Chicago In Order

Ordinarily I only post selected photos from estate sales -- generally those that lend themselves to the story or a snark I can think of without too much effort. But today I'll go through the photos from this Chicago sale in order and see what happens. Won't that be fun?

I'm sure I was taking a picture of something else and what's-his-name suddenly got in my way. Happens all the time.

The kitchen in this house was positively huge. (Not shown.)

Single file only, please. We only have one spray bottle of the Murphy Oil Soap for sale. First come, first served!

I took this photo because I recently got rid of a tub just like it. And good riddance to bad bathroom fixtures, I say!

Big-eyed child pictures. What is it about them that's so compelling? So demanding of my attention? What draws my gaze and causes my heart to swell with sympathy for the unnamed sadness that consumes them?

Beats the hell out of me.

It took several years, but eventually the chair and the sofa just agreed to disagree.

Finding one of these is always upsetting. Finding two makes me clench up all over.

Lovely magazine rack, and the random printed material hanging on to it for dear life is included in the price!

I'm old enough to remember this fad, and vaguely recall my mom and aunt making these in our kitchen. You bought the wooden "stem" (or found one in the woods and had your husband clean the bark off it with an ax, and maybe sand it down and seal it) then mixed the acrylic chemicals and colors together and poured them into molds. After they hardened you wired it all together. My mom and aunt actually made hanging lamps with theirs, and for years afterward a lighted bunch of translucent amber grapes hung over our television set.

It would have gone great with this painting.

Only the drapes and the picture remained. The green plaid sofa had managed to drive everything else away.

This one stumps me. It's kind of lovely in a lavender way. The little patches of light thrown off by the lamp add to the effect, and the plant on the chest of drawers provides just the right amount of contrasting color. If I ever publish an estate sale stories book or get my own show on Bravo -- and I have my plans, as soon as Shit My Dad Says, Shit My Kids Ruined and Awkward Family Photos stop hogging the spotlight -- this one will go in it.

Because people were pestering them, constantly, desperate to get their hands on this.

That's all. Thanks for stopping by. Have a great weekend and keep sharing the links!

Chicago Circus

There wasn't too much interesting upstairs in this Northwest-side ranch.

I mean, I was taking photos of oatmeal and jarred gravy, sitting forlornly on the kitchen shelves, wondering what kind of a line I could write for something like this.

I found these in one of the bedrooms. I'll be darned if I know what they are, but there were three bags of them, so they must be the kind of things that you don't want to be caught without.

Po-po-po-poker rack, po-po-poker rack.

I didn't exactly have high hopes for the basement.

That is, until I saw this bar.

A finer example of late-fifties circus-inspired rec room design you're not likely to find. They literally don't make them like this any more. And that's probably a good thing.

Chicago Train Stop. And More Than a Cafe

The only thing that might make this post more enjoyable for you is knowing that immediately after I left this sale, I inadvertently had lunch at an old-folks cafe called "Mather's: More Than a Cafe." This video will do a better, quicker job of explaining what I wandered into than I ever could.

Ordinarily when I go on these excursions, I enjoy dining at one-of-a-kind, out-of-the-way places I find along the way. It adds to the fun, and gives me a glimpse into a world outside of the standard-issue, corporate-run, hyphenated same-old-thing.

And by the way, get a load of this wallpaper.

And so, after looking at engines and tracks and tunnels and models of charming old-fashioned little towns, I went looking for a place to have a quick bite to eat.

Because I wanted something out of the ordinary, an establishment that described itself as more than a cafe struck me as just right.

It bears saying that this more than a cafe looked perfectly ordinary from the outside. There were no signs or portents that would lead me or you or anyone else to believe that this more than a cafe was as much more as it really was.

My first clue that something was amiss was the receptionist just inside the door. "Can I help you?" she asked with a pointedness I would only grasp a few moments too late. "Yeah..." I said, looking around, still not getting it. "Can I have lunch?"

Oh, and every time I see the phrase "train lover," I immediately think of some girls we used to gossip about in high school.

"Well," the receptionist said, "do you know how this works?" The sensible response would have been a simple "No," and a discreet getaway. But I was inside the door. Patrons had already turned around to greet the new arrival. It was too late to turn back. "You order at the counter," she gestured at a cafeteria line behind her, "and pick a table."

How about a nice Hawaiian Punch?

So I went in. And the very next thing I saw was an exercise class of seniors in sweats and stirrup pants, all of them stretching to their "full range of motion," as encouraged by the instructor. And more seniors beyond them, at computers around the dining area, catching up on emails and pictures of the grandkids and generally brushing up on their Internet skillz.

Isn't this floor festive?

