Junk Love: The Hutch

Have you ever fallen in love? Instant, gut-searing, I-have-to-have-you-or-I'll-die love? We have, on many occasions, fallen victim to this condition. Usually, it involves vintage cocktail items or pinups. But once upon a time...it was a gigantic piece of furniture.

We were in the Wilmington, NC area for vacation. The week had been spent mostly in our pajamas in a beach house, watching movies and putting together puzzles. It was a time of relaxation, where our mental reset buttons would be gently pushed. We might venture into town for a nice meal or a stroll around the local antique shops (otherwise we would dry up and die). One night, we drove to the beach to get our toes wet under a wide expanse of Carolina stars. The next day, we journeyed into the big city to have lunch with someone we know there. And afterwards, as we sat in the car waiting for the AC to catch up, one of us said, "I wonder if there's a thrift store on the way back to the house?"

Indeed, there was. And within ten seconds of walking through the door, I was shoving people aside as I rushed to greet my future: a mid-century hutch by Young Manufacturing Co. Glass panels on the sides, glass shelves, and it lights up. At $225, it was pricey for a thrift store find, but a bargain for such a large piece. As I spotted another customer strolling toward it with a contemplative gleam, I considered licking the doors to stake my claim. Luckily, there are TWO Blackbird girls--one to find a sales associate, and one to body-check anybody stupid enough to tread on our turf.

Hutch in its native habitat

Lusty excitement aside, we are also practical gals, so my first action was to get the tape measure from the car. The hutch is two pieces, incredibly heavy, and too big for both parts to fit in the car simultaneously. But, considered individually, each piece would fit. We were an hour from the beach house, but decided it was worth it to make two trips. I gleefully paid for the hutch. And then Carl happened.

Carl is the guy in charge of moving things. And Carl is the sort of fellow who will laugh in a woman's face and tell her how stupid she is. I learned this the hard way. 

I want to take the top half first I told him. It will slide in at an angle, and I have blankets to cushion (because you have to travel with blankets for this exact purpose). He shook his head and laughed and condescendingly informed me that the piece was too big. The top is 48 inches I said. I have 52 inches of clearance in the car. Carl snorted and asked where from my body I happened to pull those numbers. I held up my tape measure, and he snatched it from my hand. I watched through the window as Carl measured my hutch top, watched him shake his head when he realized that it was, indeed, 48 inches high. And then he came outside and tossed the tape measure at me. He spat on the asphalt in front of my toes, and told me that he didn't care what size it was. Nobody was putting that piece in my car. Then he instructed all of his staff not to help us. It was too heavy for two Blackbird girls to handle, and so we were stuck.

From here we entered a Dark Time, during which we called everyone we knew, who called people, who called people, and eventually, we were able to get someone with a truck to come help us. Half of the hutch went in the truck, and the other half went into my car. Sounds like a sweet ending to the story, right? I may have neglected to mention the fact that I didn't technically have room for this piece of furniture at home. Indeed, there was the not-so-small matter of a piano in the exact spot where the hutch would have to live.

The bottom half of the piece, which I affectionately referred to as Hutch Butt, lived in my SUV for over two months. If I got groceries, I would slide open the doors and lower bags into the Hutch Butt. If I slammed on the brakes, it would nudge the back of my seat like a friendly high-five. While Hutch Butt camped in my car, and Hutch Top lived in somebody's garage, I tried to get rid of the piano. Not surprisingly, those tend to be really hard to re-release into the wild. Eventually, I figured out a way to fit the hutch into my house WITHOUT getting rid of the piano--or anything else!

Hutch Butt grows accustomed to its new habitat

All it took was twelve hours of sweaty labor, moving four other pieces of furniture and dozens of associated tchotchkes and pieces of wall art, but finally, there was a space for Hutch Butt. The delivery of Hutch Top was a joyous event, and there was rejoicing in the streets (except not really, because there is no air conditioning out there). Finally, finally, finally--the hutch was in my house, ready to be filled with pottery and other assorted items. The moral of this story? Love is hard work, but a girl would do almost anything for decent storage.

