I've Got a Bone to Pick

But then again, don't I always? Ha Ha.

Several people have actually asked me if these bones are REAL.



UMMM... Yeah they are, let me know if you're going to buy them so I can go rob another grave. Why do they cost 25 bucks? Well, that includes the vintage crate they are nestled in, and do you know what a bitch it is to boil the flesh off of a skeleton?

Seriously, People! I mean I'll float a doll head in a jar of fake formaldehyde (see Previous Post) but I'm pretty above selling actual human remains. And not just because there are laws against things like that; I tried it once and it totally stank up the shop. (YES I AM KIDDING!!)

Do you think I need a sign that says "No bodies were harmed in the making of this STYROFOAM skeleton"?!?

Scary Stuff

More from the "SERIOUSLY?" Files... I swear I should just rename this blog "Seriously?"

I can't even imagine what 'real' celebrities have to put up with in the way of bizarre unsolicited feedback, but I'm pretty sure they must all have a really thick skin, which I am trying desperately to grow. I have been getting a great deal of shall we say, unsavory emails, regarding our creepy campy Halloween decorations made out of doll parts.

Maybe it's unfortunate I grew up in an unpolitically correct time (not that long ago!) when Halloween meant guys with their head sewn on with thumbtack looking bolts out of the sides (Frankenstein, anyone?) and skeletons did not offend everyone who happened to have a dead relative.

So I was overjoyed when Claudia kicked off the fall season with a few ghoulish creations she made out of doll parts she's been saving all year.







Come on now, do you look at these and think "ooh this woman worships Jeffrey Dahmer, damn her and her shop to hell!" Or do you think, dang that would make an awesome decoration at my Halloween Party. Honestly, you don't have to embrace it; People have, and excitedly bought these 3; but I understand it might not be everyone's cup of tea. You might think it's in poor taste, that's OK. I can appreciate that. I respect people's opinions and moral and religious views. But I think sending me emails saying 'stop with the creepy doll creations they are too evocative of dead babies' is a little over the top. You might want to find a clinic to picket instead.

I'd say 9 out of 10 people have given us rave reviews on these items; even if it's "I love that, I wish I could buy it but it would freak my kids out" I consider it a positive. But, let's see, just the other day there was one guy declaring to his wife "I don't consider THAT Art, that's disgusting." I wish I thought to tell him if it were really meant to be ART the prices would be a LOT SCARIER.

A Sad Tale

Warning: Extreme Tearjerker.

A funny thing happens when you share your life on a Blog and it develops a following; people start to feel like they know you and are a part of your extended family. (Reference: anytime Kenny makes an appearance at the shop he's invariably met with a stranger saying "Hi Kenny!" accompanied by a look that says "you poor hen-pecked schmuck" while he innocently wonders, do I KNOW you? Poor Kenny.

And it's not uncommon for folks to ask me "How are your dogs?" A question which has had me for the past few weeks choking back the right response. So it's with a sad heart that I let you Dear Readers know that we lost our Izzy last week. Dog Cancer sucks.

Now that you've got your Kleenex out let's take a moment to remember some of the highlights of Izzy's life. She was only six but she packed a LOT of living into those years.

We adopted Izzy while on our honeymoon in Maine in 2005. Whenever I feel the need to point out that Maine was a lame-ass honeymoon destination, I remind myself that's where we got Izzy.

We were dead set on getting a dog on our honeymoon because we had lost our late great dog Shane a few months before the wedding. Kenny narrowed it down to three dogs at the shelter: one labeled "FEAR BITER", the second "Food Agression" and the third... a goofy-looking brindle Plott Hound named Chanel. This 'busy bee' with a 'melodious bay' had already been returned once to the shelter; we couldn't imagine why.

She didn't know the name Chanel and in keeping with naming all of our animals after members of the band Guns & Roses (Kenny!), we christened her Izzy and took her home to meet her new cat siblings Axl & Slash. On first introduction there was a bit of a scuffle and we ran into the house only to find 70-pound Izzy... standing on our dining room table.