So I ordered my meal -- a Reuben or turkey sandwich or something, I don't exactly recall -- and sat down at a table that was as out of the way as I could find, to wait for its delivery. I felt, as the ladies at Harpo used to say, like a raisin in the rice bowl.

When my sandwich finally arrived, it turned out to be fairly bland and easily chewed.

I finished my meal --along with plenty of salt and pepper -- and left without incident. Of course I did. Those seniors weren't looking for trouble any more than I was. And when I was once again outside, I'm sure we all breathed a grateful sigh of relief.

I hope they all had a good laugh at my expense. Because I've certainly had one or two at theirs.

And by the way, isn't it strange that a semi-truck would deliver the magic of Lionel trains to you?

Upstairs at the Chicago Tiki Lounge

Back in November we posted a sale entitled Chicago Tiki Lounge, which was an enormous hit amongst our readers the world over. You no doubt remember all the excitement and hub-bub surrounding that story, and continue to comment about it with your friends and family to this very day. But there was more to that unassuming north side four-square home than its blast-from-the-past South Pacific-style basement bar.

There were stacks of commemorative plates from the Franklin Mint or the Bradford Exchange or one of those other shady companies that shamelessly peddle these things on late-night TV as investment-quality items. Let this be a lesson to all of you as you approach your golden years: this is what becomes of them. They sit unwanted, even at pennies on the dollar. You might as well throw your retirement funds into the street. Or write a nice check made out to Estate Sale Stories.

In keeping with the Pacific islands theme, there was also a room filled with seashells, all of them neatly cataloged and categorized for use. Use in what?

I'm so glad you asked.

I spend a lot of time on this blog railing against wallpaper, but this -- found in an upstairs bedroom -- kind of made me swoon a little. It's clever. It didn't necessarily look real, but that didn't necessarily detract from its charms, either.

That's also where I found this. I imagine resting your tired dogs on top of this after a long day waiting tables or standing behind a sales counter would be a relaxing and rejuvenating experience, provided that it didn't electrocute you.

Oh, look. More seashell crafts. On a personal note, I've always liked this shot and the way that gown is captured in the mirror. It satisfies the amateur photographer in me.

If you have a tiki bar in your basement, it's pretty much a given you're going to have a jacket like this in your closet. It's just the natural order of things.

More wallpaper, this time with cherubs.

And when you have wallpaper like that, a switchplate like this probably qualifies as one of the great lucky finds of your life. That, too, is the natural order of things, and no doubt proof of God's great plan at work.

Chicago Tiki Lounge

Everything interesting about this place was down in the basement, so let's just head down and take a look.

The lights are dim, but I can just make out a sign above the stairs.

Oh, my. I'm sure that was meant ironically. I certainly hope so.

Holy island paradise. This must be one of those places with fancy drinks. In that case, I'll have a Missionary's Downfall. On second thought, make it a double.

It was only $5, and I passed it up. Sometimes I'm such a drunken fool.

When it came to the decor, they thought of everything.

And I do mean everything.

Apparently this bar has rules. But I'm too drunk to read them. Or care.

When the room starts spinning, this floor is going to be beautiful.

Another Chicago Hoarder

After walking into this place, the first thing that hit you -- aside from the overwhelming lived-in smell -- was the sheer volume of stuff in it.

And not just any stuff, either. This was someone with an obsession.

At first it looked like a mere fascination with American Indian... what's the word? Memorabilia? Paraphernalia? Collectibilia?

Because they had it all. From figurines to artwork to dreamcatchers. Everything but the scalp from a pioneer maiden.

And they had it everywhere. I'm pretty sure the people holding the sale would have gladly sold this stuff by the pound, there was that much of it.

I found this lamp in a back bedroom. I should have bought it...

... and sent it to the good people at Travelocity.

Of course there was a basement...

... and of course it looked like this.

There were two big bookshelves, and both of them were stuffed with books. Their topics spanned everything from astrology to Zoroastrianism.

There were quite a few interesting finds down here as well. This sombrero could be the start of a mighty fine Halloween costume for someone.

Who wants to get their hair did?

This was incredibly weird and goofy. I would have bought it if had been in better shape. Maybe having the photo is just as good.

Somewhere behind all that stuff was a pretty swank bar.

Something tells me this must have come in handy a time or two.

None of these pictures show it, but the basement was packed with estate salers, busily digging through all the layers, each of them hoping to find their one true treasure.

On my way out I stopped in the back yard and garage where there was...

... you guessed it, even more stuff. On my way out I talked to the guy keeping watch over the backyard collection. "It's too bad," he said, "if all you had was ten percent of this stuff, it would fly out the door. But this... it's just too much. It all ends up looking like crap."