When Old House Character Doesn't Work for You.

Our home's name is Ruth. She has a personality. She's modest from the street-side, her heart is larger than you'd guess if you only saw her from the outside, she has quirky angles like many old ladies do, and yet she also has a comfortable lap, like a good grandma, and loads of charm.

Ruth's front room, circa 1963

I'm a lover of history, and have researched my house's architecture; it's a Colonial Revival Cape Cod, built in 1939. I am the fourth owner.

A house this old and older will have quite a few layers on it. I'm thoughtful about those. There's also a range of opinions out there about what to do about it, from the extreme of gutting them completely and putting modern builder's-grade interiors in them (which personally horrifies me), to being supremely dedicated to maintaining period authentic details in every way one can. That extreme I can appreciate a little better, for the sake of its desire to preserve original details from the era in which the house was built. But it's tough for me to be that rigid in my own life. I've got some pretty eclectic tastes, and being stuck in a narrow window of the late 1930's wouldn't work for me.

Besides, people don't live that way. As much as scrupulously period-authentic homes teach us about the way people lived in whatever era, they can be museum-like, and sort of artificial in the sense that it is the rare person who built a household from scratch in exactly the year, say, 1955, and kept it that way for 63 years. More often, people launch in adult life with hand-me-downs and heirlooms from previous eras, get tired of certain things and fall into the fads of the decade (shag carpet, anyone?) in the interim, feathering the nest over the years with what's needed, what works, what delights, and what feels like home.

In addition, one must embrace (me: strong simple graphic design) or survive (me: beige everything, granite countertops) the current home design trends and fashions of one's own time. "Dated" is the word home improvement shows squawk over and over again to describe older homes. Of course it is. Whether or not it's a pejorative is largely up to the house, and its owner.

My house has postage-stamp sized foyer, only a few feet by a few feet, and another, larger room we ingeniously refer to as the "front room" because it is, uh, at the front of the house. In the 1960s, someone paneled this room, and it was where the gentleman of the house lounged, smoked, and watched television.

That purple fabric across the top of the wall hid stereo speakers. It was just as attractive as you might imagine. 

While I like me a good rustic paneling, as seen on our recently renovated screen porch ceiling photo below--

...this was really not the same. It was made of a rather expensive veneer plywood (it's either mahogany or cherry) dark-stained, but not skillfully installed at all. It had gotten orangey over the years, and it made the room gloomy. Then a later owner had sawed a big, unfinished hole to get his big screen TV into the wall, and left that hole behind when we moved in. It was like the hall closet had a picture window into the front room. I hung an old sheet across the hole and put an old sofa in front of it. Which the kids used as a place to pile coats and backpacks.

Not proud, but it was real life here. I also tried to love the paneling. It's historic, I said to myself. Paneling was a thing in Midcentury houses. Part of the charm. 

And practical too. The scuffle of four boys was well hidden by those dark walls. I tried to foof it up with some of my own things:

And still really, really hated it. I just couldn't make myself love that dark room, and even if I'd been able to repair the hole in the one wall, it wasn't worth it to me to be this miserable for the sake of period authenticity. To hell with wood paneling, at least in this case. I needed light. I needed color.

It stuck around awhile though, because I didn't have the carpentry skills and budget to change things up. It's hard to bring yourself to spend money on a room that holds the coats and boots, mostly, when you've got so many other things to do with your house.

When Tom arrived on the scene, we decided that while we still did not want to spend a lot of money on this room at this point, we needed to make it one that better reflected that we both lived here now, that I work from home here and wanted it to be creative, and that we both wanted to invite the sunshine in as much as possible.

I only have two not-so-great cell phone photos from the renovation period, but they sum up the two big things that happened.

One was fixing the sawed-up wall, and adding another bookcase to the room.

You can see into our L-shaped hallway.

The second major part of the reno was paint. Buckets and buckets of primer, paint, and more paint.

If you look at the top of the above photo, you can see how dirty the ceiling tile was from the smokers who previously lived here. While it looked okay in contrast to the dark paneling, once we started painting it was obvious just how disgusting it really was.

The rest of the decor was a matter of assembling things we already had on hand.

Before we updated the room, I had put a folk-art style rug in there in colors that I loved to try to cheer the place up a little bit. I decided that would go back in, and be the inspiration for everything else.

Then Tom's hall tree went into the front of the room, so visitors have a place to leave their coats.

Tom made it from salvaged paneling and wood. I love that it is there to greet his kids when they come home.

