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Coming soon to a porch near … me:
After we get the beadboard ceiling back up, anyway. Seems it’s going to be a two-person job. Mr. Carpenter Cohort started working on it alone yesterday and says with the warping of the old boards, there’s no way to make it a tidy job without an extra hand. And my extra hand isn’t free for several days.
The front porch ceiling was once a vivid blue, as well as a more muted green. This is what I learned from spending the day stripping the original beadboard with the infrared paint remover.
Sky blue on porch ceilings is traditional, but this is a richer hue. And the green—well, someone who owned this house adored green; it pops up everywhere. The worst thing about stripping this stuff is all the staples from the installation of the aluminum that covered it for decades. I’m just really glad we decided to take this down. Stripping the roof base, which for obvious reasons needs to stay in place, is plenty of performance art for the neighbors. It’s a relief to be able to retreat to the backyard with a pair of sawhorses and a stack of beadboard and scrape away the day.
My neighborhood bespeaks classic, working-class Chicago style—belts of bungalows broken up by rows of two-family homes and the occasional oddball like my house. But even when a series of houses sprang from the earth looking the same, there’s no telling what one’s future might hold. Witness this two-flat:
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I really wish I had seen this work in progress because it must have involved at least multiple paint cans and brushes—and maybe multiple painters, not to mention the ladders. I wonder whether its neighbors are now feeling drab?
The New York Times writes about the “Spite House,” an intriguing 1830 house in Alexandria, Va., that is only 7 feet wide. Be sure to check out the slideshow.
I can see the charm in such a modest abode, particularly since it’s still got some outside space. It would certainly make housekeeping more manageable!
Calling all Roper stove owners! I’ve been corresponding with a stove restorer about his work on what looks to be an early 1940s model that has some details he’s trying to replicate. The stove in question has a double oven. And it has some chrome-looking metal strips that work like spring bronze weatherstrip to seal the doors and prevent heat from leaking out. There are also iron straps screwed onto the door frames, and one of the chrome strips is attached to that in some manner. Anyone seen anything similar? Here are the pics:
Here’s the host stove:
Repair guy says the doors get hot really fast when the ovens are turned on. I think those non-original metal handles might be part of the problem.
My stove is a 1941-ish single oven on the right with broiler on the left. Here’s what the door frames look like:
No heat seal of any kind around the doors. And I find it an odd idea that Roper would’ve covered up the speckled porcelain with a strap of iron to attach a heat seal. So my amateur opinion is that those straps and weatherstrippey heat seals are add-ons. Anyone have other ideas?
From the amazing array of eBay, I bring you the opportunity to own radioactive rings that will glow forever, thus:
- Helping you find your poison bottle.
- Making your dress buttons beckon to your beloved.
- Luring the elusive Simpsons fish during night expeditions.
- And more! So much more.
Don’t grope (in your filmy negligee)—glow!
Yes, friends, with Lustrolite Radi-Glo buttons you too can scatter radium throughout your residence. Removing tongue from cheek, I must admit that I would’ve been all over these if I had been born a few decades earlier. I adore glow-in-the-dark items and am even wearing one now.
The seller tosses some killer hooks into the description:
This fantastic find was brought to us by the RADIOACTIVE BOYSCOUT – a local man who, in his teens in the 1990’s, set out to build a nuclear breeder reactor in his backyard potting shed, in an attempt to earn his boy scout atomic merit badge.
“THE RADIOACTIVE BOY SCOUT” has since been written about him, and a documentary about his exploits called “THE NUCLEAR BOY SCOUT” was aired in the UK in 2003.
He informed me that “over 2 tons of pitchblende was processed to create the rings.”
He also informed me that this is one of only 2 known displays in existence.
“The “Radioactive Boy Scout” searched for a very long time before acquiring these, and paid $2500 to purchase this extraordinary item!
The previous owner owned a hardware store from 1925 until 1957, and this was a part of his old store stock. …
What a conversation starter!
Don’t miss the chance to own such a rare and interesting Atomic – Age item!
But one of my favorite parts of this sale is what he wrote about it on Craigslist:
This is a set (OF ONLY 2 KNOWN TO EXIST ON EARTH). A 1930″s display that contains 12 radium filled rings. Owned by the radioactive boyscout. Produced in Cleveland. Search EBAY for ITEM# 610-1. This item has a few days untill end of post. Bidding starts at 400.00 dollars. Item will be destroyed and properly disposed of, if not purchased by end of auction.
While I wish I could help prolong the legacy of the Radioactive Boy Scout, I’m not going to have a house to find anything in if don’t spend the money on the mortgage instead. I guess I’m doomed to grope for evermore. But good luck, bidders!
I’m not much of a collector (unless you count salvaged windows and doors or Roper stove parts), but I will admit to a weakness for old, embroidered tea towels. And it struck me this morning that my favorite one visually sums up that all-overish malaise with which we so often greet the new week.
You know, there you are just trying to keep the house clean enough and the next thing you know the dishwater is burbling, you’re naked except for a bit of webbing at your waist and jingle-bell booties, and you’ve sprouted feverish antennae! Pray to the heavens for mercy and there it looms: Monday—oh yeah, that explains it. They don’t make petunia basins the way they used to either. Sigh.
That Monday creature is a twist on the cutesy kitten tea towel.
As much as I enjoy kittens, I can’t muster much enthusiasm for this quaint incarnation anymore. I’m afraid my tastes have been twisted now. And I seek out the misunderstood creatures more readily these days. Let me know if you know any who are looking for homes. I’m not just open to martians, either.
Here’s another of my unique companions.
Those of you who have been following along know that certain parts of our front porch were scrapped or chopped down. Well, after trying and failing to find a local woodworking shop that would make reproductions for us, we tried a Michigan outfit, J.J Wohlfert’s. They were, somewhat sadly, faster and easier to work with than the locals. And they made us our 2 missing blocks for only $30 each and in only a few weeks. Here are front and side shots of our savaged old trim and the new reproductions.
I’m pretty pleased. The bottom portions are not as long as the originals, and I’m a little concerned about that. But we sent drawings of the original dimensions, and I didn’t double-check them, so there could be many reasons why the repros are not completely exact. And frankly, evolution is a respectable part of old-house renovation. If these end up looking appropriate in their new home, then everything is good even if they are not perfect to millimeters.
My steampunk heart goes tick-tock at the sight of this clawfoot laptop.
It’s based on a Hewlett-Packard ZT1000 and can boot either Ubuntu Linux or Windows XP. To start it, you turn the clock-winding key in the lower left part of the picture.
The creator is Richard R. Nagy (yay for Hungarian roots).
He also builds custom keyboards, like this hexy beauty.
These pieces have got to be one of the coolest uses of old materials ever. I imagine I might be building such things myself if I weren’t so engaged in shoring up my dear abode.