Izzy was skinny and all legs and her exuberant style of running around the yard came to be known as 'spizzing'. She was a dog of many nicknames, and she responded to them all. You may know her by her gangsta rap name "Notorious S.P.I.Z." She won a Dog Grammy for the hit single "As Brindle as I Wanna Be".

Before opening Salvage Chic I spent many years in corporate hell as a project manager and contract negotiator. One day in the home office I was on a particularly hellish call when Izzy slunk by with one of my wedding shoes in her mouth. I wish I could remember which company's CTO got an earful of "IZZY!" because I sure as hell didn't have my headset muted.

The first time she howled I thought there was an ambulance in my backyard.

Once while loading groceries into my Jeep at Stop & Shop about a half mile away, I distinctly heard her howling all the way from my house. No wonder our neighbors never invite us over for dinner.

Weird things Izzy ate: 2 Netflix DVDs. Had to email them and they didn't take it well.

I know these stories about Izzy are starting to make that Marley & Me dog look like a martyr; but really Izzy turned out to be such a nice dog. The day we installed our fence was the day we realized "A TIRED dog is a GOOD dog."

In fact, we should call her Saint Izzy because she spent the last three years of her life with her menacing brother Duff's mouth around her neck, and never lashed out.

She loved her kiddie pool.

She liked to sleep in one of our spare bedrooms under the mattress pad. She would dig at it until the elastic pulled up and then cocoon herself snug as a bug in a rug. It totally stressed me out thinking of a dog on top of an undressed mattress but still I let her do it, it was too funny to hear her 'unmaking' the bed with snarfing sounds of joy.

More from the nickname files: We called her Bronwyn, because she was the Brown One; which morphed into Bronwinnie and then just Winnie. Every morning when I went to check on her under her mattress pad, I serenaded her with "Winnie in her Nest" (to the tune of Benny & the Jets... yeah, I know I'm queer. but it got a lot of tail wags.)

If you've read this far, you're surely a dog lover, and I thank you. Rest in peace my sweet Bronwinnie, I hope the mattress pad in heaven is snug.

Trench Warfare

Ah, the signs of fall are upon us. Went to pickup my share from the farm on Friday; because of the heat this summer they've been a few weeks ahead of harvest schedule and thus, this week I received a bounty of winter squashes and pumpkins. Fall is my favorite time of year to decorate so I was shivering with joy as I rooted in the binful of Hubbard Squash (the green one in the photo). I guess all of the co-op members have been inquiring as to how to prepare this baby in the culinary sense so the woman on hand started volunteering cooking information to me. I smiled and nodded because she was just trying to be helpful but all I could think was "COOK it? I just want to DECORATE with it." and proceeded to analyze all from a visually-pleasing perspective.

Got home with my bounty and after I unloaded all of the tomatoes, cukes & corn into the fridge I unearthed these babies and Kenny asked "What are you going to do with THOSE?" I have been getting ultra creative with the veggies this summer in an effort to use them all up and he probably feared Pumpkin Protein Shakes were in his future. "Nothing, I'll just put them on the Trencher", I casually replied; and then left him to wonder what Kitchen-Aid appliance known as a Trencher came into the house under his radar. He was nervously scanning the counter-tops while I went and dug out THIS baby:



Here's where I have to admit once more to my little problem habit of adopting Jack's items from the shop to 'try out at home' before I buy them. This trencher's been on my table, off my table, think I like it, maybe should sell it, OH let's just see how it looks in the Fall. (Sorry, Jack...) It's a Keeper.

Once Kenny realized I hadn't snuck a small kitchen appliance in on his watch, he ambled into the dining room where I ranted "Don't you just LOVE it? Doesn't it look SO good? Aren't you amazed I came home with random vegetables from the farm and then WHAM BAM we have a new tablescape?" Deadpan response: "Yeah. I'm just surprised you don't have a color-coordinating computer mouse you swap out with the seasons." HMMM... I think he's on to something there!! I left the mouse on the table when I took the photo so you guys could see; wouldn't a burnt orange one be nice?

When Good Furniture Goes Bad

It can turn on you at any given moment, even when you've raised it from infancy.

