You are very ...how do you spell stupid?

Contractually, we are obligated to work retail... I love buying, obviously... but selling, face to face... not so much.  I lack patience and a healthy respect for most individuals.  I generally make my husband fulfill my hours at the antique mall so I would like to send a special thank you to him for his bi-weekly sacrifice.  I often accompany him for a few hours on those days to do a little editing and rearranging and so I was fortunate enough to share a special encounter with some of our "regular" senior customers the other day.

Their disheveled liver spot on liver spot post-coitus appearance, 10:00 am high, fresh Heinekin in hand and "can we drink in the store?" might have alerted us to the oncoming verbal onslaught, but we naively made small talk as our loyal customer placed her empty green bottle on the counter to select several items including a few pieces of costume jewelry. Upon checkout,  I watched my sweet betrothed painstakingly wrap these items and place them in a shopping bag.  I then watched the customer immediately unwrap the jewelry (I am not entirely sure why) and toss them naked back in the bag.  A few hours later, said customer returns having lost the jewelry and demands that my husband give her some free jewelry to replace the jewelry that she lost.  My dear husband, failing to see the logic in her argument and also lacking in the authority to give away other dealer's merchandise explains that he is sorry but there is really nothing he can do.  She responded that she would never be back and left,  returning seconds later to pop her head in and deliver her coup de grace, "You are very stupid."

 
Make no mistake, I have said those same words countless times and probably for lesser offenses.  That being said it these times when I love him the most.  I would have hopped the counter and slashed her tires with the abandoned Heinekin but my wonderful husband gives these "retail experiences" their appropriate universal perspective and gently asks,"Have you been talking to my wife?"

Japanese Weekend

We had a very big weekend - we found a fab Danish couch with pristine upholstery and the "butterload" (my six year old's word for motherload) of Asian smalls, we scored a cerused black mid-century bedroom set, a very large red buddha, a round yellow Asian / midcentury table, at least a hundred pieces of 50s and 60s clothing and lots lots more but my favorite far and away are five antique stained glass panels....check out these three

Do you carry any mid century modern?

Danish rocker by Frank Reenskaug

I found this lovely teak 1958 Frank Reenskaug for Bramin relegated to the back of an awful little shop exactly 3 minutes after asking the proprietor, Madame Pincenez, if they had any mid century modern, to which she abhorrently replied, "Absolutely not, we don't carry any of THAT." 

Four Score

Yabu and Pushelberg's Carlisle Chair

This week my sweet husband scored four burnt orange Nienkamper swivel Carlisle chairs designed in 1992 by George Yabu and Glenn Pushelberg whose work includes includes the lavish interior of  Las Alcobas Hotel in Mexico City, the Four Seasons in Tokyo and several Manhattan hotspots including the glitzy renovation for Tiffany & Co., Blue Fin restaurant, as well as the interior for the Carolina Herrera boutique just to name a few.  Two are at Lula B's now and two are waiting for a couch to move.

The Graveyard

Gilt sheath of wheat chandelier coming to Lula Bs...Some Day

You know that feeling you get when you're having a party and the house is perfect because of your natural style, thoughtful purchasing and decorating genius.  The tulips are smiling and everything is in multi level vignettes of three flanked by pairs. You are about to get ready, and you are in no rush, because, damn girl, you had your s*** together this time. You step back into a corner, take a quick survey and bam, the room looks exactly like you wanted.

 
I know this feeling, I get it every now and then. This elation does not take place at my own home, which is like a purgatory for lost vintage, -  a veritable graveyard for harpless lamps with hanging sockets doing penance alongside chandeliers awaiting crystals and solder. My husband, Nick, is St. Peter standing at the pearly gates of the suburban.  If you make it to the pearly gates, you have been begun your baptismal journey to retail heaven.  My aha moments are relegated to my Lula Bs space, when my re-purposed, refinished and recycled pieces somehow join in a sopranic Ave Maria and I can take a few steps back, trip over someone else's space and say "Yes, that is just how it should be." Then while I am picking up the neighbor's smalls that I knocked over, I glimpse over just in time to watch someone purchase the organic, yet glam, yet whimsical sculpture that tied the space together and I start all over.

Today's Finds

Goddess, Pair of Swans, Pair of Asian etchings. Pair of stone candle holders

Mid Century Silver Plate Taper Holder, Mid Century Serving Spoons, Asian Bowl

Amber Murano glass bowl and kitschy Egyptian leather pouf

Mid Century Modern Word Salad

Monumental C. Jere Birds in Flight available now at Lula B's Riverfront

word salad - noun - incoherent speech consisting of both real and imaginary words, lacking comprehensive meaning and occurring in advanced schizophrenic states.

Gintzing, skintzing, and skanking. These are variations of a host of words I use to describe, well, getting screwed out of something.  Gintzing is a milder affliction, something like a barista forgetting your whip cream. Skintz is a little more serious, akin to someone not giving you back the correct change and skanking is most definitely intentional deceit with the purpose of taking something that belongs to someone else. Mens rea at it's most culpable dear reader.  My fellow native English speakers may have noticed that none of these words has ever graced the pages of Merrriam Webster. To date in fact, they have only made the short trip from my vernacularly liberal lips to the irritated ears of my husband.  I confess I feel a little guilty as his face fills with the concern of a man who is witnessing his life partner exhibit the early signs of schizophrenia.... C'est la vie!

Anyway, I imagine that Curtis Freiler and Jerry Fels must have partaken in at least one helping of word salad before coming up with their nom de plume, Curtis Jere. I watch shoppers struggle through the halls of Lula Bs trying to remember the name of that French guy who did all the metal sculptures.  I imagine that in their heart of hearts Curtis and Jerry hoped that they would never be found out.  You can feel that whimsy and playfulness in many of their designs.  I have considered trying to mold my Texas Spanish Florabama transplant interpretation of "Yarray" into the intended French Jere complete with accent aigu but I think C and J would have enjoyed a good laugh standing behind me and watching me struggle with my early onset schizophrenia.  

Either way I am enjoying my favorite C. Jere that for now brings a bit of playfulness to my den and I am not feeling gintzed, skintzed or skanked. Freiler or Fels, Francofiles or Throne of Lies...it is marvelous.

Marvelous C. Jere whimsy in the den