Humble Abode: The Charity of Chairs

So I personally think buying upholstered furniture secondhand can be icky. Especially at the thriftstore/garage sale level. Juice stains and pet stains and food stains and (the worst) unexplained stains. Rips, potential critters, unknown materials, and odors.

So imagine my surprise when I found this clean, stainless, odorless upholstered chair with a lovely floral print (probably circa 1974) in the corner of a Goodwill in Columbus, Ohio. Actually, I take that back. I didn't find it. My best friend Beth did and pointed it out as a joke. I think she was secretly dismayed when I insisted on buying it.

Now I have been searching online for anything comparable to this chair and I can't find anything for less than $170. This gem? $15. Side note: The magazine on the table (pictured below) is the June 1932 issue of The Stage, published by the Theatre Guild (purchased at a theatre book sale for 50 cents).



Bonus? Super comfortable. Madigan loves it.



Here's a close-up view of the fabric and pattern. I apologize for the poor lighting. I'm waiting anxiously for a new camera this Christmas.


Nothing like the perfect chair to curl up in at night for a little light reading of, oh, say, Plato's Republic.

Humble Abode: The Thrift Store Aesthetic

Ever open a magazine and see a gorgeous high-wingback chair or a beautiful table setting and, after completely falling in love with it, catch sight of the tiny little letter of a pricetag that isn't so tiny? Yeah. Me, too. So I find myself memorizing images from magazines and making a mental shopping list for the next time I'm "junking."

Vintage is a sneaky, manipulative word. It's the materialist's nicest of way of saying "used." And it makes buying "used" things seem hip and progressive, rather than trashy and cheap. But the biggest difference between the word "vintage" and the word "second-hand" is in the number of zeros before the decimal point. And you know what bugs me most about "vintage" items? That Fiestaware is just an opinion away from a Goodwill bin. Seriously. That "buyer" who works for the vintage boutique paws through piles of junk to find things that are truly worthy of the label "vintage." So you know what? I'm doing it, too. These "Humble Abode" posts are going to highlight the vintage things in my home. You know why they're vintage? Because I got them secondhand. That's the only qualification. Some things are from thrift stores and garage sales, some have been passed down from my mother and my grandmother, some things were even rescued off the trash heap!

In our entire apartment, I can only legitimately think of three pieces of furniture purchased new. The sofa, an armchair, and an end table (already falling apart, I might add). Everything else is on its second, third, or fourth reincarnation.

I'm excited to share some of them with you!

I love to hunt for dishes. Here's the table set for dinner tonight.

One of my favorite things is to mix old and new dinnerware. So we have the silverware and white square plates that were wedding gifts, the red quilted placemats from my mother's dining room, the green and purple plates from Goodwill, embroidered linen napkins that belonged to my great-grandmother, and copper napkin rings my parents received as a wedding gift.

The green plates and purple dessert dishes were 59 cents a piece at the thrift store and stacked randomly on different shelves. If you can't tell, I'm a fan of the jewel tones. I managed to put a set together after digging through for awhile. Total: $4.72.


Anyone have a favorite set of dishes or tableware that they either use everyday or save for special occasions?

A Lump in the Throat: Pablo Neruda

"Your breast is enough for my heart,
and my wings for your freedom.
What was sleeping above your soul will rise
out of my mouth to heaven.

In you is the illusion of each day.
You arrive like the dew to the cupped flowers.
You undermine the horizon with your absence.
Eternally in flight like the wave.

I have said that you sang in the wind
like the pines and like the masts.
Like them you are tall and taciturn,
and you are sad, all at once, like a voyage.

You gather things to you like an old road.
You are peopled with echoes and nostalgic voices.
I awoke and at times birds fled and migrated
that had been sleeping in your soul."

