thrift store spoils, ch. 22: Ben Seibel's Country-Time, a Ges Line Ashtray, and humble requests for I.D. help

How about we begin with a thrift-store-find mystery that I hope someone out there can help me solve?

I found these three small bowls on a half-day-seven-thrift-store shopping craze. I have an efficient route that takes me east through four traffic-heavy Northern Virginia cities, yet allows me to complete the run in four hours. (Caveat: I no longer have small children.)

I picked up these bowls because I thought they might be Russel Wright. However, there are no markings on the bottoms indicating such—only three stilt marks on each bowl. Also, after getting home and researching, the color of these looks a little darker than the iconic Russel Wright Coral. So maybe I got knockoffs? I do like them, regardless. But does anyone out there know whether the smaller Russel Wright pieces were ever manufactured without markings?

By the way, the melmac tray in the photo with the bowls is one I picked up at a SA last week. It's also unmarked. I got it because it matches the unmarked melmac bowls that both my Florida Mamaw and my Kentucky Mamaw used to serve us ice cream and cereal in.

This is definitely my best find of the past couple of weeks. Despite promises to myself to never ever venture into the Manassas SA on a Wednesday (when, ahem, the entire store is 25% off, and when everybody and his or her brother seems to know it), I did. I walked in three minutes after the store opened, and I picked up the last shopping basket available. There were two carts left, but I don't like carts. 

I have to say that, despite everyone else's carts getting in my way, I made out okay. And among the items I found were these three Ben Seibel designed salad plates by Pfaltzgraff. The pattern is Country-Time, and the minimalist fruit images are so stinkin' mid-century mod, as are the colors—saffron and gray. Am I wrong?

I probably won't keep them, though; I'm collecting, like, three patterns already, so I can't. But I'm not sure whether I'll list them in my Etsy shop, or whether I'll try an Ebay auction. I'm leaning Etsy, because Ebay intimidates me. (Too much down-to-the-wire pressure.) 

Right now I'm just trying to price them. I haven't found any of these exact plates for sale online right now, so I'm clueless about the current market value. (Thus, the nerve-wracking Ebay auction idea—let the free market decide!)

Anyway.

On the shopping spree day, I  found these two bread and butter plates—also designed by Ben Seibel, but manufactured by Iroquois. I believe the pattern's name is Pyramids, but I'm not sure. I'll admit I don't love the pattern. In fact, I bought the plates for the far out logo and fonts on the plates' backs. I know. That's just sad.

I got this unnumbered blue Pyrex mixing bowl to help Mama complete her Primary set. And I happened across a Taylorstone Cathay dinner plate to add to my recently acquired humongous set, discovered and bought on Taylorstone Cathay Day. This one has a little chip, but I just don't care.

Also for Mama, I picked up this Pyrex 023 Opal. (She likes the Opals.) The bread and butter plate is mine. It's Copper Filigree, one of the Pyrex dinnerware patterns.

I don't normally buy ashtrays, because I simply have no justification. (The hubbie lets his cigar ashes fall wherever they may, don't you know.) But this ashtray is uber-cool. The bottom indicates that it's a Ges Line and that it was "Made in the U.S.A." See? Uber-cool. (Note, please, that I don't know whether the Ges Line does or does not need a dash—like Ges-Line? The name on the ashtray doesn't make it clear, so I'm going with the usage I found online as most common. No dash, it is.)

What'll I do with an ashtray? I'll either use it as a ridiculous candy dish, or list it on Etsy. Not sure which.

Okay. More I.D. help needed, please.

This lovely, frolicking-wild-horse bar glass is dated 1993, but I can't identify the maker. 

Anyone out there recognize this logo? I'd like to learn more about the glass, but I can't find that logo on any of my logo-I.D. go-to sites. 

And still more help, please?

This cradle thingie was priced at 96 cents, and, of course, it has such a fun wooden handle. So there was no way I could leave it sitting on the GW shelf amongst all the common stuff. Too bad I have no idea what it was originally intended to hold and/or display. (At first, I was thinking that it might be part of a Pyrex set, but I can't find a photo of it in any of my regular Pyrex info sources.) 

