Hate is a strong word

So I officially hate the woman who owned these chairs before me. Not at first; I thought I was lucky to get them for $15 at a garage sale. But now that I've tried to strip them several times, and now that Big Ag has had to replace some slats that were rotting, I've decided I hate her.

But hate is such a strong word, dear, I hear my Aunt Margaret saying. Are you sure it's hate and not just frustration?

OK, so I don't hate the anonymous woman, honestly, I just hate what she did to these chairs. I hate that she coated them with a multi-layered blanket's worth of some mysterious white primer that liquifies when the stripper hits it, then painted 2,346 coats of teal latex paint on top of that. And I hate that she didn't bother painting the bottoms of the chairs, in places no one could see...hence the wood rot. 

And like most singularities in the universe, my hatred of this woman as Chair Caretaker points to a much larger issue in my soul, which is that I have issues with people who don't take care of things they've been entrusted with, whether that's a pair of wood adirondack chairs, a piece of land, a dog, or even a child.

I just realized it's why I have so much trouble with some people who move to the country yet aren't prepared to deal with the responsibility the land demands of us. There are a few of them in my neighborhood, and my house sits in eyesight of their eyesore. 

It's not their person -- they're usually quite nice --  it's their sloppy caretaking of cats, goats, sheep, grasses, topsoil and even the houses they live in that get me. Some people live like the objects they own and the places they live are ziplock bags...just use them until you're done and then toss 'em in the trash. 

It's very zen to think of everything as temporary and ephemeral, but we make serious errors when we start treating everything like it doesn't matter because of that. Because even the little things matter. And yes, I sometimes fall beneath my own standards when it comes to caretaking (if you saw the filthy interior of my otherwise-nice car right now you would agree with this). 

But the great thing about the world of ours is that it's mostly about increasing self-knowledge. And if you're willing to look at yourself in the work you do, whatever that is, you can learn a lot about how you relate to the world. It can be in doing something as simple as re-painting two wood adirondack chairs. Or running a vineyard. Or a business. Enlightenment in the simple tasks is available if we'll hold up a mirror to see our reflection while we're doing it. 

But to do that, you just have to be willing to do the work, both the chore and the corresponding inner analysis.

(which I will continue to do, by the way. These chairs will be getting fresh paint and weatherproofing this weekend). 

And to the lady who owned these chairs before me, I forgive you. Because as my Aunt Margaret always said, hate is a very strong word. I'm even working on forgiving the liquid primer that turns to goop on contact and becomes unremovable, but I gotta tell you, that one's gonna take some time.

Have a seat. Finally!

They screamed "take me home!"

So we finally have some chairs to go with the antique mahogany table we found at auction several months ago. We were using our old, totally-not-a-good-match oak Mission Style chairs with it while we waited to find new ones, which of course took longer than expected. 

I got to serve Christmas dinner with a mismatched dining room set, which I'm sure no one else noticed but me. But prime rib just tastes better when everything matches or at least goes, as they say. 

And at that point the only thing that needed to go was those chairs. Out the door.

But the providence happened. A friend and her beau decided to begin living together and needed a dining room set, so we were able to pass on both our old table and the chairs to them -- which unfortunately left us minus six dining room chairs, matching or not. But they are in love and so it was worth it. We patched together some seating from other chairs around the house, but I really regretted not bidding on some chairs at the same time as we got the table.

But I was patient. For once.

And lo and behold, this month at the auction there were some dining room chairs which matched our table perfectly. And even better, I already liked the seat upholstery and it was in good shape! 

So yesterday I did the online bidding, which was very quiet, and ended up snagging these beauties for $20 each. Definitely a deal worth waiting for.

And now I have wonderful seating for six, plus two more Chippendale chairs if we need a couple of extra seats. Just in the nick of time, too, as we're hosting a lunch gathering at our house  in another week or so.

Plus it's 110 degrees outside right now, so sitting inside and admiring my new chairs seems like an acceptable and cool activity.

So I did.

Right now I am just finishing the book, "How To Be Parisian Wherever You Are," which discusses how important tablecloths are, style-wise....unless, they say, you have an heirloom table which looks better uncovered. And I thought, "well I do." Not because we are loaded with money or inherited great furniture from our grandparents, but because I'm willing to wait on a good antiques deal and pounce when I find it. 

Perhaps I'll cover it with a tablecloth later in summer, but right now I just want to enjoy all that matching wood. It's been awhile.

Use/enjoy it. Nothing lasts forever.

Use it! Enjoy it! Because it's beautiful, and because...

