Before and after, the middle pic is the completion of two more “one of a kind” pieces of transformed “junk”.
The dresser has fabric wallpaper on top and on two drawers. Because I learn as I go (much like life) I sometimes have to learn the hard way (again much like life). In regards to the dresser this was most certainly the case. In the future I will apply texture on the front of a piece, no longer on top. Also when applying the paper I tried spray adhesive and it was very difficult, messy and did not stick as well as hoped for. However good old Mod Podge went on with ease and stuck like glue (hee-hee, that was a funny!!!!!)
The beautiful (some may say ugly) lamp was at total labor of love on my part.
When I stumbled upon the two two beat up, paint-stained, tarnished relics of the past at a local yard sale I could feel my eyes widen, palms sweat and my heart skip a beat. I may have even drooled just a little.
I’m fully aware this is not an attractive sight, but sometimes it actually works to my advantage. People usually are pretty quick to want to make a deal and get rid of the crazy lady with the with overactive “junkyard” salvation glands.
You know you suffer from “Junk-a-Mania” when you;
1. can’t pass a wrecking/junk yard without breaking into a cold sweat.
2. peruse craigslist at least twice daily for “free” stuff.
3. painstakingly map out your yardsale route, so as to not miss that one piece of trash, you know you got to have.
4. almost throw your friend out of the car while on approach, but not yet to yardsale curb and in park (to ensure she obtains that broken down table you see another eyeing).
5. your all glassy eyed and look goofier than usual when your talking really good “junk”.
6. wear your oil/paint stain clothing, fingernails with a tinge more pride than embarrassment, while out shopping.
These are just a few of the symptoms affiliated with “Junk-a-Mania, there are too many to list.
Oh and for those of us who love to re-tweek our junk. There is always the before and after pics, we just gotta snap.
This is my latest from yesterday. I made my own chalk-paint and saved probably 80% in doing so. I also discovered JB Weld and it worked so much better than putty for a broken table leg.
Anyone who is blessed enough to live in the land of four seasons, knows there comes a time when we got to admit, we’re tired of white and wet stuff that looks a lot like snow.
Man after a long hard winter, I’m startin to feel more than a little cabin fever and can’t wait to break lose of this ass I’ve been “dragon” all winter long.
Now I just want to spread my “yardsale dragonfly” wings and breath in the old, stank vintage air of antique past, longing for the rebirth of spring.
I’m afraid it’s just a fact my friends, we all get the “monkey on the back” thing at one time or another.
It doesn’t matter if we make every attempt to keep our “ass” out of trouble and live the good life. We are all more than capable of developing an itch that only that stinkin monkey can scratch.
I’m gonna come clean right now and admit my monkey this summer has been frequenting every low down, flea bitten (and monkeys can carry fleas you know) yard sale this side of the Pacific. I’m officially an old lady, yard sale junkie!
It started off as fun. I was just trying to find my treasure in somebody else’s trash. I wanted to give new life to old crap. It was my mission and I thought an innocent one, until recently that is.
But a couple of weeks ago I noticed beads of sweat upon my brow whilst planning the route for my yard sale madness.
I’ve been a little cranky on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays when there’s nobody’s curb I get to pull up to.
My husband is starting to question, “how much money did you spend” when I return with a trunk load just scored.
My children and grandchildren have come to know, grandma ain’t available Thursday, Friday or Saturday before noon and not until she’s got her “junk on”.
I really have almost caused an accident while happening upon a sale, not mapped out on my treasure hunt.
Also I’ve noticed I barely stop the car anymore before racing up to a honey whole of loot. I can feel my eyes start to widen on the approach. My heart races and I feel just like a shark that tastes blood in the water. Dear Lord, I’ve become a bloodthirsty yard sale-er and I need help.
I’ve heard many a time that the first part of the cure is admitting to the problem. With that in mind today I admit “I have a yard sale monkey on my back and I’m telling him to get off my ass.”
At least long enough for me to map out my route for next week, make room in the car for more goodies and convince my spouse I’m the worlds best price negotiator and saving us money in the long run.
