"Stuff!"

Remembering former owner of the Christmas Tree Shops (who grew up down the street from Marash Girl), commenting to Marash Girl years ago, "Don't you just love stuff?" That's what happens when you grow up with very little "stuff" and lots of cousins with whom you must share the "stuff" that comes your way! Perhaps the above explains MG's addiction to yard sales! (Can't wait for the next one!)

Drawer Missing?

Drawer missing? Guess why!!!

Photo by MarashGirl©2021 Marash Girl will share an old antique dealer's secret . . . if a dealer is prowling the streets for "finds" and, in fact, finds a "find" with drawers that s/he is unable to carry away, s/he will simply carry away the one drawer s/he can carry until s/he is able to return with a friend and a vehicle to carry that "find" away!

Antiquing with Raffi on a Hot Summer's Day

Some tips to remember when Christmas Shopping on Cape Cod next summer!

1.  Real brass won't attract a magnet, but then neither will white metal.

The weight, then; the weight!

2.  Can't see in the dim light of the shop?  Feel the edge of the dish or the glass for chips . . .

Ama -- didn't you feel the edge of this? It's chipped! You don't want it!  (Out of the mouths of babes!)

And remember . . . even if there is a slight chip, you can use emery paper or an emery board to smooth the chips that you missed!

Use your nose!

"Use your head!"  A favorite expression from the 1940s.  But if you're into antiques, "Use your nose!"

How can you tell a real antique bureau from a fake?  Use your nose! Sniff inside the drawers.  If you're smelling fresh wood, you'll know you've sniffed out a fake.  And if you're smelling mildew, don't buy it!

How can you tell an ancient Roman lamp from a fake? Use your nose! If you're smelling fresh clay, you'll know you've found a genuine fake!

High and Dry in Brimfield, Massachusetts

                        Brimfield Antiques Fair, Brimfield, Massachusetts - September 13, 2015

Overheard

While helping set up for the church fair,  Marash Girl overheard the following interchange during a coffee break:

God helps those who help themselves . . .

But God help those who help themselves (to the antiques on the flea market table!)

The Lord's wrath upon them.

Minister: I'd rather wreak my wrath upon them!

Quick Trip Through the Brimfield Antiques Fair, Brimfield Massachusetts≈

A World of Neckties!

Note the Revolver front left!

Prayed for Peace

Garden faucet handles as colorful as the flowers they water!

Take your pick!

Merry Christmas 1892

Have a Coke!  Or some hot peppers?

Medzmama's Kneading Bowl?

It'll cure what ails ya!

Sea-Ya!

Add an outboard motor to your rowboat and off you go!

Don't row, row, row your boat!

Hmmmmmm.

Feathers of Healing . . . Musqueam Native Lore

Could she still be there?  They met her two years ago, when they drove up a side street off Route 20 looking for a place to park during the Brimfield Fair.  (See http://marashgirl.blogspot.com/2012/12/rain-snow-and-native-americans.html) "Let's see if we can find the same house."  And Marash Boy, the in-house Indian with his unbelievable sense of direction, found her.  This is the street, he said, and that's the house, and there she is!  But this year there were no signs, and she was alone -- her daughter who had been at her side two years ago had died of a serious illness.  Her friend next door who had been with her last year had macular degeneration and could no longer get around so had moved to an elder care facility.  But there she was, alone, accepting this year only $3 for parking a block from the Brimfield Fair.  Do you remember us? they asked.  Of course, she answered.  You told us about praying for the health of our loved ones whenever we find a bird's feather on the ground.  Yes, she said, and I still do that.   

When I find a feather, I wonder who has fallen ill. You know, when I find a large feather, I know it means a serious illness.  I take the feather inside, place it in a vase or a bottle, and pray for the healing of the ill one.  I pray harder over the larger feather, for the larger feather represents the greater illness, and less insistently over the smaller feathers which represent the less serious illnesses.  My brother died at the beginning of World War I, and then my father moved out of the city --  bought a farm in West Brimfield.  I graduated from Springfield Tech in 1945. My family is from the Musqueam Indian Band  located up by Canada.  Grey Wolf wanted to marry me, but I didn't like him.  I married a man who was half Italian and half Irish.  We loved each other.  