This is the time of year when we all start breaking out our winter/holiday finery, including tablecloths, decorations and even special furniture.  This last weekend I bid in another online auction and got this gorgeous mahogany dining room table for $200. (Thanksgiving on my mind! It has TWO leaves and can expand to 120 inches!) 

I know many people who have dining room tables like this in their formal dining room, and rarely use them. Which seems like a shame to me. I think the things we buy should be used and enjoyed. That's why we don't have a breakfast area, and instead eat all our meals at the one dining room table, thereby visiting with it almost every day. It's gorgeous, so why not look at it every time we sit down to a meal?

I remember going to an antique store several years ago which featured toys for sale -- in their original boxes, unopened. Apparently that is the gold standard for buying these kinds of things -- toys like Barbie dolls and stuffed animals are highest priced in their original wrappings, unused.

How sad that we relegate such things to uselessness in order to keep their value. It's one thing to take care of what you own to make sure it lasts a long time, but entirely another to never enjoy it or never use it for the purpose for which it was intended...gee, and I thought formal dining rooms people rarely went into was sad.

About 18 years ago, my mother found an antique sideboard at a junk store, liked it and purchased it for me at the bargain basement price of $100. Upon doing a little online research, we discovered that it was a one-of-a-kind Brown-Saltman piece from the 1930's and was probably worth between $4,000 - $10,000. She was thrilled. I was dismayed. The insurance company was helpful in putting together a policy for it. Which meant, as a struggling single mom and beginning teacher, I was now in possession of a piece of furniture that needed its own insurance policy. I felt a little sick.

For months I worried about the piece, not putting anything on it, not allowing the kids within a mile of it. I was almost afraid of it, yet at the same time resentful -- how had I unluckily come into possession of something which clearly demanded so much respect as to not be touched or used?

And then my best friend visited and told me I needed to use it and enjoy it. She said that was what it was created for. And if an accident happened -- it got scuffed, dented or scratched -- well, nothing lasts for ever, she said.  

because....

The message is the same, whether it's home furnishings or something even more intricate yet also temporary: the sand mandalas the Buddhist monks spend months creating, only to to pause for one moment at it's completion and behold its beauty before sweeping it away, forever gone. The message is clear: Use it!  Enjoy it! Because nothing lasts forever. And an unused toy wrapped in a box is worth nothing, because it's never fulfilled it's purpose of being played with and loved by a child. I don't care what the auction house says.  

The fact is, if it's a creation made by man or even in nature, it has a life expectancy. Give it a life worth living by using it, for heaven's sake.

Nothing lasts forever.

The rest of the library

Bookcase #1, which I almost did not bid on but am glad I did!

So the guys from the auction house delivered the rest of the furniture today...a bookcase, office center, and a writing desk. I am so happy to have these beautiful items in my home, and so lucky to have found them at auction prices.

Hutch/Office center and writing desk.

I did also get some details on how they ended up on the auction block. Turns out they were part of a divorce; when the movers went to the home there were tags for what was "his," what was "hers," and what was labeled "auction." It was a prominent person in the county, who lived in a gorgeous wine country mansion. Much more of the home's goods were also auctioned off to other lucky buyers. 

It's sad that the couple gave up so many wonderful pieces to be sold at a fraction of their original cost, but if they had a sad story at least there's a happy ending -- all these things (at least the stuff we bought) will have a place in a very peaceful and loving home from now on. They will be cared for and treasured.

Close up detail of writing desk inlay. So pretty!

Steal #1

This was one of the items I bid on last weekend, and the only one small enough to get a car ride home from the auction house today when I when in to pay for everything. The rest will be delivered on Wednesday. This table cost $70, which was obviously a steal. The wood is absolutely gorgeous, it's extremely heavy and definitely a quality piece. I don't know where it's ultimately going to sit, but for now it's in the dining room.

My problem is that now the rest of what's in the house looks a little like an ugly stepsister next to it. I sit next to it and feel a little underdressed, kind of like being at a pajama pizza party and having Zsa Zsa Gabor suddenly come in in a formal, dripping with jewels and calling everyone "Dahhhling."

So maybe I need a new house, built around this one glorious, elegant end table. Problem solved.

The auction

So last night I participated in my first-ever online auction, sponsored by a local auction house in the next town over. I've been trolling these auctions for a few months now, hanging out both online as well as in the actual shadows of the in-person one, watching how things go down and seeing what kind of deals were available. In other words; learning. I'm one of those people who needs to know what they're doing before actually doing it, especially where any money is involved. 

