So... I'm a little OCD.

Okay, I'm more than a little OCD. But it's not that bad.

I don't have OCD in that amusing "I'm such an organized perfectionist!" sort of way. Rather, I am obsessive in the l "I lie awake all night worrying" sort of way, and compulsive in the "it's 3am and I MUST scrub down the cabinets" sort of way. Neither of which is a good.

But it could be a lot worse, so I try not to complain about it.

Here's the latest thing I'm obsessing about: making everything in my kitchen cabinets "match."

Remember back when I blogged about French bistro glasses? Well, since then, I've converted nearly all my glassware to matching, bistro-style sets. The only glasses in my cabinet that aren't faceted are the wine glasses.


And it's bothering me.

So I'm thinking of getting new wine glasses. (Even though I hardly use the ones I have and there's not a thing wrong with them anyway.)

I'm considering these new Pokal ones, from IKEA:

I should confess that already (just last week, in fact) I indulged in a set of six teeny weenie shot-sized bistro glasses that I absolutely didn't need.

Of course, I didn't HAVE six matching shot glasses already. And the set (also IKEA) was only $2.99. So I felt semi-justified... but ... BUT ...

Would getting the wine glasses be going too far? Would the all-matching, all-faceted look even be a good thing? Or am I being too obsessive again?

P.S. Happy Leap Day! ;)

I know I've been flooding the chic blog with semi-boring posts about odd thrift store finds of late, but bear with me. I've been doing more  thrifting and less DIYing over the last few months in an effort to spend as much time as possible OUTSIDE of my stifling apartment.

Now that it looks like fall is here (or at least, imminent), the winds are sure to shift.

But in the meantime, here's one more post about a weird thrifted object: the lady's head vase.

Popular in the 1950s, the lady's head vase is a kind of "florists ware." Often ceramic, in my opinion, the vases were kind of ugly and overdone, but nonetheless appealing in a kitchy sort of way.

And this weekend, I found one for $0.50 that suited me perfectly: A milk-glass version from around 1980.

Not exactly gorgeous, I know, but it's a nice addition to my milk glass collection and I find it charming. And remember, it was only $0.50.

I've been thinking that this sort of piece may have given way to (or influenced) folks like Jonathan Adler. After all, he did all those Dora Maar vases. In a way, they seem to be of the same ilk.

Hard to say if it's really evolution. All I know is that I like it.

Hey friends. I know I haven't gotten to the dark paint makeover yet (be patient!) but in the meantime, I didn't want to leave you hanging with nothing to read. So I thought I'd post about the adorable little bit of vintage depression glass I snagged last weekend.

It's a Fenton piece and it's opalescent, which means that it's a bit milky looking. My research tells me that this opalescence was achieved by a combination of adding bone ash to the molten glass and repeated firing.

This piece was made during the late 1800's and early 1900s. Have something like it and want to know if it's real? Here are a few tips:

1. Hold it up to the light. Experts say you will see a red or fiery gleam, regardless of the colour of the actual piece.

2. Check it out under a black light. Opalescent glass from this period was made with uranium dioxide, which glows green under black light.

3. If your piece is an early Fenton, it will likely be white, blue, green or amethyst. I've read that these were the most common (possibly even the only) colours Fenton issued pre-1930.

I feel great about this find because from what I've read, it's rather uncommon. It appears to be an authentic 1911 Basket weave Open Edge Bowl, which, in the Fenton catalogues is sometimes called a "basket" or "flared bowl". Of course, after 1930, more of these bowl were produced, but I think mine is one of the old ones. Hurray!

What should I do with it? Nuts? Candy? Jewellery? If it's gonna stay in my life, it's gotta be USED. That's my motto.

Anyone else snag anything interesting lately?

Since I posted about my new Juice-O-Mat already, I thought it only fair to post about the reason the Juice-O-Mat was a ridiculous purchase: my brand new/old amber depression glass juice reamer, or juicer, by Federal glass.

I nabbed this guy from a little thrift store in Port Rowan, Ontario (one of my favourites). Unfortunately, the church ladies who work the counter knew they had a winner on their hands, so the reamer was priced at a whopping $10 (which is wildly expensive for Port Rowan). Nonetheless, I decided it was worth it. After all, depression-era Federal reamers sell online for $40+.