The threesome chatted a bit more, and then Marash Boy and Marash Girl bid farewell to the woman and wandered down the hill to the Brimfield Fair . . . Take a look at the photo below and comment.  What are the chances that, very soon after leaving their Musqueam Native friend, they would find this bottle of feathers at a booth at the Brimfield Antiques Fair?  (The only bottle of feathers they saw during their whole tour of the fair!)

[More photos of the Brimfield Fair tomorrow!] 

Yard Sale Time!

Having prepared all week for today's yard sale (255 Newtonville Avenue, Newtonville, MA, 8-3), Marash Girl will be (from 6 AM on) busy having fun sharing her antiques and collectibles with whomever comes by to browse.  If you don't know who Marash Girl is, here's your chance to meet her.  Just come to the yard sale today and look for the woman behind the table of antiques and collectibles, grinning from ear to ear, happy to  have put together the "social event of the year"!!! 

Yard Sale, Saturday, June 22, 2013, 8-3, Newtonville, Massachusetts

Having forgotten that all of her "yard sale" tables were somewhere on the top of the mountain in Wilbraham, the access barred by fallen trees and fallen neighbors, Marash Girl planned a yard sale for this Saturday, much to Marash Boy's dismay.  Marash Girl's most fun times, Marash Boy's least fun times.  Thus all of yesterday was taken up with collecting borrowed tables from kindly friends to display Marash Girl's antiques and collectibles, books and vintage jewelry, items she has collected over the years, items she no longer needs to look at!  Bargains galore for the lover of beautiful things.  Wanna peek?  Come by 255 Newtonville Avenue, Newton Corner/Newtonville, this Saturday (that's in three days!) from 8 to 3, and browse and buy at 10 cents on the dollar.  Nothing can go back into the house.  That's the deal!

Well, Marash Girl wrote the above in September of 2012, and guess what?  It rained, so there WAS no yard sale and nothing ever even left the house.
BUT the weather man promises that this time the sun will shine, so that on June 22, 8-3, we'll have our yard sale, same bargains, but even more furniture and collectibles!

Hope to see you there!

Eliot Church of Newton's Fair and Flea Market, Centre Street, Newton Corner, Today!

A volunteer prices the jewelry at the "Deck Yourself Out" table, after she has hung up the red prom dress worn by a Newton Corner lovely at Newton North High School's 1994 Senior Prom. It's a Size 10, should anyone be interested!

Volunteers at the Eliot Church have been working all week preparing for the annual Eliot Church Fair.  Don't miss this year's Fall Fair and Flea Market at the Eliot Church, 474 Centre Street in Newton Corner (just around the corner from Exit 17 on the Mass. Turnpike) -- today from 9:30 AM to 3:00 PM.  Books, jewelry, rugs, dishware, collectibles, toys, bargains galore, live music, fun and games for the kids will greet you when you arrive,  and after you've shopped 'til you drop, sit down for a cup of coffee, a snack, or a cup of cider and a sandwich in the snack bar set up outside of the room of treasures.  See you there!

Yard Sale This Saturday

Having forgotten that all of her "yard sale" tables were somewhere on the top of the mountain in Wilbraham, the access barred by fallen trees and fallen neighbors, Marash Girl planned a yard sale for this Saturday, much to Marash Boy's dismay.  Marash Girl's most fun times, Marash Boy's least fun times.  Thus all of yesterday was taken up with collecting borrowed tables from kindly friends to display Marash Girl's antiques and collectibles, books and vintage jewelry, items she has collected over the years, items she no longer needs to look at!  Bargains galore for the lover of beautiful things.  Wanna peek?  Come by 255 Newtonville Avenue, Newton Corner/Newtonville, this Saturday (that's in two days!) from 9 to 4, and browse and buy at 10 cents on the dollar.  Nothing can go back into the house.  That's the deal!