Clue: It is collapsible.

The two tiny serving pieces were made in Japan. They were a little grungy at the store, but after cleaning the stainless steel and treating the wooden handles at home, they look quite good, if I do say so myself.

So those are the only items I'll write about this week. And, please, if you have any idea what the unknowns up there are, I'd love for you to share.

And I'll leave you with a Remington Steele update (because I wrote about the show last week). This week I watched the first episode of the second season. 

It's the episode in which Laura and Mr. Steele travel to exotic Acapulco, in part to save Laura's housekeeper's son from some bad south-of-the-border dudes. But it's also the episode that explains away the sudden absence of two of the first season's secondary characters, while also cleverly introducing replacement Doris Roberts (a.k.a. Mildred Krebs) as the IRS agent/stickler who, turns out, is a closet adventure seeker. (Spoiler alert: Mildred becomes Remington Steele's receptionist/private-eye extraordinaire and adds immensely to the show's charm.) 

Well, also in this episode, Laura Holt sports some rad vintage 1980s parachute pants. Oh, yes. Check it out.

I lived through the parachute pants days, by the way. And I'm here to tell you that it wasn't always pretty. (Laura carries it off well, though. Look at that itsy-bitsy waist!)

Please note the bar stool behind/next to Laura. Doesn't that look Eames-ish? Could that be an authentic wire bar stool designed by the man himself? Or only a reproduction. Fun, nevertheless.

Thanks to Sir Thrift-a-Lot, Thrifter/Maker/Fixer/Farm, We Call It Junkin, and a living space for the opportunity to link up.

thrift store spoils, ch. 20: Taylorstone Cathay Day

Allow me to share with you the inspiring thrifting adventure behind what I now refer to as Taylorstone Cathay Day. 

Of course, if you're not interested in reading a story, feel free to scroll down to more photos.

I don't normally venture into thrift stores on weekends. They're crowded and just not worth the aggravation. But a week ago I did stop in at my favorite GW on my way home from an ESL class I teach. It was just a little past noon, and I had to cruise the parking lot for a couple of minutes before I finally found a parking spot on the opposite end of the strip mall, over by the Dunkin Donuts. And even before I entered, I could tell that the place was indeed full of folks. Again, I don't like weekend thrifting. 

So why did I do it on March 15, 2014, a.k.a. Taylorstone Cathay Day? I'm crediting a supernatural vintage-stuff-whispers-to-vintage-nut-in-a-language-only-vintage-lovers-understand phenomenon. 

I felt a pull.

Enough. Let's skip to the near end. Check out the photo of my buggy that I texted to Mama in North Carolina as I headed to the register.

And after sending this image, I still found a couple more pieces to load in there. (Yay!)

Like many of you, I love the perfectly atomic Taylorstone Cathay pattern. And I do know that it's not uncommon in thrift stores, because I see lots of finds on others' blogs. I also consider myself a collector, in fact. (And by "collect," I mean that I've bought, maybe, six or eight pieces.) In fact, my first post on this blog included a modest Taylorstone Cathay find. So you can imagine the double-take I did when I happened upon the many precariously stacked Taylorstone Cathay pieces sitting on the shelves of a housewares endcap. 

Immediately and without regard to price, I knelt and began putting the pieces in my handheld shopping basket. (I never choose the buggy option—too cumbersome.) Of course, there was no way I would fit all that was there in that little basket. And, unfortunately, you can't holler "saved!" in a thrift store. Well, you can, I suppose, but there's no guarantee that it'll be effective.

So I stood there, trying to figure out how to go grab a buggy while still protecting my great find from other shoppers (none of whom seemed the slightest bit interested in whatever the heck I'd discovered). But then a GW employee who recognized me as a regular (heck, most of the employees there know me as a regular!) happened by and told me that there was more of the set on the opposite endcap. I think I said in reply something like, "Holy moly." He asked whether I wanted it. Heck, yeah!