I won't be selling mine, of course. It's got some flea-bites in the rim anyway.

It will live in my cupboard, and with any luck, will ream for many happy years to come. I drink a lot of vodka sodas (with lemon).

Who knew my imbibing would allow me to justify yet another addiction (thrifting)? Turns out, I drink for a reason.

And if all else fails, I could always open a lemonade stand, right?

A long while back now, I posted about the beginnings of my obsession with Milk Glass. I was a new collector, excited about each and every piece that I came across.

I've become a little more discerning since. For one thing, I'm strapped for space. My kitchen window sill is completely covered in Milk Glass (some containers holding plants, others empty).

And it seems crazy to buy something only to have to box it and stick it in the basement.

So I've resolved not to repeat different styles. I only allow myself one piece in any particular shape or pattern.

The latest addition to my collection was found in Port Rowan, Ontario last weekend. For only $1, I got my hands on a thumbprint pattern The E.O. Brody Company vase (or is it a compote?), pre-1971. (It was manufactured between 1958 and 1971. I'm not sure of the exact year.) I think it's adorable!

You can learn more about Brody Glass here, if you're interested.

What do you think? Am I crazy to keep buying this stuff? I know it was mass produced and that it isn't inherently valuable, but it's just so pretty. I can't stop.

* Photo by Oh Dear Watson, from Flickr. Used with permission. Check out Oh Dear Watson on Etsy for similarly adorable vintage items. (Thanks for the pic, guys!)

A few weeks ago, I came across a great find at my local Salvation Army - a set of 12(+) bistro glasses in perfect condition. I snapped them up immediately. I even bought a few extras, just in case I break some along the way. (Though, it should be noted that one of the perks of these glasses is that they're practically indestructible.)

Though I'm a long time user (and admirer) of classic French bistro tumblers (inspired by Duralex, which you can read more about here, in a super-long story from the Independent, if you're so inclined), I had never considered the smaller, "rocks" glasses (high-ball-size) for my collection.

But now I have 'em and I have never been happier about a glassware purchase, ever. EVER! (Okay, that may be an exaggeration, but I'm really into these glasses.)

They are seriously cool cat. They are the cat's meow. They are the cat's pajamas. They are various other idioms and phrases that mean "cool" but have little-to-nothing to do with our friends of the feline variety.

They're just really solid glasses.

Here's a short lesson in shape:

Duralex bistro glasses are the most sought-after sort in the world of vintage collecting for this kind of glassware, and as such, there's no shortage of information about them online (see that Independent article, above). They have an elegant, almost fluted shape that appeals to many, but Duralex glasses, despite their authentic French pedigree, aren't my favourite. I actually prefer the chunky lines of those made by companies that deal in restaurant supply (such as Arcaroc and Libbey).

Here are a few glasses side-by-side, to show you how the shapes compare:

My new "rocks" glasses are by Arcaroc. They're heavy-duty and they feel good in the hand. I also have a few pint-sized Lilly's around, but I find they have a slightly brown tint to them, and I prefer the Arcaroc, which look vaguely blue.

No matter what you call these glasses (faceted, paneled, bistro, etc.), and no matter who they're by, you'll find a variety available at several price points. I highly recommend them. They're family-friendly, practical, and yes, chic. They look great in modern kitchens, eclectic kitchens, cottagey kitchens, urban kitchens, etc. In fact, they go well in every kitchen I've ever seen. And they're well-suited to open-shelving. And you can stack 'em. And they're amazing. (Have I mentioned I like these glasses?)

Here are some bistro glasses featured in a kitchen in Style At Home magazine:

Anyway. I love these bistro glasses, so I thought I'd write about 'em. There you go. Consider it an object lesson. I did.

Lately, whenever I see an old Anchor Hocking creamer (or pint pitcher) at a vintage store, I scoop it up. I don't know why. How many creamers does a person need? (Particularly a person who doesn't actually USE cream.)

Eesh.

It's crazy, I know. But these little guys just seem to call out to me. Here are a couple of my recent buys:

They're only about 10-12 cm tall and they're cute cute cute. Or at least, to me they are.