Hutch Butt and Hutch Top compare stories from their time apart

We have news!  The Blackbird Girls are writing a book! But we desperately need YOUR help! We've been saving our pennies for a while now so we could do a trip like this, and then write a book about American Vintage junk and travel destinations. We were afraid it would be years and years before we had the opportunity to do this trip the way it needs to be done, but surprise! -- the opportunity (a month when we both can get away for an extended period of time) has presented itself this summer. 

We decided to try a Kickstarter project to make our dream a reality. We need to raise some funds to help us self-publish the book. This is where we need all you lovely people -- check out our Kickstarter page using the link below (we made a funny video, so it's worth checking out). If you can help us, thank you from the bottom of our hearts! You can pledge as low as $10 and up from there, and there are some awesome rewards for you if you do. And please SHARE this blog post with everybody you know -- we only have 30 days to reach our goal, and it's an all-or-nothing deal. The more people hear about it, the more chance we have of reaching our dream! We LOVE you guys!

Junk Love: Gotta Get a Fix

I recently traveled to Ireland (sadly, without the other Blackbird). It is beautiful, despite the fact that they have been experiencing a "heat wave" resulting in days that were 78 degrees and breezy, with alternating hours of bright sunshine and melancholy mist. How did I even survive????

It was tougher than you would think. The trip didn't start out on the best note. I had to work a half day, and before I even changed into my comfiest pair of pants, learned that my travel companion (who shall remain nameless) did not have my plane ticket. So, we had to rush to the airport, wait in line, argue my way into a new ticket, and then...our flight was delayed.

Several hours later, we were running in the dead of night trying to make our next flight, which was on the complete opposite side of the airport. We made it, barely...

Only to discover upon landing that the airline lost our luggage. And we had to wait for a bus--not a tour bus, but a city bus--to drive us almost two hours to our hotel. Where our room wasn't ready. And our tour guide grabbed us as soon as we walked in the door to go on our first group excursion out in the city, wearing yesterday's clothes and a day and a half of travel grime. I thought we had reached rock bottom, until the next morning when I discovered that our hotel did not have complimentary conditioner. So, on the second day, I got to walk the city with a ginormous frizz-bomb, frightening store clerks, waitresses, and small children the whole way.

I was feeling a little desperate, a little jittery, and really (REALLY) cranky. I knew what I needed, and I kept a sharp lookout for it--that glorious word...ANTIQUES. The second I walked inside, calmness descended upon me like a cozy blanket. I was with junk, and it was all going to be okay.

I didn't buy anything, but it was interesting to see all of the stuff--things that I've never seen here. If you ever need a Victorian earwax picker, or maybe a carved cigarette holder holder (yes, a holder for a cigarette holder), then I know where to send you.

Back on the street, I was now a cheerful frizz-bomb, and possibly scarier because of it. I stopped for a delicious lunch at a street cafe, where I had a religious experience with warm goat cheese, and then window-shopped my way in the general direction of the tour bus. But, something was nagging me. There was a little buzzing in my ear. I felt a magnetic tug. And, instead of going straight toward the waiting bus, I suddenly turned down a side street, and then again onto an even narrower street. I had twenty minutes until the bus was going to leave me, but I just knew--and then, at the very end of the street, I saw the words Vintage Clothing painted on a window.

Inside, I was a maniac. I knew I was almost out of time. But even if it meant walking the ten miles back to the hotel, I was going to buy something in this store. I dug through drawers of scarves. I creeped out a cute guy who was trying on blazers with a sense of purpose (my hair seriously gave new meaning to a bad hair day). And then I found a rack with my very favorite word hanging above it: SALE.

I had five minutes to pull 5 vintage dresses, all marked down to 5 euro a piece, throw them at the clerk, shove a wad of money at her, and then book it to the bus (with a necessary stop at Butler's Chocolate Cafe on the way). By the time I got back to the hotel, I was in a whole new frame of mind, riding the junk buzz and sipping my delicious dark hot chocolate. This trip was going to be great!