There is a time and a place for spontaneity, but for me it's usually not when I'm holding my checkbook. And just like at the casino, an auction is a great place to lose a lot of money quickly if you're not careful. 

(Disclaimer: Sigh. Okay. I'll tell you right now that my spontaneity comment above is basically bullshit, because in the end, while I held to the spirit of my rule, I didn't hold to the law of it. Funny how that happens. I initially set my high-end limit at a couple hundred bucks. And realized about halfway through the auction that I hadn't budgeted nearly enough. I just wasn't realistic. So I raised my limit again to double the initial budget, and came in handsomely on the mark.) 

In the end I got several pieces, which together will comprise an actual library in our house. You see, when we moved to this property, we inherited a large room in the front of the house that was probably supposed to be a formal living room. But as we had no use for that, and no furniture to turn it into one, instead we called it our library. Our file cabinets, bookcases, reading chair and desk are all in here. But all those things once resided in different rooms of our previous house, so nothing matches. So for a long time I I was also fond of calling it "the un-loved room," because that's how it looks. Then I saw the items I needed on the auction block and decided to go for it.

In the end I spent more than I wanted, but still got a good deal. By the end of today or tomorrow we will actually have library furniture to go with the idea of that room being our library now. I also get the good feeling of knowing I am re-using estate furniture instead of buying new. Anytime you can do this and still get what you want, it's a good thing. New furniture isn't the most eco-friendly option for things, although with things like beds, chairs and sofas, I get why new is best. So I can give myself some eco-brownie points, although honestly budget was as much a concern as anything else. I was just very lucky to happen to have gotten an extra large check from work last week and so the money was already there, and luckily, not earmarked for anything else.

So before actually starting the bidding process, I did a little homework. In online bidding, it turns, out, there are apparently two types of bidders. One is the squatter, who lands on the piece she wants and quickly outbids anyone who ventures into her territory. And there is the sniper, who waits until the last minute and then tries to unseat the up-until-now winning bidder.

There's a lot of different opinions about who ultimately saves more money, the squatter or the sniper. But at this point I'd tend to say the latter. And last night I did a little of both. Without boring you with a whole play-by-play of the process, there were a couple of items I squatted on and won easily, and one item where I feigned disinterest until the last minute of the auction and then became a sniper and snatched it up quickly. And of course there was one other item -- the one I needed most, sadly, where I faced a bidding war. So that jumped in price, although it was still bought at roughly 10 percent of what I'd have paid for it new (and it is in mint condition).

And so now it's all done except the pick-up. Sometime today and tomorrow, we'll get the front room ready (now really, almost a real library room!) and pick up our winning bid items. I'm excited to see how it all looks when its done, and will post some pics soon.

And now I have a new Moniker: Hot Flash Homestead -- Auction Sniper and occasional Steely-eyed Squatter.

Rainy Day Book: At Home, by Bill Bryson

After almost giving up this book during the first 50 pages, because the reading mainly consisted of wordy descriptions of the prehistoric dwellings of Skara Brae and the Crystal Palace of the 1800's, I persevered and am now really enjoying this chronicle of all things Home.

Basically, the book is a room-by-room history of how each room in our modern homes developed, along with lots of interesting factoids about life, diet and personal habits of people from the Middle Ages through the Industrial Revolution. 

I have learned that the word "cabinet" was originally a diminutive form of "cabin," as in "cabin-ette."  Once a piece of furniture to store valuables, it eventually referred to a place in larger houses and estates where the most private of private meetings were held. Eventually, the term actually began to refer to the people themselves in those meetings, which is why our high-ranking government members today are called the President's "cabinet."  

Here's another interesting fact:  In the Middle Ages, bread was primarily baked by professional bakers in villages, rather than in the home.  Around the 1500's, the bakers were accused of adding all sorts of ingredients to bread in order to stretch their genuine (and therefore more expensive) ingredients like flour.  The false ingredients were things like chalk powder, sawdust and bone-ashes.  Once this was reported and discovered, bread-making was more tightly regulated, with weights and ingredients being measured out carefully and records kept.  Since evaporation made loaves turn lighter, however, nervous bakers began adding an extra loaf to orders -- the "baker's dozen" -- so that if the loaves were light the extra one would make up for any loss and the regulators would suspect no attempt at foul play.

And one more:  The word "boudoir" literally means, "room for sulking."  So much for romantic intrigue.

Anyway, those are just two of the fascinating things I've learned from the book so far.  Since it's raining cats and dogs and the wind is howling right now, I am contenting myself with reading and making a winery friend's birthday cake for later today. So Bill Bryson, it's you and me today....at home.