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« Life's Stitch Tapestry | Main | Bang for the Buck »

Monday, March 19, 2007

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Some years back, driving mindlessly up my street, I quickly stopped the car when I saw a lightly but perfectly distressed aquamarine console table with drawers, inset drawers no less, frenchy legs, the same distressed countertop, and it was, oh, what's the word, when women in the 60s and 70s used to refinish furniture....I think it was called antiqued, in a lightly striated type of way. My mother did it at the time. It was a really great find!

that makes me soooooooo jealous! not alot of that happens here on the west coast (vancouver, canada), but i remember when living in montreal furniture was always lying about curbside! lucky you!

Amy,

I'm always AMAZED when I hear these stories of gorgeous junk found on the curbs of NYC and San Francisco. I can't say it never happens, but this isn't so common in Boston. People CLING to things here, they pack-rat them into their basements, rent storage rooms, whatever they can do to keep what they have.

Want to cry? I once dated a guy who had rug collecting father. He 'collected' $10,000-$40,000 Persian rugs. None were in the home, all were stacked in the musty, dusty attic, he had maybe 30 or 40 of them. Moths got to them over the years, but he still kept buying and stacking them. His own children, when they grew up, asked for one or two and he said NO NO NO - he couldn't stand to part with them.

I think native New Englanders tend to keep a lot more than they need, which is why curbside junk up here refers to exactly that - JUNK; broken, water-damaged, IKEA dressers (from the college students) or nasty garbage, period.

But back to you. And your chairs. :) I LOVE them, good eye! You saw the potential and did an amazing job giving them a facelift. Hats off!

Holly

It's the same in San Francisco, everything from furniture to stereo equipment ends up on the street. It's just like thrift shopping in that you have to be able to see potential in someone else's junk. A pair of chairs is a nice find.

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