And then I spent twelve days--TWELVE DAYS--without seeing another junk shop. I thought I was going to die. It wasn't until our second day in Dublin that I found salvation (in a church, no less). The tour guide was lecturing about regimental flags in St. Patrick's Cathedral, and I picked up a free map of the city, unfolded it, and saw the most beautiful words: ANTIQUES DISTRICT. My breath came quicker. I knew what I had to do.

So, when it was time for the group to move on to the next stop, I pulled the guide aside and informed her that I was leaving. And I took my new map and walked happily out the door, all by my lonesome.

Sadly, the antiques district has fallen on hard times. A lot of the shops were no longer in business, and it was a holiday weekend, so others had closed early. But, I went into the rest anyway. It was not my district, wallet-wise, but still nice to see so many exotic woods, Clarice Cliff, fine Victorian pieces, and more mahogany than I knew existed in the world. I felt better, but still incomplete.

So, I walked over to the Temple Bar district, a funky, artsy collection of shops, bars, and street performers. They were having a flea market, and I stopped at a table of books. There wasn't anything I needed, until I saw the binoculars. It was love at first sight, despite the fact that there is a tiny crack in the end of one eyepiece. Even better, the price tag said 15 euro. Just to be sure, I used them to watch people for a minute or so (my rule is to only buy the ones that are usable for spying).

I told the man that I'd like to buy them. He didn't seem on board with my idea for some reason.

Me: I'd like to buy these, please.
Him: (frowning) But they're damaged.
Me: I know. But I want to buy them.
Him: But they're damaged. And they're 15 euro.
Me: I know. I want them.
Him: (talking slowly, as if I'm mentally handicapped) But they are damaged.
Me: Here's 15 euro.
Him: No, you don't need these. They're damaged. And they're 15 euro. For damaged ones.
Me: Take the money and walk away, old man, BECAUSE I NEED THESE FRIGGIN' BINOCULARS!

Well, the last bit happened only in my head. I basically threw my 15 euro at him and walked away really fast with the binoculars cradled to my chest.

And it felt so good. The buzz was back. I had another lovely meal, went back to the hotel, and spent the next half hour looking at all the stuff in my hotel room (and out the window) that I could see with my new binoculars.

Once again, I had my fix. It is probably the only thing that kept me from committing murder as we traveled home--you know, customs, missing ticket (this time my travel companion didn't have one), and the airline losing our luggage AGAIN. Still, after I got home, and air-hugged my house, and slept in my very own bed, what was the first thing I wanted to do? Goodwill.

After all, a girl needs junk on a regular basis to feel human. Right?

Junk Love Monday: Are We There Yet?

Long trips are great, but we don't always have the time (or the funds) to play Lewis and Clark. So, we try to take short trips several times throughout the year, usually around 2 to 3 days. We try to achieve a careful balance between planning and spontaneity for these trips to reduce our chances of wasting time and gas. In the week prior to the trip, we make lists and check Google maps and write down addresses and phone numbers (because we like to make sure that we're driving to places that actually still exist and function as retail locations). Then, we throw a couple of duffel bags in the back, and decide as we travel whether we want to stick to our original path, or stop in that cute little town and see what's there.

We usually have better luck when we stick to the lists, but sometimes it's the unplanned stops that end up being junk gold mines. This brings to mind one trip in particular, which shall always be known as That Time We Almost Went to Georgia.

The Blackbird girls are infamous for being slow travelers. What should be a three hour drive becomes an eleven hour event, because we are basically children with bank accounts. We stop. Often. An hour on the road makes us squirmy, and two hours becomes Are We There Yet? The bright side of this is that neither of us is particularly worried about checking into a hotel at midnight, as long as we got good junk along the way.

We decided to go to Georgia for two nights. We made our lists, threw in our bags, and hit the road. An hour later, because we were already itching for a fix, we had to make a quick thrift store stop to stretch our legs. It was an auspicious beginning. Within the first five minutes, I found the love of my life (one of many, I admit):

Ahh, globes....