So the nice man began putting all of those pieces from the other end-cap in another basket for me. And now I had an ally protecting my "saved!" pieces. I commandeered a buggy at the front of the store. Then back at the housewares aisle, I thanked the nice man and put everything he had gathered into my not-really-so-cumbersome buggy. I also told him that the hubby was going to freak, because I wouldn't be coming home with one little Russel Wright plate today, but with pretty much a whole stinkin' set of 50-year-old dishes. The nice man asked me to then please refrain from mentioning to the hubby his involvement in my adventure. 

Thinking like a seasoned thrifter, I then roamed the rest of the housewares aisles looking for stray pieces from the set. That's when I found two oval platters. Holy moly, again.

My buggy held the following:

• 13 dinner plates 
• 10 salad plates
• 10 bread & butter plates
• 10 soup bowls
• 16 cups with 16 saucers 
• 9 additional cups without saucers
• 2 oval platters
• 2 veggie bowls
• 1 creamer
• 1 sugar bowl with lid
• 1 gravy boat with its saucer

It took quite a while to ring up my purchase and then to loosely wrap the entire set. (Duh.) The GW folks kindly found three boxes in the backroom to help me carry everything. During the process, the nice man told me that he had just priced and put the dishes out that morning and that he was glad they were heading out the door so soon. I think the staff believed that this was one of those sets that would sit around taking up space forever—as if it were manufactured by Gibson 10 years ago or something. Each piece was priced between 96 cents and $3.96. In the end, everything I got cost me just under $130, and that's including sales tax. Yay!

In the parking lot, the hubby called wondering where I'd gotten to. (As I mentioned before, I usually head straight home after teaching on Saturdays.) I told him that I had detoured to GW, but that I'd be home soon. Then I said, "Um, dear. This will be a day that will test the strength of our relationship."

He met me at the door when I got home. He shook his head and laughed. He knows me. I explained to him how incredible my find was. And for the umpteenth time, I reminded him that when we married over 25 years ago, we didn't register for china. (I've used that one to justify buying vintage dishes forever. And it works!) He went out back to smoke a cigar, while I unpacked and washed and dried everything. It took me almost two hours. 

The set looks to have never been used. There is no crazing, and there are no stains. Four or five pieces do have small chips. No biggie.

I love that the set includes the gravy boat with its handy-dandy plate.

I also got a creamer and a sugar bowl. Check out the oh-so-mid-century-mod wood lid!

The cups' insides are such a rich green.

A few days after Taylorstone Cathay Day, I returned to the GW—on the off chance I'd left a piece sitting there by its lonesome, or the staff had just put out more discovered hiding in the back. And there was a piece: another sugar bowl, sans cool lid, but priced at 96 cents. I grabbed it. I'll probably never find the lid, but I don't care.

Also, a couple of days after Taylorstone Cathay Day, Mama happened across a salt shaker from the set, marked at $4, in a North Carolina thrift store. Did I want it, she asked. Heck, yeah! And in honor of March Madness, I'll declare, "Serendipity, baby!"

I think this will be our go-to nice set when we finally move to our North Carolina home in a few years. I'm planning on decorating with a mid-century modern/mountain theme. It'll work. I'm sure of it.

Thank you for humoring me as I shared my story. You thrifters understand. I know you do. 

As always, thanks to Sir Thrift-a-Lot, a living space, We Call It Junkin, and Thrifter/Maker/Fixer/Farm for the opportunity to link up.








 

serendipity (and Taylorstone Cathay)

An introduction from me, as well as justifications for this blog, will follow in later posts.

For now, I’ll just jump right in and launch this thing with a tale of my latest thrift store shopping trip—a serendipitous one. 

And here’s how it went:

Whenever I visit my parents in the mountains of North Carolina, I try to peruse the several thrift stores and resale shops in Spruce Pine. And there are, indeed, quite a few there for a town that’s so small.

