Finders Keepers: Vintage Mirror

Since starting this little frugality project, my shopping problem hasn't so much gone away as its gone the way of thrift stores. So, since I'm making less money, at least regularly, I guess I'm failing, big time.

If I hadn't quit my job, it probably wouldn't be an issue, but I'm probably still spending the same percentage of my income on shopping. Not everything I buy is for my own personal pleasure, of course, but I'd be lying if I said some of the thrift store shopping I've been doing lately wasn't for me. I mean, most of it is either for food styling props or my vintage Etsy shop, but some of it is definitely for me.

My little second-hand shopping problem was worsened — or made better, depending on how you want to look at it — by the fact that I discovered my new secret favorite thrift shop after my nephew's 16th birthday party in the suburbs a few weeks ago. It was packed with amazing housewares, including multiple vintage dish sets.

Exhibit A (which is available in parts in my Etsy shop):

Exhibit B (which will soon be available in my Etsy shop):

The only reason these beautiful mustard dishes aren't listed yet is because I want them all for myself. In fact, we've been using them as our primary dishes for about two weeks now. It's the first time I've ever wanted matching dishes. But at some point I made the stupid mistake of bragging to Kyle that the plates were going for $10 a piece on eBay, and he reminded me (again) that my eye for great vintage won't do us much good if I keep everything for myself.

Ugh. Fine. He's right. Again.

So, today, I swapped these back out for my mismatched stoneware. I hope that when I do list them, that they go to a good home. Maybe even to someone who will have me over for dinner. (Please serve pork. In tacos. With lots of hot sauce. And many margaritas.)

But I'm not parting with everything.

You see, I have a thing for vintage mirrors. And since our trip to Chicago, I've been on the lookout for a mirror similar to the one in our room at Longman & Eagle in Logan Square. I even took a picture so I'd remember it.

I'd been looking online, and hadn't found anything I liked for less than about $150. But on my second trip to the second of many locations of my new secret favorite thrift store, I found this beauty for $15:

I don't exactly know where it will go — especially because it's really heavy and I've already had one vintage mirror fall off the wall here — but I want it to be someplace I'll see it every day. For now, it's on this ledge in our bedroom, which is great since it's covering one of the glue traps I put out for those shithead spideymonsters.

This is definitely one of my favorite thrift store finds, ever. Finders keepers this time.

Everyday Silver

In the last year, I've inherited (if you want to call it that) two collections of silver. The first was a beautiful, velvet-lined box of mostly Rogers Bros. Adoration pattern — dainty silver-plated flatware that belonged to my great aunt Norma — mixed in with some other random pieces that must have belonged to my grandmother, and Norma's sister, Freda. Grandma Freda's mismatched additions are easily identified; like most everything else valuable and metal she owned (keys, platters, used batteries that still had some juice), hers are marked on the back with a dot of bright pink nail polish.

The second silver collection — each set individually wrapped and tied — came from Kyle's grandmother (who is still living in Iowa but recently moved into a smaller place), along with a full set of Haviland china.

For our last few dinner parties, I've busted out the china from Kyle's family and the silver from mine. Because I'm classy like that.

The silver required a good polishing, which was easily accomplished with Bar Keeper's Friend (though as I later found out, that is a major a no-no). Since then, after using it, I've hand washed each piece, dried them with a soft cloth, and put everything back in its box, which I then shoved into an overstuffed makeshift sideboard in our cramped dining room. Well, all of the pieces except for this one spoon, which somehow never made it back into the box and has been through at least five cycles in the dishwasher.

To my surprise, it's totally fine. I was always told I wasn't supposed to put silver in the dishwasher, but I was also always told I wasn't supposed to wear lipstick and eyeliner at the same time, or wear a black bra with a white shirt, and I've been doing both comfortably for years. I'm pretty sure the scratches were there before I was born, and even if they're the result of my abrasive "polishing," I'm okay with that.

So, I think this collection is about to become my everyday silver.



As I prepare for our neighborhood garage sale (and hopefully for a move, should my terrible credit not prevent us from buying a house this summer), I'm trying to get rid of anything we don't need or really, really love.

We simply have too much stuff to live simply — especially in the kitchen.

To try and adapt to our stuff, or at least tame it, I've turned our breakfast nook into an appliance pantry, and trained Kyle on my storage system: "The turkey baster goes in the Not-Commonly-Used-Utensil Drawer, as opposed to the Commonly-Used-Utensil Drawer. Duh."

While I understand (and have supported with many gifts) Kyle's need for a meat grinder, meat slicer and mandoline, and he puts up with my collections of vintage Pyrex, tiny juice glasses and blue Ball jars, there are many more things that can go. The hodgepodge of cheap flatware I've been accumulating since I moved to New York when I was 18 should be among the first. A household of two does not need three different collections of utensils. 

Enter everyday silver. 

Worst-case scenario, a few pieces end up in a nasty fight with the garbage disposal, or after five more trips through the dishwasher, I learn why I'm supposed to wash it by hand. Maybe I'll need to get a few replacement pieces from eBay or Etsy, and mark them with bright red nail polish. Either way, we'll still have a set of "nice silver," right?

Maybe this is why I shouldn't have nice things. But I'd like to think that the practical part of Grandma Freda (no matter how small that part was; the woman did tell me on more than one occasion to always sacrifice comfort for beauty), or at least my Great Aunt Norma (who was a lawyer before it was cool for women to be lawyers) would have appreciated my utilitarian approach to their utensils.  

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