I found a bomb crate. Yes. And for less than $100. Let me explain. My friend Janie’s boyfriend Joe is the genius behind the Tybee Bomb Squad. It’s kind of complicated, but suffice it to say that sometime in the 1940s, our very own armed forces dropped a bomb into the waters off Tybee Island. So Joe–who makes adorable adirondack chairs and also bartends at Doc’s Bar at Tybee, deputized his very own Tybee Bomb Squad. Their official duties are shrouded in mystery, but I’m guessing there is a good deal of beer drinking involved. Joe has a Tybee Bomb Squad booth at Seaside Sisters. He also has a small bomb on display there, as well as spiffy ballcaps and T-shirts. You should buy some. They are a guaranteed conversation starter. I’ve been assured Joe’s bomb has been disarmed. And now, courtesy of the Blue Ridge Antique Mall, he will have his very own bomb fuse crate. It’s painted a festive blue color and lined with tin, and the outside is stencilled with words to the effect that this is a Bomb Fuse Crate. I don’t think it’s a fake–after all, who makes up this kind of stuff? What I have not found on this trip–or any other junking expedition this summer, is the perfect authentic vintage kitchen sink for The Breeze Inn. I have this fantasy sink in my head. I probably saw it in some old black and white movie. Or maybe Donna Reed did the dishes in it, helped by the always adorable Shelley Fabares, who played her daughter. This sink is porcelain over cast iron. It has a high, curved backsplash and double basins. Double basins are important at our house. I’ve seen this sink on Ebay–but it’s always being offered by somebody in Wyoming or New Hampshire, and they refuse to ship–local pick-up only. The sink haunts me. It calls to me. It will make my beach house kitchen a culinary shrine. MUST HAVE SINK. Tomorrow, I’m packing up my laptop and heading home. Why? Because tomorrow is the first day of the Scott’s Antique Market. Somewhere, a dealer at Scott’s holds the key to my beach house kitchen nirvana. Stay tuned…

Simmertime…and the livin’ is steamy

I don’t care what the calendar says–it’s June here in Atlanta and it’s officially hot. How do I deal with heat? Junkin’! Last weekend was extremely junk-central. We started off Thursday with the Decatur First Baptist Gi-Normous Yard Sale. Katie and I–and her best friend Carolyn, got up at 5:30 a.m.–or what we call buttcrack of dawn, to get in line for the sale by 6 a.m. for the 7 a.m. start-time. Now that’s some serious junking. This is a yearly sale held to fund the church’s youth mission trips. Of course, we’d done a drive-by the night before to scope out the merch, and I’d spotted what looked like a queen-size headboard and footboard. Not really antique, but decent repro. We cruised by the bed again in the morning, just to make sure it looked good up close, which it did, and made a list of stuff we wanted to find: beds for my future beach house, maybe a dresser or two, and for Katie, two kitchen chairs to replace two of hers that had bit the dust. By the time the sale started, we were 9th or 10th in line, with close to a hundred people behind us. You gotta love a yard sale that starts with the church pastor giving a megaphone benediction. Once we’d been blessed, we were off! Our strategy was divide and conquer. Katie raced for the bed area, while I made a beeline for what looked like a decent sofa. The sofa was a no-go, (smelled like it had substituted for a catbox), so I sprinted over to the three metal spring-back motel chairs I’d been eyeballing. Just as I got there, another woman was placing a “sold” sticker on them. And they were only $15 apiece! They are just like the ones that were on the cover of SAVANNAH BLUES. I had to cuss under my breath (it being a Baptist church-sanctioned sale and all). I headed for the kitchen chair area, where I grabbed up two painted oak kitchen chairs (for Katie) for $30. Five minutes had passed by the time I made my way over to Katie, who’d scored the queen-bed, plus a retro-sixties white and yellow beachy headboard–for the grand total of $35. We trolled the rest of the aisles and came up with two more great finds: a queen-sized sleeper sofa from Storehouse–complete with slipcover–for $175–for my future beach house, plus a scarred and battered mahogany dresser for $40, which will be painted shabby-chic style for aforesaid beach house. And here’s a valuable tip we learned that day. Contrary to popular opinion, a queen-sized sleeper sofa will fit all the way into my husband’s Yukon! That was the good news. The bad news was that the same sofa would NOT fit through my basement doorway, despite the valiant efforts of my good neighbor Joel and son. So I had to cover the sofa with two bright blue plastic drop cloths until my husband and a friend could load it up and take it over to be stored at Boomerang Boy’s garage. Friday morning, when I went outside to make sure our dogs hadn’t decided to breakfast on the sofa, I discovered Wyatt lounging atop the tarp-draped sofa, looking quite pleased with himself. Of course, there was more junking to be done on Friday. With Katie and Jinxie along, we hit three excellent estate sales. I love an estate sale–dead people’s stuff is just way more exciting than the run-of-the-mill suburban homeowner’s assortment of cast-off clothing, plastic toys and hideous ’80s herculon Lazy-Boys. I bought an adorable ’50s chenille crib spread to take to Maisy’s Daisy, plus a bunch of other stuff for the booth. Saturday, I junked solo, scoring a great armchair and ottoman for the future beach house for $35, plus a pair of great-looking faux bamboo Chinese Chippendale armchairs. And to cap off the long weekend, I found a pair of vintage mahogany four-poster twin beds on Craig’s List–$50 for the pair. My basement is full, my fantasy beach house is nearly furnished, I’m a happy camper. Now, it’s back to THE FIXER UPPER. I actually wrote five pages yesterday, to atone for all that outta control junking.

