Ravenswood Repository

Live any place long enough and you'll accumulate a lot of stuff. But approach your acquisitions with even the slightest degree of purpose or passion, and you can really leave behind some impressive collections.

Take these long-reach grabbers, for starters. For most people, one is plenty. For those who want even greater convenience, one on every floor, or even every room, might be understandable. But this many? (There are twelve.) I have to wonder what you're grabbing at, and how incapacitated you are, and if you ought to be grabbing for that to begin with. Just sayin'.

Sidebar: If I didn't already live in a house blessed with more than enough furniture, this sideboard rotting in a basement corner would have come home with me. And then promptly had its drawer and door handles swapped out for something less... white.

The basement featured shelves and shelves of VHS tapes. And not the recorded-at-home kind either. There was a time when this many VHS tapes represented a great wealth of choice and possibilities.

Now they're just old technology looking for an eco-responsible method of disposal. But truth be told, I've got a few shelves of DVDs at home, too. And since going to this sale, I've been thinking about this collection, and my own.

I don't watch my movies all that often, and I don't think this person did either. But here's why I've got my DVDs, and why I think they had their VHS tapes: there's a feeling of security that comes with knowing I could watch my favorite movies at any time. No matter what happens or how bad things get. Come hell or high water. (Though not electrical failure or all-out apocalypse.) There's some comfort in that, I think. And comfort, wherever you can find it, is worth something.

On our way upstairs (where there's an even more impressive collection) let's stop in the dining room for just a moment.

And admire the grace and beauty and mid-century fabulousness of this light fixture hanging over the table. Stay for as long as you like. Our tour will resume at the next photo as soon as you're ready.

Most of the upstairs was your typical estate sale hot mess: cluttered bedrooms filled with a random assortment of books and furniture and linens and clothes and what-not that no one in particular was really interested in.

But there was this one room, used only to store slides, that kind of made me die a little inside.

Because here was a whole lifetime's worth of trips and vacations and pictures of the kids at Christmas.

Despite the looker photographed here, no one was interested in these.

But if I was independently wealthy, and didn't have a job to go to and a blog to keep up and a book to write, I would have taken all of them home, and looked through the carousels and figured out something worthwhile to do with this fantastic wealth of memories.

I hope someone did. Or does.

The Lady in the Leopard-Skin Coat

Occasionally I'm asked how I manage to take so many photos at estate sales. Don't people notice? Aren't they bothered by it?

In over six months of doing this blog, however, my picture-taking has been commented on only a handful of times. (And for those occasions, I have a few cover stories that never fail to bring the conversation to a rapid close.) The truth is, most people are just too busy shopping to care what someone else is doing. Or even if they're being photographed themselves.

Like this woman. Here she is in the bathroom, gathering up some gently used health and beauty aids. You might think I was following her around. Actually, she just had an uncanny ability to get in front of me, no matter where I went.

Here she is again in the kitchen, assessing the quality of some pots and pans, oblivious to the fact that I'm happily snapping away.

And finally, in the pantry. It's probably a good thing that no one notices or cares what I'm doing. It's their inattention that makes this blog possible. But it's your scraps of attention that make it all worthwhile.

Ravenswood Victorian

Sometimes you get a clue early on that you're in for something special.

This somber amputee welcomed us at the front porch of a lovingly restored Victorian. Inside was the kind of place that would make my friend Laura weep with envy and frustration.

Here's the livingroom. I can imagine that big tree sparkling with a thousand lights and decorations during the holidays, while someone plays carols on that baby grand in the back.

That front-porch carving should have been an indication that someone had odd taste in artwork, and that we were in for some startling juxtapositions of decor and decoration.

Scary clown painting #1.

Scary clown painting #2. He seems to be using those black curtains to blow his big red nose.

Scary clown painting #3. Scary clown statuettes would have been a natural match for the paintings, but I didn't see any. Odd.

The kitchen/great room combo in the back was really well done, with a stone fireplace off to the left and sliding glass doors leading to a sun room and a big back yard. There were also some records here, a mix of Broadway soundtracks, diva vocalists and disco. Hm. Not exactly what I was expecting.

The stairway leading to the second floor was dominated by this stained-glass peacock.

More strange artwork at the top of the stairs. Ma'am, please get off that table, put some clothes on and do something about your hair.

Like so much else in the house, this contemporary shelving unit in one of the upstiars bedrooms just didn't fit, which made it seem to fit any way. And is that a rainbow flag? It is. That would explain a lot.

Suddenly, I got the image of a well-off gay couple living here, and everything made sense. The impeccable restoration, the kitschy art choices, the music collection. It all fit.

Then, just as I was about to leave, I saw a huge collection of costume jewelery, and once again nothing fit.

Or did it?

Purchased: Shirley Bassey, Does Anybody Miss Me? and The Lettermen, Hurt So Bad LPs, $1.50.