The window has a simple white cotton curtain on the lower half for privacy. The room originally had wood cafe shutters, and I would like to do that again when the budget permits. The basket in the corner is to corral shoes (lots of boys, lots of tennies).

The green dresser is a crappy little old thing I rescued off a curb and spray painted. I've had it forever-- it just keeps changing color. It is tucked just on the other side of the front foyer, and holds incoming mail, change, keys, etc. The drawers hold the things you always needs right before running out the door-- mittens and hats, umbrellas, sun screen, insect repellent, etc.

My work space is usually much messier than this, but this is the "blog-pretty" version:

I have a preference for things with a history or a connection, so I'm always more likely to go with old/used furniture than with new. The oak desk belonged to a friend of my mother's. The printer stand is actually a record player/music stand from my Great Aunt Elizabeth's house. The lamp is hers too. 

The floor in this room is 1960s era vinyl composition tile. If it were new or in good shape I wouldn't mind it at all. I like the pattern. But it had carpet over it when I moved in, is full of staple holes, and has cracks and crumbles in places. The next time this room gets an overhaul, it will need to go, I hope in favor of tile or wood flooring.

I'm most pleased with the bookshelf area.

Lots of old friends live there.

Some of the shelves are extra deep, which is a plus for me. I'm famous for squirreling books away. The desk is a curbside find, and Tom uses it for his work-from-home days. The big baskets hold camera equipment and random electronic odds and ends.

I wanted to have fun in this room, so I gathered second-hand store picture frames, spray-painted them in black, ivory, orange, and green (to echo the colors in the rug), and framed family art.

I did not feel constrained by rules here. That part felt good. I like how grade school ceramic projects and family photos and favorite books mix on the shelf

And as much as the paint helped freshen this room up, having art made by people I care about, things that show their personality and humor and love, is the best part of this room by far.

When this room gets another round of attention in the future, it will most likely get some of the things that honor the 1930s Cape Cod heritage of the house, walls with painted wainscot paneling to match what is elsewhere in the house, wood flooring, and trim. In the long run, we'll have both fully respected the heritage of the house, but kept it fresh and for us. For now this redo fixed the biggest problems, and fits our personal style so much better. I only wish I hadn't waited so long.

Mid-century Modern Dressers Poorly Timed (but still awesome)

I had it all in my head how it was going to work out. And then these dressers happened.

In 2014, my bedroom was supposed to be one of my remodeling goals for this house. But it's ended up being the unloved step-child of the entire year, with work in this room ending up last on the list of everything else going on.

Not because I don't want a nice grown-up lady refuge from the rest of the world, and there HAS been some progress I haven't blogged about yet. But that's where I need to sleep, there are often socks and running pants piled on the floor, and the lighting is bad for pictures.....

How it looked at the beginning of the year:

And the alcove now stenciled: 

In the meantime, I'd been living out of these two dressers, one from my mother's childhood bedroom, and the small one a curb find from a few years ago:

This was not ideal, and in real not-pretty non-blog life I was frequently piling stacks of folded clothing on top of both of them, or in laundry baskets strewn about the room. To say it tended to exacerbate my already slob-like tendencies about laundry is an understatement. 

But I had an order-of-work plan that didn't include buying new dressers until the room itself was further along-- that last wall drywalled, the plaster work finished, the rest of the floor painted and stenciled. That was the point at which it would seem the right time to get new and better furniture up there. 

I even had some picked out. On the budget plan, I'd decided to get some combination of Ikea Malm dressers: 

Ikea Malm Dresser (Source)

It seemed perfect for the dark woods and reds/grays/metallics I'd been using or plan to use in this room, and with good looks for a reasonable price. But I was waiting to purchase them when the room was ready, and when I'd have the time to not only make the trip to Ikea (there isn't a store in Iowa, which means driving to Kansas City or Minneapolis), but also to put them together once I got them home. 

Then I saw something in a furniture consignment store in the complete and opposite direction, and it changed everything. Including my so-called order-of-work plan. 

It was a second-hand dresser and chest of drawers, blonde wood, mid-century modern, and not what I was thinking of at all. It was exactly what I didn't know I was looking for. AND less expensive than the Ikea option. And better quality. And completely at the wrong time. Not only for the fact that I wasn't where I wanted to be on the room, but also because it was Thanksgiving week, and I had a house full of guests. 

I bought them anyway. Because duh. 

The chest of drawers features a shallow "handkerchief" drawer at the top, and the next one down is a divided drawer in three parts. My undies, hosiery, and bras have never felt so...orderly. 