A friend of mine's parents are downsizing and she asked me if I could sell a few pieces of furniture for them that they didn't want to let go at yard sale prices. Sure! I said; Bring whatever you have... knowing that this family has impeccable taste in the spirit of Salvage Chic.

She arrived a few days later with some fabulous items and this old gossip bench that looked great at first glance but on further inspection, it had some issues. I guess they used it on their porch and there were some spots where the black paint had flaked off revealing pink underneath. It just didn't look right and I was about to say something when I realized - DOH! Her mom bought that piece from ME a few years ago! So much for that paint that was billed as one-coat-everlasting-coverage.

The bench landed in the shop's back room and sat there for a few days like that
Elephant In The Room that no one wants to talk about. I was vaguely toying with the idea of trying to find a fabric that would complement the black and pink to recover the seat with when Jack showed up with another needy piece of furniture and broke out his trusty sander.

For those of you who don't know Jack, he's like the Furniture Whisperer when it comes to painting and distressing; he can take the ugliest duckling and make it beautiful. So I said "While you're out here..." and brought him him my Problem Pet Bench which he started lovingly kissing with his sander. A smidge here, a smidge there, more little hints of pink started appearing. Still, it was not looking right to me and Queen of Impatience that I am, in a moment of madness I grabbed the sander from him. 10 seconds later I was past the point of no return and it was NOT GOOD.





I stood back, frowning, with my fist tucked under my chin like Tim Gunn from Project Runway, trying to find a nice way to say "This looks like s**t." Ever the optimist, Jack said "I don't know, it looks kind of like..." He struggled for words. "What, Jack, like someone tried to forcefeed a hyena Pepto Bismol and things ended badly???" Ummm... yeah. SIGH. Off to find some black paint.

Here Comes the Sideboard...

All Dressed in White... Dum Dum da Dum da da Dum da da DUM DUM DUM...

Sadly, I have no picture of this awesome antique white sideboard I saw yesterday at My Husband's Cousin's Wedding; If I did it would be a REALLY GOOD Blog. But I thought you guys would get a kick out of the fact that I the Mad Antiquer was at this wedding, everyone was gathered around watching the bride and groom have their first dance, and then the bride dancing with her dad, which ALWAYS brings a tear to my eye even if I don't know the couple or dad in question... when Kenny turned to me with a smile. I know he was thinking 'She's so cute, she always cries at weddings, even on TV..." but I made the mistake of whispering "LOOK at that SIDEBOARD!" Credit to my Husband, he did say "You're so cute." Then he turned back to watch the real festivities. My sister-in-law was like "What's the Matter?" because I was all teary-eyed and he said "Nothing; She's just in love with that sideboard." Meanwhile I was trying to justify myself. "Really! That is Real-Deal old Antiqued White, not something made to look old. I would LOVE to have that for sale at the shop!" SIGH. I am such a loser. I kept meaning to go and snap a picture of it but I forgot until we were leaving. "Go Ahead!" said Kenny, my ever-enabling spouse but I felt like kind of a jerk. "Excuse me, bride on the dance floor, can you step aside so I can get a shot of that sideboard?" Um, yeah. even I wouldn't do THAT!

A Slippery Slope

That being the scary stairs that lead down to the cellar in my 175 year old home:


Which, more often than not, I blindly descend carrying a mountain of laundry when what to my wondering feet should appear but...


My Brother-in-Law visited last week and got a special kick out of seeing THIS sign on the door to the cellar:


I felt a little bad because I know Kenny tries to be a role model to his younger brothers so I thought I had removed all evidence that he can be kind of an idiot. (There WAS a companion sign on the dishwasher that read "Insert Dirty Dishes Here, but luckily I got to that in time.)

Then I got to thinking, maybe there is a market for this kind of thing. Does anyone else need signs like this? I could totally make more and sell them at Salvage Chic. Hand-written, of course, so they'd be somewhat of a collectible. I could even tea-dye the paper, so it looks nice and vintage in your Country Primitive home. Hell, someone donate me a new Sharpie and I'll even make you one for free.