Brimfield late in the day on Friday the 13th

Brimfield Massachusetts is the site of the largest outdoor antique show in New England, with over 5000 dealers from all over the country.  The show occurs 3 times a year, in May, July, and September, and has been taking place along the farmlands bordering Route 20 (the Old Boston Post Road) since the 1950's, when Gordon Reid used to host auctions in one of the fields.  These auctions, popular in their own right, soon expanded (thanks in part to  Gordon Reid's son, an entrepreneur who began the move from one field into today's mile long, 3 times a year 7 day outdoor antiques fair.  The farmers along this route no longer farm their fields; the sprouting of tents in May, July and September is far more lucrative than any crop could be!  This year, Marash Girl and Karoun intended to visit (after a 3 year hiatus), if only to take photos, but the 2nd to the last day of this July's fair was hot, the dealer's tempers short (as were, in most likelihood, their sales), and the wares as well as the photo ops slim pickings.

A 'mid-century' glass vase turns out to have begun life as a glass of Coca-Cola for its owner, who here illustrates the way in which he drank a glassful of Coca-Cola  in Italy  thirty years ago from this very vase.  The vase was on his $5 table and hadn't sold yet.  It was 3:00 PM.

Usually impossible to locate, this porter in need waits for a customer in need, with no luck.  No wonder tempers were short on Friday the 13th.

1952 Chevy Graces Maple Avenue in Newton Corner

Caught in an old-fashioned vapor lock on Tuesday night in 80+ degree weather, this 1952 Chevy was boarded onto an automobile trailer on Maple Avenue in Newton Corner, much to Marash Boy's delight!

The simple Chevy coupe was adorned with tail fins possibly from a Cadillac, white wall tires, and an extended transmission shift with an old-fashioned ball top peeking above the windshield.  It appeared as if the automobile trailer belonged to the owner of the car  suggesting that he may be the proud owner of many vintage cars. Marash Girl's only question:  If your car stalls from a vapor lock on a hot day, why would you drive it on an 80 degree day, even though you're in New England and it's still March 20?

Wisdom, Step by Step

Every day as she climbs up and down the stairs in her Victorian home of three floors and a basement, Marash Girl recalls a refrain repeated by her mother (known as Grandma Jennie to Nisha, Lorig, Deron & Karoun).  Mummy would always call out, as she saw anyone heading upstairs (in her "three-family" home of three floors), "Don't go upstairs empty-handed!" Or when we headed downstairs to the cellar where the pool table abided, "Don't go down empty-handed!"  Thus the habit of always leaving little piles at the tops and bottoms of every staircase, awaiting the chance moment when anyone might be headed in either direction!  (Years ago, Marash Girl noticed that her cousin did the same, even though her house had only two floors and a cellar!  Either her cousin's mother called out to her cousin similarly, or her cousin had heard Auntie Jennie's words of wisdom!) (Marash Girl's mother, by the way, grew up in a three-decker house on Vassal Lane in Cambridge, clearly the source of her daily call of wisdom.)  

Years later, Marash Girl developed the wonderful habit of antiquing, and even later, when she moved to the suburbs, of yard-saling (yard-sailing is how it felt) and lo, and behold, she saw the embodiment of her mother's words! 

The step-basket!   Although Marash Girl did not recognize the basket for what it was (she had to ask), the concept that her mother had taught her all her life was there before her eyes!  It was the wisdom of the ages, the wisdom woven into an antique New England basket, a basket handed down for generations, a wisdom handed down for generations.

'Yardsaling' with my father

My father loved antiques, not because they were antiques, but because they were made by craftsmen.  He recognized and valued good work.  He was the best person to have along with me on yard sale Saturdays.  He would spot furniture that I never saw, way in the corner of the yard.   (At an 'everything for free' yard sale, he saw the most valuable item there -- an old wooden trunk; it was late in the day and everyone else had missed it.)  He never complained when I saw a lamp sitting on the sidewalk on trash day -- he knew he could fix it and it would be far better than any lamp you could buy in a store today.

He welcomed the pile of 'sticks' I brought to him one day -- sticks that had been sitting on the sidewalk, free for the taking.  He reconstructed those sticks into their original state -- and presented me with an early handmade Massachusetts chair, circa 1795.  He not only put that chair together, but had his artist friend touch up the hand painting that had been damaged on the back of that chair.

He saw value in what other people threw away, and gave me my first lessons in true recycling.

