60s Clawfoot Tragedy

As disinclined as I am to poke fun at someone else’s idea of a stunning remodel, lest my grand schemes be held up for judgment someday, I saw pictures today that knocked my jaw so far down, my tongue just can’t help wagging. I give you, dear people, the worst treatment of a poor, helpless clawfoot that I ever did see.

Are we talking castle fetish, renaissance fair obsession, stoned and overly literal-minded? What!?! But at least they carried the theme around the room.

That sink suggests that this wasn’t even done in the 60s. Was this thing sponsored by Medieval Times, perhaps?

Here’s why I feel free to lambast this loo: It’s in a house in Glenview, Illinois, that’s going to be demolished soon. No doubt in favor of a McMansion. So there is hope for the defiled clawfoot—with any luck, someone attending the demolition sale will free it from its prison.

Also at this sale is a cool, old Chambers stove.

So there was some stylin’ going on at home.

Agog over antique plumbing

I’m sunk in a spate of touch-up projects right now. So I will attempt to entertain with some pics I took 3 years ago (wooooosh—yes, that was Chronos winging away) at the Vrooman Mansion in Bloomington, Illinois. We’ll start with fixtures that feature lovely old wood.

Copper-lined tank:

And a little something to stoke my push-button obsession:

I think this might be the mother of all toilet seats:

And check out the tank. I’ve got pics of the inside. It’s a little gruesome, but just in a rusty way.

Then there’s the wood-rim tub:

Plumbing mystery of the century

… in my house anyway. What bathing device would be about 27″ high and 38″ at its widest? There was a small, square hole in the floor in front of where this thing was. The plaster wall behind the mystery object is scraped a bit as if a rim was jutting against it. Here is a photo that shows the paint shadows that whisper of the very small bathing fixture (I assume, but you know what they say about that) that used to inhabit our downstairs bathroom:

There is a date from 1946 written on the wall above this area, which indicates when the previous owners abandoned the plaster walls and put up drywall (on furring strips from an old packing crate, so this plaster wall was left intact).

The room this is in is about 5′x5′, though it was originally smaller. The room was bumped into the adjoining pantry to make the space where this mystery fixture was placed. 

Any idea what this fixture might have been? So far as we can tell, the upstairs did not have a bathtub until 1929 or later. The house was built to hold at least two families at a time; it is essentially a two-flat with a kitchen and bathroom on each floor. We saw the shadows of high-tank toilets on both floors. And both bathrooms were originally smaller but expanded into neighboring rooms, probably in the 20s, from what we can figure out. I’ve already asked an expert in antique plumbing fixtures, and he couldn’t come up with anything he’d seen that would fill that space.

Vacationer’s vintage fix

When a vacationing vintage junkie has been rolling down scenic roads for days on end—driving through trees …

… and cavorting with questionable characters at miniature-golf courses …

… waking up in sterile surroundings that boast 50 different shades of beige—a little clawfoot spells big relief. Who takes a bath in those boxy, plastic hotel tubs? This curvy beauty begs to be filled and dipped into.

Gold … foooot!

It wasn’t quite this …

But it’s more than a week since we stayed at the home of that tub, the Metro Hotel in Petaluma, California, and I’m still reminiscing about it. And this lovely sink.

I should have asked where they bought that trash basket because it fits the decor so well.

Y’know, when I installed my old sink, I chose a mixer faucet because I thought those separate hot and cold taps were going to be irritating to live with. But I didn’t mind them at all. I just got some hot out of the one side and some cold out of the other and mixed it all in my hand before splashing my face. Of course this is making me reconsider my bathroom remodel, which—oh dear—I really don’t need any encouragement to keep refining. In any case, the Metro also can fulfill your desires to sleep in an Airstream trailer.

But even if you’re in a traditional room, beware the local creatures.

(And if anyone knows what that French says, please let me know. It may have invaded my subconscious as I slept, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it in English as well.)

I also loved these curtain holders, so I’m going to document them here so I can find them later.

ETA: Ha, I finally did a search on these and it turns out they’re an Ikea thing, so most likely everyone in the world but me knew about them before. That figures, since I’ve never been inside an Ikea store.

I’ve got housespiration from various places to post as well. Please do not hold your breath, however, because I seem to have embraced the lazy life of late.