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This evening when I went into the alley to throw out some things, I came upon a short, shiny row of apples at the base of one trash cart. My first compost-wacko thought was: “Marvy! More for my bins.” Then I noticed the apple line was pointing to a box full of rotting fruits, and next to that—another. Yep, I’m a cheap date. I get giddy from finding that someone has dumped rotting fruit behind my house.
I took this as an invitation to start up the new batch in my second bin, the one I harvested for this year’s garden. So I cleared out the last few cups of finished compost and tossed the gift fruits in: 177 apples, several bunches of grapes, 2 oranges, 1 peach and 1 plum.
Then I ripped up the juice-soaked cardboard boxes and added them as browns to balance out the fresh(ish) fruits. Now this will be the main putrescible pile, as we let the other binful burn down and transform into next year’s fertilizer. And this bin is well on its way to churning out beautiful, frugal food for the 2011 garden.
On the other side of the yard, it’s almost scape time!
Added for an inquiring commenter:
I got that one free from a friend who didn’t have room for it anymore. I think the city sells them for $40 in the spring, along with rain barrels.
Last night while my brain was blasted out by a super-stressy business day, my laptop and I retreated to the bed and I stumbled into a delightful vortex of historical data sites. One of the places I found was Chicago History in Postcards—an addictive diversion that catalogs vintage postcards in 22 categories, including restaurants, retail, entertainment, factories and churches by denomination. I have long been enamored of the old, hand-tinted postcards, and of course I’m curious about old views of my adopted town. And this site is bursting at the seams with both. Only a few of the ones that caught my fancy:
Chicago central aerial beacon—with biplane!
“One name, one aim, won fame”—James B. Clow & Sons. “The handsomest plumbing show room in the world.”
“Chemist and assistants—Franco-American Hygienic Co. 183 Michigan Boulevard, Chicago”
Writing on the side says: “8/15/08 Are you in need of any of your preparations at this time?”
Truck Drivers’ Social Club , 1736 S. Wabash. I will meet you there.
Como Inn. “Where smart people meet,” with an arrow pointing to a jug of wine. My kind of smart people.
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!
As all old-house people know, acquiring the house often means inheriting previous owners’ leftovers (or, in some cases, heaps of stuff). My house came with a nifty little collection of vintage gift boxes. I get a kick out of making use of these. And since it’s that time of year again, I thought I’d share some shots.
Here are an old Sears box and a couple with unknown provenance but excellent graphics.
reindeer … ice skating … Santa
mistletoe … angel … snowman
E.J. Korvette—one of the first discount stores. It also says Fifth Avenue; I wonder if this is from a NYC trip or a closer store.
King Size Men’s Shop—I can’t find any reference to this online.
And finally Doris, which I think is still in Ukrainian Village in Chicago, around the corner from where I used to live. I love the store motto: “Conversation clothes.” I fear that my clothes are slightly antisocial.
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.
As I inch toward finishing the front-door surround, new opportunities arise for tricking out the area. I’m talking doorbells. Later there’ll be the matter of the downstairs chime box. But for now I drool over accoutrements that are older than the house, so innapropriate, but damn:
I think I’m going to end up with at least one button (house demands two!) that has a directive like “push” or a label saying “visitors” because as seen in my upstairs bathroom, I have a bit an affinity for labeling. I hope all this helps me out later in life when my lead-dust-addled brain finds me staring at something wondering what I’m supposed to do with it.
I was honored last week to learn that my colleagues consider me their go-to girl for junk. A friend encouraged me—nay, implored me—to go home and round up odds-and-ends for a schoolgirl’s art project. And boy did I come through: baluster ends, hex tiles, decommissioned keys, samples of metal ceiling tiles and fabric wall coverings, springs, a dead clock, the face and wiring from a quartz heater that we ripped apart to make our infrared paint remover, wire bits, knobs, pipes, bulbs including a spent bubble light, a squished metal eyeglasses case, a dangly bit from a lamp I found in a parking lot …
I just have this phonecam photo of a little edge of the pre-art pile.
But the girl has been instructed to cough up a photo of the finished piece—so stay tuned!
Greg over at the uber-blog Petch House pointed out in the Old House Web forums that there’s an 1888 J.L. Mott Iron Works catalog online at the New York Public Library Digital Gallery. I have a reprint of a 1914 Mott catalog that I oughts to scan and put online. In the meantime, check out the 1888 flushing-rim slop sink:
And the folding urinals:
This fetching, blue Bromo-Seltzer bottle turned up a few years back when we were rebuilding the side porch. I guess heartburn has always gone hand in hand with house work!
The words on it:
BROMO-SELTZER
EMERSON
DRUG CO.
BALTIMORE, MD.
So far I’ve left the ancient earth inside.