Tin Can Trading Post, Jughead & Archie, 60 years later

It was like walking back in time.  We were in the Catskills, drinking wonderful coffee made for us by the proprietor of Cafe Devine (Lower Main Street, Callicoon, NY).  Energized, we started to explore the 'downtown' when almost immediately, we found ourselves ambling past an alleyway. Always curious, we backed up and decided to explore, and glad we were, because  at the end of the alley was none other than Jughead!  But where was Archie?  We didn't have to wait too long to find him, and when we did, we immediately asked him to pose with his friend for us, and if he did, we promised to write a blog post on his newly opened funky antique shop, a shop like the ones we remembered from the 1960's, a shop where you could still feel like you were exploring grandmother's attic.  If you're ever in the Catskills, after you drink coffee at Cafe Devine, be sure to visit Jughead and Archie, better known as the Tin Can Trading Post, Callicoon, New York. (This is the blogpost we promised you, Archie!)

CLAMPS IN MY FAVORITE COLOR

All my life I have loved clamps.  Perhaps because my father loved them. Clamps -- those sturdy metal gizmos that are the magical difference between success and failure in the furniture repair world.  My father had clamps in all shapes and sizes, and used them to repair any piece of furniture that wanted repairing. Whenever I found a clamp at a yard sale, I would buy it as a gift for my father, knowing he would say, 'Sure!  I can always use another clamp!'

I miss my father.  I miss being able to bring him a chair all in pieces -- pieces of wood sitting abandoned on a sidewalk (that story later). I miss hearing him say, Sure, I can fix that.  Just bring it over!  I miss telling Joan that my father would be more than happy to travel to East Brookfield, Massachusetts, (and this was when he was 88 years old) to repair her son Michael's dining room table, and I miss Michael's grin when my father had, in fact, repaired that table that now looked better than new.  

No, my father was not a furniture repair expert.  He was an expert in repairing almost anything and everything, and he took great pride in doing so.  His expertise -- repairing the world around him, both physically and spiritually.  [He would say about now, Bethel, you're going a little too far!] His workbench, scarred and worn, wound all around the inside perimeter of the basement, a sturdy workbench set just at the height that he could comfortably work, day or night, whenever he was bored or had a spare minute, or wanted to lend a helping hand to someone who had given up hope of ever again hearing their favorite music box (yes, something that small) or using their grandmother's table again.  My father was a genius with his hands and his heart.

Two days ago, while the popovers were in the oven (see Popovers Again?), when I went to set the table, I noticed that the bottom edge of our newest dining room chair (not so new, admittedly), our only dining room chair with arms, had a damage at the front edge just under the seat (don't know what that piece on a chair is officially called, though my father would). How it happened, I couldn't imagine, but the bottom edge of the support under the seat had split and was almost ready to fall off.  In the past when such things happened, all I had to do was pick up the phone and call my father; or better yet, arrive at his cellar doorstep carrying the injured item.  But yesterday I turned plaintively to my husband and asked him if he still had the clamps that my father had left him.  And my sweet husband, never to disappoint, arrived after a few minutes with a long pipe with orange (my favorite color) clamps and a small plastic bottle of Gorilla Wood Glue. My father must have been smiling down from heaven when he saw my husband holding together the split piece of wood on the bottom edge of the chair's seat (below).

The Gorilla Glue, (not Guerilla Glue, which is what I thought I had heard him say) had been at room temperature for 24 hours. Here is my husband (right) carefully applying the glue and gently pressing the pieces of wood together, granted not on a workbench, but at my dining room table!

Above you can see the beautiful antique clamp attached to the chair. (My husband had protected the cloth seat with the blue plastic bag that had protected one of his New York Times from the snow and rain!)

 Today, removing the clamp from the chair . . . success!

Success engenders courage. With the same orange clamps, my husband took on another, more delicate project, again on the dining room table. The project: repairing an early 20th century plastic handle that had broken off of the handmade, turn-of-the-century French hutch which resides in our kitchen (the hutch, that is, without its broken handle.)

Gently, gently, he tightens the clamp as I hold my breath . . .

And here it is -- it didn't break!  And I think it will set correctly -- we'll know for sure in 24 hours!