We made it across the border to South Carolina, stopping here and there as the inspiration hit us, finding all sorts of little thrift stores and independent junk shops. And it was good junk, so we had to keep looking, right? Otherwise, we might have missed this:

Part of the ever-growing cocktail collection

By the time 6pm rolled around, we were still in South Carolina. In the northern regions, actually. Just barely across the border. The thing about 6pm is that most smaller junk shops close at 4, 5, or 6pm. Salvation Army thrift stores close at 5pm or 6pm. Goodwills may close at 6, 7, 8, or 9pm, depending on the region. So you have a choice: do you keep driving, knowing that you might not find any more stores open, or do you stop for the night so that you can hit them all during early business hours? Nothing is more depressing than driving past closed thrift stores for hours at a time. Like I said, we have short attention spans when it comes to car travel. So, we found a hotel, got some food, and decided to continue to Georgia the next day.

We got up early-ish (thrift stores tend to open at 9am, so there's really no rush), and came upon a couple of shops within 5 or 10 minutes of the hotel. Thirty minutes later, we were repacking the car in the parking lot. Then we found another shop. And another. Then what happened? It was 6pm again, and we were STILL IN SOUTH CAROLINA, and we had repacked the car TWICE to accommodate the stuff. So, we stayed another night. At this point, Georgia was a distant dream, because we only had one more day, and that was supposed to get us back home.  Also, the car was almost full.

We decided to make a loop, rather than retrace our route, because it was unlikely that all of those shops had fully restocked in the last 48 hours, and we might as well keep looking for junk. And...we found more stuff. We pulled off to a deserted end of a parking lot and repacked the car again. It took us the whole day, but we finally made it back home. In a straight drive, it would have taken us 5 hours to get to our first planned destination in Georgia. In our entire three day trip, we were never more than 3 hours from home.

This trip, like most others, happened in a Toyota Yaris hatchback. (I acquired an SUV a few months ago, so we now have double the cargo space.) The Yaris is a small car. Some would call it tiny. But I happen to excel at maximum utilization of a space. In other words, I am the Master Packer of our duo. Here is a picture of the car when we got home (and technically, we could have stopped a few more places--notice that there's still room in the car):

The next morning....

I recently discovered a list of our purchases from that trip (the only time we've bothered to make one), so here's the breakdown of what the Yaris brought home:
-mid-century lamp w/ vintage shade
-2 metal cupcake displays
-tin litho globe
-breakfast tray
-2 stretched fabric pictures
-3 framed needlepoints
-2 embroidered throw pillows
-7 vintage plaid wool blankets
-crochet blanket
-large plaid suitcase
-small floral suitcase
-3 ice buckets
-Strawberry Shortcake bedspread
-wicker wall shelf
-small wicker bookcase
-tin litho recipe box
-3 pcs. vintage fabric
-unframed needlepoint
-wooden tabletop book rack
-6 vintage purses
-12" metal display stand
-2 ceramic clowns
-3 sconces
-3 bird plaques
-vintage recipe binder
-vintage curtain panels
-vintage wall-mount tie rack
-7 scarves
-4 neckties
-embroidered wall hanging
-wall-mount clothing rack
-4 tea towels
-bucket
-jar
-floral runner
-Teddy Ruxpin bear
-1939 Atlas
-metal magazine rack
-vintage coffeepot
-2 sets vintage fondue plates
-5 patterns
-2 framed watercolors
-framed Navy class photo
-vintage ornaments
-pie keeper
-swizzle sticks
-6 vintage tins
-nesting doll
-misc. dishes, S&P, mugs
-misc. restaurantware
-large Atlas
-2 nut dishes
-men's tweed hat
-Turkish bottle
-amber hobnail egg plate
-vintage mail holder
-12 records
-giant metal fork & spoon
-sm. red desk lamp
-lg. framed Eiffel tower print
-wire egg basket
-2 vintage board games
-metal tray
-38 books
-5 vintage planters
-2 humans, 2 suitcases, 2 pillows, various snacks

We probably could have ventured a little farther in South Carolina, but once the car is packed to a certain point, it's risky to continue putting home base farther behind you. Even now, when we talk about That Time We Almost Went to Georgia, we get sidetracked by all the junk we found in such a small area, and we want to do it again. Sorry, Georgia. Maybe next time. Or maybe we'll plan a trip to Florida (wink wink). That should at least get us to Savannah before the SUV fills up and we have to turn around.