Brimfield goodies

For those of you who asked (and those of you who didn’t) here’s a photo of Maisy’s Daisy at Seaside Sisters, decked out with all the Brimfield treasures I carted all the way from Massachusetts. If you look carefully you can see the reverse painted mirror with flamingos on the back wall, the large yellow McCoy flower pot, the amazing plant stand with original turquoise art pottery flowerpots on the far left, and the sweet painting of roses on the far right. My daughter Katie and friend Susan Kelleher (she’s the Seaside Sisters madam) helped load it all in and make it look artistic. So now, it’s all ready for you junkers to take home. Have a happy, safe, Memorial Day weekend. I myself have some more junking to do in the morning. And over the long weekend, I plan to do mostly nothing, except cook some ribs on Sunday, for family and friends. And after Monday? I SWEAR BY ALL THAT’S HOLY THAT I WILL RETURN TO WRITING THE FIXER UPPER. Really.

Six Flags Over Brimfield

I have a new happy place–and it’s called Brimfield. Last week my friend Beth and I set out upon the great American junking journey, driving from Raleigh, NC, all the way to Brimfield, Mass. in a rented white cargo van, which we quickly nicknamed Chester, for reasons that are too politically incorrect to go into. On the New York portion of the trip, Brunhilda, Beth’s GPS unit, routed us through the George Washington Bridge and Manhattan, which was unbelievably scary. But we made it–with Beth driving the whole way. Monday night we checked into our motel room in Auburn, Mass, and Tuesday, we got up at the butt-crack of dawn–4:30 a.m. to drive the 20 minutes to Brimfield, where we were delighted to survey a full five miles of farm fields full of antiques. The Brimfield Antiques Market is the largest outdoor market in the U.S. We started Tuesday at the daylight opening fields–Crystal Brook, Shelton’s, Quaker Acres. Beth’s first score was the most charming oil portrait of a little blonde girl in a pink dress. We named her Clarissa, and she was really a head-turner. I can’t even remember now what my first purchase was, but I quickly purchased a collapsible rolling cart to hold all my treasures as I trolled the fields for goodies for me–and for Maisie’s Daisy, my antique booth down at Seaside Sisters on Tybee Island. The Brimfield publicists claim that 5,000 dealers sell at this market, and I can believe it–along with about 10,000 shoppers who come from all over the world. We saw great antiques from New England, the Southwest, Europe, everywhere really, and lots of stuff we don’t normally see on our junking forays around the South. As I told a friend, Brimfield is my Disneyworld, my Six Flags, my Coney Island. My favorite purchase was the hot pink screen door that I hope to someday use for my virtual beach house. I also bought five pairs of shutters with great blue-green paint and crescent moon cut-outs also destined for my someday beach house. I bought two great blue chenille bedspreads, a wonderful yellow grandmother’s flower patch quilt in a sunny yellow, a sweet little pine dresser with mirror, a forties mirror that has a reverse-painted flamingo, a pair of blue-green lamps, a folk-art children’s toy Noah’s ark with hand-painted animals, an Ohio Art child’s tin litho sand shovel (I collect these tin litho sandpails and watering cans), a yellow McCoy flowerpot, a cool barkcloth dust-ruffle that’s destined to become cushions for a rattan armchair, a sweet child’s chair in beachy turquoise, and yes, to Beth’s chagrin, a six-foot wooden folk-art Uncle Sam whose moveable arms once held an American flag at the entrance to a Maine hunting camp. We slowed down our assault only for potty breaks–yes, I actually used a porta-potty–and lunch. Brimfield has a wonderful food court, which is situated in the courtyard of a 50s-era motel, called, fittingly, New England Motel.

Beth opted for lobster rolls the first two days, and a full 2-lb. lobster on our last day. I sampled sausage and peppers, and a fantastic sandwich called a Pilgrim Roll–fresh roasted turkey breast with cranberry sauce on a yeast roll. We also tried out the apple crisp with ice cream and hand-cut french fries. Excellent junking food. At the end of our first full day we were just barely able to drag ourselves back to the motel, hit a chain restaurant for dinner, shower, and then to bed by 9 pm. Wednesday we were back in line for the 6 am opening of the New England Motel field, followed by Heart-of-The-Mart at 9am, and Hertan’s at noon. I think New England Motel was my favorite field, but really, I think I found treasures in each field I shopped. One of the best things about Brimfield is the people. The dealers were unfailingly nice, willing to bargain, and just plain cool. We chatted with strangers over lunch and in lines, and everybody was really lovely. The weather was unbelievable most of the time, morning temps were in the low ’50s, so we bundled up in jackets and shawls, but by the afternoon, it had gotten sunny and warm–in the low ’80s. We did have a little rain on our last morning, Thursday, but that lasted for only about 20 minutes. My final tally of purchases numbered around 46, and I spent just about what I’d budgeted for the visit. On Thursday, after a final lunch at New England Motel, we reluctantly headed Chester South for the trip home. and yes, we’re already planning our next Brimfield excursion. Shows are also held in July, but we’ve decided that will be too hot. Maybe September, if I finish my new book on time.