The dresser has six gloriously just-the-right size drawers. 

The hardware, though a little worn, is still original. I had to vacuum glitter out of the bottom drawers, and eradicate some "old lady smell" with Murphy's Oil Soap. But that. was. all. That's been the glory of this situation in many ways-- not having to do an extensive rehab on an inexpensive but neglected second-hand piece, or getting the Ikea-induced migraine of assemble-it-yourself new furniture. 

I didn't realize how badly I needed more clothing storage until these two babes came into my life. Now I've moved on from my shuffling parade of laundry baskets. The largest of the two old dressers went into my twins' closet as off-season clothing storage, another badly needed improvement. The smaller chest may be re-purposed for another use, but I haven't decided yet. 

Of course, the the two new dressers will have to slum in their new environment for awhile, but their appearance motivates me to put the bedroom back at the top of the list in priorities for the new year. Sometimes poor timing is actually the shake-up one needs, and I'm going to take these pieces of furniture as just that. 

Old Nightstand Rehab

Remember this nightstand from the flea market in May? I picked it up for $18, and it had seen better days.

While I have some large objections (which is a whole other blog post that I've avoided writing because, well, I'd probably offend some people) to the recent trend in painting old furniture, I was looking in the direction of doing that just that, because of the top:

My mother, however, who is a bit of a magician with the furniture refinishing, took a look at it, ran her hand over it a few times, and said "let me take that home with me for awhile." 

It came back looking like this: 

And the top of it looked so much better:

The Art Deco lines are even more beautiful now that it's seen a little love. I'm grateful to my mom that she was able to rescue this for me. (Note: I also know that I've photographed this in front of a vintage buffet that is, indeed, painted. I'm conflicted on the painting furniture issue. Can you tell?)

I am looking for two nightstands that are small in scale. When my bed moves to the alcove in my bedroom, I'll need smaller scale furniture, and this one will do the trick. I'm still on the search for the second one. I'm not married to the idea of matchy-matchy for nightstands, so anything could happen, just like with this flea market find.

We've got a bunch of little projects going all over the place right now. It's pretty much what August looks like every year, I've noticed. More soon!

Lots of Bubbly Vintage Tile Love

These are so awesome it's hard not squee when I look at them. They are aggressively colorful with red, yellow, green, blue, and purple glass, white-glazed dimensional "bubbles," and a background that is gray with an overspray of gold crackle glaze.

Shut the front door, they've got everything.

The other thing they've got is my heart strings, because they came from my aunt's house. My aunt married in 1960, and she and my uncle built a little brick ranch home on a farm in Missouri. I've always called it "pink and pepper," though I don't really know the real name for the brick style.

This is the only photo I could find of the place as I remember it as a child; but perhaps it's just as well, because the foreground explains everything about the heartstrings part. I spent a great deal of my childhood running around that farm, barefoot, sweaty, dirty, picking green beans and cherries and sweet corn, and generally getting into trouble with pack of equally grubby cousins. I think the photo above is from 1976 or 1977, and shows (from left) my sister Dyan, my cousins Thea and Leah, me (with my glasses slipping down my nose, as always) and my cousin Anya, playing with (and hopefully not torturing too badly) a toad.

What I don't have is a picture of the bathroom in that house in all its former glory. Salmon pink field tile, blonde wood cabinetry, and these accent tiles. It was marvelous. One of my earliest memories as a child is sitting in the bathtub at my aunt's house, running my fingers over the smooth glass bubbles, enchanted by the color and the glamor. My own bathroom at home was very plain, and these were just too much for my child-like desires to bear. I was going to have something just as fabulous when I grew up.

While my aunt and uncle still live in the same house, about 10 years ago the bathroom got remodeled. Mid-century enthusiasts can be dismayed if they want, but the lady of the house had grown tired of salmon pink and 40 years of wear on a bathroom is more than enough. I was sorry to see the tiles go, but I understood.

A few weeks ago, my mom was helping my aunt clean her basement, and found these, eight of them, in a storage box. They'd been salvaged. They both remembered how much I loved them as a little girl, and my aunt gave them to me.

I have to admit, I have no idea what I'm going to do with them. My long range plans for the downstairs bathroom has always been an aqua and black tile bath. I know I am not interested in a salmon pink tile bath, but I do like the way these tiles look with a dove gray:

That's a paint chip of Woodsmoke by Eddie Bauer Home. And again, there are only eight of them. My wheels are turning. Perhaps a framed wall hanging instead? I do not know for sure, only that I'm deeply happy to have something from my childhood back in my life like this. It's the best kind of serendipity.