The first place we visited (and always my fave ) was Shops of SafePlace, a store whose sales benefit domestic violence victims.  The front section of the shop is mainly clothes and books. But in the back, an enterprising thrifter can find a nice collection of vintage dishes, kitschy knickknacks, a few pieces of so-so furniture, and some fun polyester vintage clothing. Some of it is priced at resale, some at thrift.

That day, I found two Taylorstone Cathay bread & butter plates for my modest—but treasured—Cathay collection. I love, love, love this pattern. And I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on it—at a thrift store in Mobile, Alabama, almost 10 years ago. At that time, when my knowledge of mid-century design was more limited than it is now, I liked the pattern because it reminded me of Epcot. (For real.)

At SafePlace, I also grabbed a single bread & butter plate marked Fortune on the bottom. It was obviously mid-century; I liked the pattern; and it was priced at only 89 cents. How could I just leave it there by itself? After checking online later, I learned that it was a Homer Laughlin design. Cool.

My mom—who doesn’t normally thrift store shop—picked up six simple, delicate, white Syralite bowls from Syracuse. I wish she'd taken photos of them. She says she’ll use them for ice cream.

After that, and while heading toward a local antique store, we stumbled upon a place out on Highway 226 that used to be a gem mining tourist trap, but that now gives the appearance that business is slow. There was, though, a handwritten yard sale sign (complete with an arrow pointing toward a seemingly empty building) out front. We stopped.

Turns out, there was a little gem store in the back, where we asked about the yard sale.  The nice lady there told a teenager in the room to open it for us. The teenager left for a minute, she returned with keys and a money box, and she escorted Mama and me to the next building—the empty looking one. (For a thrift store junkie, it was like getting a private shopping appointment at a high-dollar boutique after hours.) 

Inside were only a few shelves and several tables, but they were loaded with dusty, dingy, dirty stuff. Right off, I spied some super-cool, tall drinking glasses—five of them—decorated with black and gold locomotives and priced at a buck apiece. They were in great condition, gold lips and all. Score. Now, I'm sure that this pattern—from Libbey, by the way—is familiar to lots of folks, but this was the first time I had ever, ever seen it. 

I also found a single Bicentennial glass—part of a set I’m collecting for I don't know what. I was a kid in 1976, and I remember the patriotic hoopla. That might be why I have a problem passing up anything Bicentennialesque.

There was a stack of wall hangings containing two flowers and lots of butterflies—all either Burwood or Homco. They sat on a table marked "everything $1." Score again. Mama took them all. (And she took the photos below for me!)

She already owns a couple of Burwood butterflies, by the way, which she recently painted a creamy white and hung on her back porch. They belonged to her mother.

And we found a brass bamboo serving cart (dusty, like everything else) hiding under some other items. It still had its undefiled, oval, glass shelves; it was clearly mid-century; and it was priced at five bucks. Mama got it, although at this time she's not sure where in the world she'll put it.

After a half-hour or so of private shopping (during which the teenager took a short smoking break outside, God bless her), the total bill for Mama and me together amounted to right around $25. And the sweet teenager took a check! Holy moly. Remind me to stop at ill-designated and hopeless looking yard sales in the future.

After that, we visited the other five or six places open in town, but I bought nothing. (Mama did buy two more butterflies, though. I think she's planning on sharing with my sister.) The next day, my family and I drove home to Northern Virginia. And the day after that, I instinctively took off for my favorite Goodwill store a couple of miles away. (And this is where the serendipity comes in.)

There in the housewares section, on a middle shelf, sat eight mint condition (I swear, they’re mint condition) Libbey locomotive glasses—just like the ones I'd just bought. They were priced higher than those at the Spruce Pine yard sale, but no biggie.

So in a three-day period, I happened upon these 13 glasses, which I had never seen before, in two separate states. Thrift store serendipity.

I also bought at GW a Kleenex dispenser by Vendome. It has holes in the back, presumably for hanging. (Handy-dandy!) I don't really know anything about it yet, but it was so plastic and orange that, of course, I had to have it.