It’s official I am now a total yard sale junkie (I hope I don’t have to explain this to you, but just in case, the previous statement is a play on words and FUNNY).
Besides stumbling upon my long lost ass (previous post that you really should go back and read) at a yard sale a few weeks ago, I recently came upon a couple more diamonds in the rough and I do mean rough.
I’m starting to realize that finding the long neglected piece of trash/treasure gets me hooked with just the fun of the hunt. But what really trips the trigger and floats the boat is then getting it home and beating the rough right on out of it. Lord, what a rush! Let me interject right now, that I am one heck of a boomin baby boomer and I know a good rush when I get one.
Enough of that, now back to the good stuff. After paying next to nothing for the junk (which is a high in itself) I can hardly wait to get my refurbishing on!!!!
My husband has told me for years that “it never hurts to put a little paint on the old barn.” I’m pretty sure he has been directing that statement in my direction since menopause. But nonetheless it most definitely applies to my old/new treasures.
It is so satisfying to make something old, new again. Actually as I write, it dawns on me that for me this yard sale-ing, refurbishing thing is a metaphor for life. We all start off shiny (maybe a little pruney too) and new. With much love, luck and sometimes neglect a lot of us get worn out, tired and old. But, hopefully with a little help along the way somebody still sees there’s really no such thing as old junk. There’s treasure in everything and everybody if you know where and how to look.
June 5th 1931 my father was born. February 22nd 2011, my father died. Today as I miss my Dad, I needed to share just a snippet of who he was to me.
I have been thinking of him for weeks leading up to this day. I loved him, miss him and wish I would have let him know more how much I adored him.
With all this said I wanted to write. But not something sad or melancholy. I wanted to write a giggle. I choose to celebrate my Dad today through laughter and I hope some of you can relate.
My Dad was almost as ornery as he was handsome. To his children he was bigger than life. I realize now that Dad was just as big a kid as us and he lived to rattle a cage or two.
I was reminded of this endearing but sometimes embarrassing trait my father epitomized when recently I overheard my husband sharing a story with my grandchildren.
As I listened to my grandchildren howl with laughter I thought of how much my Dad would have loved it. I knew he would have added even a little more flare and shock value. I wanted to share this part of my Dad, the part I loved and sometimes feared just a little, because you never knew what was coming out of that mouth.
So, for just a moment reach back to that awe-struck little kid in each and every one of us. As you sit quietly at Dad’s or PaPa’s feet, just wait for it cause you know you’re not to be disappointed in the tale to be told.
Little Red Riding Hood (with just a twist)
Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived with her mommy and daddy.
This little girl had a grandma who she loved very much. Grandma had not been feeling well as of late. Grandma didn’t live so far off that the little girl couldn’t walk there but then again not just next door either.
The little girl and her mother wanted so much to help grandma get better soon. So they prepared the most wonderful basket of food. They had with delicate precision cut the turkey, cheese and bacon sandwiches. There was homemade chicken soup and hot apple cider. The cookies had chocolate morsels melted within a homemade batter that surpassed anything purchased in the market.
After painstaking food preparation the little girl wrapped herself in her cloak of red and started out for the journey to grandma’s home. Her mother reminded her “don’t talk to stranger’s” and she was off.
Not long into her journey the girl with the red cloak “Little Red
Riding Hood” felt an uneasiness as if someone was following her. She looked about and saw a certain wolf lingering and crouching behind a rock. He had a menacing look about him. She remembered her mother’s words and scurried off.
Further down the road she happened again upon the same scary creature. He looked as is he was up to no good to be sure. He was bent as if hiding behind a small group of bushes. Mother’s words rang loudly in her ears. She ran as fast as her little feet would carry her and as far away as she could get.
Sometime later Little Red Riding Hood knew she was so close to her
destination. She couldn’t wait to nourish her beloved grandma back to health with her basket of love filled goodies. To her dismay though, there he lurked again. He was slouched down and off to the side of a small out building. By this time though, she had enough of his constant and frightening presence. His following her every move had to end here and now. She shouted loudly and forcefully, “why don’t you just go away and leave me alone?” Then to her surprise that slouched down, filthy beast blurted out,
“hey, do you mind I’m trying to take a poop here!”