Fast Vintage Kitchen Cart Rehab

We've been up to two things, mainly, around here in the last two weeks.

1. Rain. No additional explanation necessary.

2. Rock. This kind:

My second oldest, Noah, is involved in a summer School of Rock program every year, and it's been a blast. He's the one in the center of the above photo.

So, while waiting for it to stop raining (again) and between rehearsals and practice, I tackled a small project, this kitchen cart, which was lurking around the basement storage room when we moved in:

It was rust on the tops of the shelves, and spider egg cases under the shelves. Ick.

I was really more in the mood initially for a vintage bar cart for the screen porch, but they are another item that have gotten trendy, and therefore expensive. Also, for a screen porch I wanted something a little more sturdy and little less precious. It needed to take the extremes of temperature and a little abuse. Enter the rusty kitchen cart.

In fifteen minute intervals here and there over the last couple of weeks, I dismantled, cleaned, and sanded the cart:

I had a can of spray paint that looked like the old matte gold color of many mid-century metal decor items, but ran out before I got it all done, only to find that they had discontinued that color. You know, AFTER I'd started the project. Forehead slap.

The closest color I found was more dark bronze, which wasn't what I was going for, exactly, but it was close enough, and I was not wanting this to be a production of hunting down the precise color. I wanted it to be done, not another project waiting indefinitely. And, as my brother-in-law likes to say, "It ain't goin' to the fair."

But as I was putting on a second coat, I realized that spraying the darker color around the edges of the shelves and letting the overspray shade into the center, I had a more realistically vintage looking effect than just one solid color would have been anyway:

Happy accidents. Let's hear it for those!

I put it in the corner near the door of the screen porch, which had looked like this before:

And here's the after:

To protect the top I added a vintage tray:

The tiki fork and spoon are in rough shape. They were $1 items from a box of estate auction junk at a flea market. I cleaned them and sanded them a little, but they need restaining and a little additional work. However, I just decided to hang them to get them up off the floor and out of the way, and I have a feeling they'll probably hang there awhile before I get back to them. So for now, we're just going to say they have "patina." Alright? okay. 

While exterior painting remains the goal (c'mon Mother Nature!), this project is getting me a little closer to making the screen porch a place I actually want to spend time in. 

That's a good thing, even if it isn't on the official schedule.

Meet the Newest Member of the Family

We have taken to calling him Bob. We don't know why.

Bob actually joined us a few months ago, adopted from an Etsy seller, and I've been so impressed with how he just moved right in that I forgot to show him off. I like that he's big (12 inches tall), bold, and brassy.

He lives on the fireplace mantel under the sunburst clock.

If it needs saying, I have no trendy plans to spray-paint him white or some ungodly neon color. Just like Mr. Rogers, I like him just the way he is.

I hope he maintains his dignity when I put tinsel on his antlers at Christmas time.

Flea Market Booty, 2014

The last time my sister and I went to the flea market, in 2012, a great deal of our haul was fabulous vintage ceramics, like this:

This year is was more a mixed, and smaller, bag. For me. My sister got skunked. Seriously. She left the market without a single item. I was tempted to ask if she was running a temperature, but then decided against it. We all know that it happens. Sometimes the Flea Market Goddess decides it's not our day.

I brought home a wonderfully tacky fish planter, which will be used in our bathroom to corral things on the counter. Price? $1

I also spotted this nightstand; I loved the Art Deco lines, even though it had seen better days. Price: $18

Here's a view of the top. It's going to need a little bit of a rescue job:

Once it's feeling more like its pretty self, it will go in my bedroom.

This year, my friend Kristy couldn't go with us, and so instead of getting sunburnt at a county fairground for hours, she gets a glass to put her beer in. I've always kind of liked these older, 6 to 8 oz glasses for beer. That way way you can have more, right? Price: $3

My last item was my biggest "score" in terms of total satisfaction. For the longest time, I've been looking for a garden watering can, and I've been a total Goldilocks about finding one that wasn't too big (heavy) too small (not worth the effort), too flimsy (anything plastic) or too ugly (everything plastic).

A gentleman who was selling spiffed up old farm equipment had this to offer, and it came home with me. Price: $24. Yes, I know, and he wouldn't budge. But it is made like a rock, it's the perfect size, and it won't break or split after one season. I just love the feeling of it in my hand. And I think it's beautiful. Don't you?

The watering can is in itself a preview of the next few posts, which will be garden related. I'll see you soon!