-Pablo Neruda, "Your Breast Is Enough"

Adventures in Domesticity: Thanksgiving Part One

Thanksgiving is probably one of my favorite days of the year. Because for me, it's no just a day to redefine gluttony (although, that usually happens at our house). No, Thanksgiving is a harbinger of CHRISTMAS. Thanksgiving weekend, we drag out the Christmas tree and decorations, we put on the cheesy holiday movies, we do the majority of our holiday shopping (although this year, I've already done most of it to beat the rush). So I start counting down to Thanksgiving Day as soon as possible. I swear, the day after Halloween, it's like I can hear the Butterballs calling to me from the down the grocery aisle. This year, I thought I'd share some of my recipes and traditions, both old and new.

Normally, I make my grandmother's orange-cranberry jello salad but this year I'm trying something new:

Bourbon-Cranberry Compote
(Serves 8)

1 12 oz bag cranberries, fresh or frozen (3 1/2 cups)
3/4 c. sugar
1/2 c. apple juice
1/4 c. bourbon

Combine ingredients in saucepan.

Simmer, stirring occasionally, until the cranberries begin to burst and the sauce thickens, 20-25 min. Cool before serving.

- from Real Simple magazine, November 2010, p. 247

So what about you guys? What are your plans for Thanksgiving Day? What traditions do you and your family have? Are you doing anything different this year?

Painting Two - Sketches

We've started brainstorming ideas for our next painting and these are the sketches Kyle worked on yesterday. What do you think?

Also, here's a picture of Kyle being manly and fixing the vacuum.

Love is in the learning...or study habits for lovers

I cannot honestly tell you when I fell in love with Kyle. Was it the day he complimented my gigantic walkman, circa 1989, in a dark empty theatre? The basement cast-party where he made me laugh so hard, I spit water out all over his face? Or the night I drove him home and he turned to me as he jumped out of my 1999 Astro mini-van and mumbled, "I love you," rain soaking through his grey hoodie and long hair? Was it that first rehearsal after his brother had died, unexpectedly, at the age of 29, when he stood on the stage across from me, looking lost? Or the July afternoon in the parking lot of the carwash, his face dark with sun, wearing that horrible dog-farting t-shirt I begged him to throw away? Or the night of our sophomore year of college when I smashed my finger in the door frame and began to cry and then noticed the tears running down Kyle's face...when I had asked him what was wrong, he replied, "You're hurt"...? Or the day he left for California when he freaked out about gum on the bottom of the flip-flops I had bought for him? Maybe it was the late night sitting on his kitchen floor where he flippantly proposed marriage (oh, if he only he had KNOWN what he was in for!)?

Honestly, I don't know when it happened. One second, I was just me and the next...I was me and Kyle, wrapped up in one impossibly big blanket of understanding that this, THIS was it. But even then...I didn't know what it meant. I didn't know how many nights I would spend sleepless, afraid and trembling, days I would spend fighting, falling, and getting up again, afternoons I would spend helplessly in love, beyond comprehension or thought or words.

I had a minor epiphany the other day, though...Because the Kyle I fell in love with is a new Kyle every day. Certainly, the Elizabeth he fell in love with is a new Elizabeth every half-hour! And I realized that I am falling in love with a brand new Kyle all the time.

Perhaps, most importantly, my idea of how to love is changing, growing. Expanding. I feel like I'm enrolled in a constant crash-course guide to my husband.

Falling in love might only take a moment. But loving someone is like...learning a foreign language. Somedays, I think my love gets lost in translation. I'm sure he feels that way with me, too. But now and then, like with my very limited French, I learn a new verb tense or a fantastic new adjective that gives me a chance to more adequately say: "I love you, Kyle, to the moon and back, and while my study habits need improving, I hope you'll give me an A...because I'm learning."

Day Something or Other: Painting COMPLETE

This took way too long to post BUT the painting is finished! Here are some pictures of both the painting in its entirety, as well as some close-ups on the details (you can see examples of the poetry in the waves, for instance).

This was such a fun project and Kyle and I had a wonderful time working on it. We'll be starting a brand new painting very soon and we'll be posting on that shortly, as well as continuing to blog about love, marriage, and all the stuff that makes one or the other difficult at times and worth it every single day.

So what do you think? It's hanging in our living room now (I moved some other stuff off the wall to make room). Eventually, we'd like to have three panels hanging over the couch.