That’s the version I think my Dad would have loved!!!! I know my grandson’s did.
I’ll preface this little essay with a great big TGIF!!!! I LOVE Fridays. I LOVE Friday’s so much that I think the work week should consist of Monday, Friday, Wednesday, Friday, Thursday would be followed by Friday of course.
Don’t get me wrong, I am so grateful to be employed and for the most part have wonderful job with wonderful people. Nonetheless I am a person who believes totally in enjoying my down time and I do it with zeal. In fact I consider myself somewhat of a professional relax-ologist (I do realize that is not a profession but darn I wish it was, cause I’d be rich).
Okay, now that I’ve flexed my Friday night I’m off work muscle I’ll get to the gist of this little ditty.
I want to know if there are others out there, who don’t or maybe can’t (without hurting themselves) pull out a poker face when need be.
I’ve always hoped to achieve the look of poker face perfection. But a well meaning coworker recently felt the need to point out that I could be “read like a book”. I’m hoping she wasn’t really saying that I could be “read like a well worn book” because that would just be rude. I don’t know for sure though, she has way more of a poker face than I do.
While I pride myself on the fact that with me it’s “what you see is what you get.” I really don’t like that “what you see is what you get” part of me. Because I now realize that I have no stinkin filter on my face!!!!!!
This became even more apparent to me later when talking to another coworker who was asking for my advice on a personal issue. Inside I was screaming out “dear God, where’s the door. I don’t want to tell her what I really think”. On the outside I was trying probably in vain to display a mature, wise and calm demeanor. All the while I was thinking about the fact my face filter was nonexistent. In silence I prayed “face, please don’t fail me now”.
But, I think it probably did because I detected a slight look of disdain in her eyes. Actually, now that I think about it I don’t think she has much of a poker face either because I’m pretty sure there was a “why don’t you go fly a kite” look on her face.
With the spring 2013 baseball season in full swing (hee-hee), I hope you’ll enjoy this repost from one grateful but frugal grandma.
A few years ago my husband Gary and I took our grandson Mikey to a Seattle Mariner’s game.
Oh my, he was excited and I was determined to milk every moment of my super grandma status for all it’s worth!
I had pried my purse strings open, painful as that is for me to do, and actually purchased tickets to something.
After our arrival to the stadium and trudging up step after step to the nosebleed section, I soon realized that maybe I should have pried a little harder on those purse strings. Sometimes you do get what you pay for and this was the case here. The nosebleed section is called that for good reason. Honestly, I thought I may have heard the “Sound of Music” playing off in the distance. I felt we were on a Swiss Alp, Bavarian kind of hike and I started to frantically search for oxygen. In my opinion, the stadium could make a small fortune renting oxygen tanks to cheap grandmas. Thank goodness we eventually collapsed in, I mean arrived to our seats.
But just as soon as those bats started crackin’ things quickly got to a fever pitch and I couldn’t help but get caught up in all the excitement. I must have been delirious from all the action and lack of oxygen because I grabbed the grandkid and announced to my husband I was off to get some eats, a giant finger for Mikey and a $6.00 beer! Good Lord, would the madness never end! Off we went, one lucky grandkid and one blessed grandma.
After dropping more than a buck or two at the concession stand, we collected all our booty and began the long hike back. While making the climb I happened to notice people were staring at me. I thought I was looking nice but I must have been looking real good that day. Wow, maybe they thought I was Mikey’s mom. Climbing, carrying food and sucking in my gut and double chin at the same time was quite a feat. But, with each step my confidence grew almost as big as my head.
Finally we were to our row and had only to squeeze by several people, who looked thrilled to see us coming. As we continually excused ourselves while slipping past fellow spectators, the stares continued and I’m sure I was flashing a smile here and there to all my admirers! Then when we were almost to the safety of our cheap seats, it happened. There was some very nice, possibly also oxygen deprived woman, who felt compelled to let me know, “Excuse me ma’am, but your fly is open”.