An Embarrassment of Old Cupboards, and A Bit O'Red

You can never have too much of a good thing.

Really?

That is certainly true for chocolate, money, and blogging friends. But when it comes to big ol' pieces of vintage furniture that should by rights be living in your kitchen, well, then, you can indeed have too much of a good thing.

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I'm showing off some red on Today Is Rednesday at It's A Very Cherry World! blog, hosted by Sue. This is my first time jumping in to Rednesday; thanks! I don't have much red today, but you will find it if you keep reading!

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There is room in our kitchen for two freestanding storage pieces.
There are two there already, and two others waiting in the wings for their auditions.

I have a 19th-century walnut cupboard rumored to have been built by Abraham Lincoln's Dad.
This puppy is going to stay right where it is. It's too big and heavy to move, and,
like a glass slipper on Cinderella's foot, it fits perfectly -- between the back stairs and the back hall.

It also holds a poop-load of stuff.

Note to Self: Tidy shelves before snapping pictures. Oy.

This cupboard is more than 24-inches deep, and each side is made of one solid board.
You can see a big knot in the side of the cupboard, below.
It's been a long time since 24-inch plus boards were available to cabinet makers.

Nearby is an old jam cupboard that I bought a long long time ago on a junking trip with an old boyfriend to United House Wrecking in Connecticut. It cost me twenty-five bucks -- a lot of money for me at the time -- and was slathered in layers of paint.

It's not photogenic, sorry. It's very cute in person.
Lovely manners and a charming smile.
My Mom had my Dad build a replica in the beach house for their pantry.

Under all the paint was an original layer of milk paint,
and whoa baby! was that hard to strip off.

(Yes, I can hear the groaning now.
Hey, I was young and stupid, and it was my first refinishing project.
Now I'm old and stupid, but at least know to leave original milk paint alone!)

I did a "fine" furniture finish on it.

It's cheerfully bounced around to all the places I've lived, with just some edge wear
and some dings on the bottom where feet and vacuums have knocked into it.

That glossy finish is one tough mama, and it's not polyurethane; it's layers and layers of shellac, and then varnish. I followed The Furniture Doctor's instructions (George Grotz) and my Dad said it wouldn't work. It did.

Then, there is the Hoosier cabinet, right now sitting in our front hall looking miserable.
We put it in our weekend Yard Sale, but I didn't expect it to sell, and it didn't.
I priced it high on purpose. I think Howard was wise to my madness.

The cabinet on the right has the intact flour hopper. The upper cabinet's lower section pulls up for work space and the enamel top pulls out. The drawer on the right in the lower section is tin-lined -- a bread drawer.


It's by Sellers, so it's really a hoosier with a small "h" -- not made by the Hoosier company.

It's got its original decoration, which my girls say looks like some sort of beetle. I didn't realize until the yard sale, but it the flower used to be yellow, and someone has carefully painted over it in red:

Yes! My first Red for Rednesday.
The rest of the stencil is original. The pull-out enamel top looks new;
I don't think the hausfrau who owned this did much cooking!

Lastly, the pie safe.
(And we can play "spot the dust" with this one!)

My cousin gave this to my mother, in the 60s. During summers she occasionally helped

out in his menswear shop in Stony Brook on Long Island, and he would pay her in antiques.

My father never liked this cupboard, called it a "piece of junk."
What? That's an insult?

I loved it when I was a kid, and I love it now.

From what I have seen in books, it is a country Sheraton style,

and is probably Southern, judging from its screened openings. No punched tin.

My Mom always threatened to replace the screening with punched tin. Thank goodness she never did.
I suspect she only said that for the entertainment value of watching me go hysterical over the prospect.

When I was a kid, this piece was relegated to my Mom's laundry area in the "unfinished" side of our basement. It moved to the beachhouse, to store skeins of yarn and quilting books. It moved to That Old House on Labor Day weekend.

My Dad came for dinner last Saturday night, and saw the pie safe.
He still thinks it is a piece of junk, but he says "It looks great here."

He might have been being polite.
Or, he thinks junk suits our house. ;-)
Or, he might be relieved to no longer have its shoddy workmanship in his house.
Or, maybe it really looks at home here, like it's found its spot, which right now is in the conservatory next to the kitchen. It might not stay there. . . .

(The window over the pie safe is at the end of our back stairs from the kitchen to the 2nd floor.
That used to be the outside wall of the house, before the conservatory was added.)

So, what to do about our embarrassment of riches ... er ... cupboards?

I could list the Hoosier on Ebay; I can't bear to part with any of the other pieces.

Or, the Hoosier can go where the jam cupboard is, and then the jam cupboard can go where the pie safe is, and then the pie safe can go . . . where?

Or, the jam cupboard can go in the butler's pantry, now empty of furniture, but that's just a temporary band-aid. And then the Hoosier goes in the kitchen, or. . . what?

I am not going to put the Hoosier back in the basement.

Old stone-foundation cellars are not good places for wood furniture.

Ack! It's like playing Musical Furniture.

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More Red for Rednesday:

I have more ripe tomatoes to dry or stew or something.
And today I plan on getting to a farm stand and buying some early apples.
I'm hoping for Winesaps, but I may be optimistic.

I am bowing to the inevitable. I will embrace Fall. Eventually.

Meanwhile, Mr. Dion DiPoochy reminds us to take time,
and smell the flowers while they are still here. Good boy, Dion. --- Cass