There was only one estate sale in the area last weekend, so I ran into local bloggers/dealers Dona & Connie while I was there. They packed Dona's truck to the brim. I walked away with just a few things, but then noticed that the house across the street was having a sale, too. While I was paying for my pile of stuff, the homeowner's son walked into the garage, looked at my pile and asked, "Is someone really buying this stuff? Why would someone buy this?". In my mind, I told him that someone would buy it because his mother is a sucker and was selling it all for a pittance. And then I slapped him in the face (in my mind).
Here's a white matte pottery planter, five apple green shutters, a pink apron, set of six floral-painted tin coasters, and a daisy throw. Does anyone know if that type of flowery knitting or crocheting has a name?
I found these at a thrift store. The heavy mother/baby statue appears to be a garden ornament. It is made from cement (or plaster?), and then painted to look like wood.
I have a feeling that the lovely ladies at the thrift store thought this pitcher was a Made-in-China castoff from HomeGoods. God, I love when people are wrong. I think this one's an oldie.
And for something vintage-inspired, but not quite vintage...here is the new lamp over our kitchen table: the Porter Pendant from Pottery Barn. It has an adjustable cord and weighted pulley that let you adjust the height.
And the part that I am most proud of? Chris and I actually installed it ourselves. My whole family just pooped their pants from the shock of it all. I don't do electricity...ever since I stood in my brother's bedroom with a flashlight while my dad asked me to "keep an eye on that broken outlet while I go to the basement and flip the breaker". He wanted to see what would happen. Well, I'll tell you what effing happened. The outlet exploded in my face and my brother's bed caught on fire. I took my fried bangs, hauled ass out of the room, and ended up in the fetal position next to the front door. Thankfully, I was just far enough away from the explosion that I wasn't burned. And there wasn't too much damage to the house because my dad ran upstairs with a fire extinguisher. My dad, the accountant: not the handiest of men, but at least he was prepared.