Each time I buy one, I envision myself hosting an aborable brunch, complete with cream and maple syrup served from these cutie-pie pitchers. But the brunch never happens and the pitchers make their way into my cupboards to be admired, but never used. And yet, I buy more. 

Got any ideas about how I might use them? Besides brunch, I mean. Clearly, that's not going to happen.

A couple of years ago, I bought a small glass snail from Goodwill. A paperweight sort of thing. It caught my eye in the knick knack section, (generally, a dangerous place to be if, like me, you tend toward hoarding and aren't must of a duster).

Nonetheless, I bought the snail. I think I spent about $2.99 on it. I popped it onto my mantle and promptly forgot all about it. I never imagined it might be worth something.

Interestingly, I discovered the origins of my snail purely by chance. Last week, I was reading an old novel by Carol Shields - Small Ceremonies. It was published ages ago, but I was completely unaware of it before I picked up my copy at the Parkdale Salvation Army. And in the book (which is quite good, by the way) is a reference to a "Steuben glass snail." As soon as I read that phrase, I wondered about my own snail, and I set about Googling.

Apparently, genuine Steuben glass ornamentals are worth quite a chunk of change. The Steuben Snail first appeared in about 1949 and was designed by either George Thompson or David Hills (there is conflicting information in the old Steuben catalogues as to the designer). The snail is approx. 3.5" long and I've seen ones like mine priced at $300 online. Crazy, right? $300 for a silly little glass snail?

Silly, maybe, but true.

Alas, the downside is that I'm not sure mine is authentic. My wee snail is unsigned. Here's what the signature is supposed to look like. The pics are from the Mallaries website. Mine is unmarked.

That said, my research tells me that some Steuben Snails ARE unmarked, so I didn't lose hope. Alas, I've found that there's something off about my snail's antennae.

While the Steuben's I've seen online have antennae with rounded, bulbous tips, my snail's antennae taper to a point. I'm no expert, but I'm guessing that might signal a fake.

Still, I'm happy to know my fake has a bit of a history, a bit of pedigree, even if it's only a copy. And since it only cost $2.99, I'd still say I got a deal. Thanks Goodwill.

So as some of you may know, I've been hankering to start my own little vintage shop for a long time now. Nothing big, just sort of an ongoing, online garage sale. (Sure, a brick and mortar shop would be a dream, but I don't think that's in the cards right now. But that's no reason not to start small, right?)

Right.

Anyway, the framework for the shop is in place. I've called it  Will & Bequeath. Weird? Maybe. But I liked the sound of it. Now I'm working on inventory and this past weekend, I came across a great find.

I nabbed six of these mint condition Noritake Crystal goblets in the discontinued (and often collected). "Perspective" pattern. Colour? Ruby red.

Neat, right?

The truth is, when I saw the goblets, I had no idea what I was buying. I just liked the look of them. (That's often the case with me.)  Eventually, I came across a pattern illustration (shown) and after copious amounts of Googling, I realized what I'd found. Still, good info on old Noritake is slim. All I really know is that the goblets were manufactured between 1970 and 1985.

I know they're a little grandma, but I think they could look pretty cool on the right sort of table. And they'd be perfect for a theme dinner (Valentine's Day, Christmas, A bloody Halloween, etc.).

So, what do you think? Is this something you might buy? Am I fooling myself with my granny-esque ways?

Now the only problem is that I sort of want to keep 'em for myself...

Five years ago, I did a solo trip to Europe to try to figure out what to do with my life (and to try to get away from my horrible relationship). Wandering the streets of Rome, I found a little shop where I bought one of these:

I'm sure you've seen them around. The first time I saw one was in a rerun of the Sarah Richardson show Design Inc. Sarah and Tommy used it in a bathroom.

It's just a glass paperweight shaped like a diamond. No big deal. But I liked it, and I like a souvenir I can fit in my pocket, so... "Bling Bling" (that's what I named it) came home with me.

And that would be fine and dandy, except that now these babies are available at Dollarama. Dollarama! In a bunch of different colours, no less.

I know it's not a big deal, but I thought Bling Bling was kind of special. And now it's been reduced to a dollar store trinket. Not that I don't enjoy the dollar store (you know I do), but still.

Sorry, Bling Bling. Your day is done.