Well!

Too funny! Somebody just outbid me for that Gothick chandelier, literally in the last three seconds.

Funny, because as I watched the seconds tick off with me still as the one and only bidder, I was thinking, "Well, you bought it!" and wasn't sure that was actually a good thing.

But then, when it was too late to up my maximum bid-- wham!

And now I'm annoyed, not because I lost the item, but because I lost the auction. Which is a different thing.

Well, well, well.

Doubt I'll go back to lusting for the Rejuvenation fixture. Too screaming expensive. When the time comes to replace the dining room chandelier, I'll return to eBay and try again.

Indecision

You know how in my last post I admitted to casually browsing antique light fixtures for my dining room on eBay late Wednesday night?

Well, now I'm trying to decide whether I'm actually going to commit to one.

Here it is:

She's a beaut, ain't she? But I haven't decided if this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to satisfy my yen for all things Gothick, or if I'd be acquiring a hideous piece of High Eclectic Shamanism (avec hommage to Prof. Lou Michels, my brilliant college architecture history prof) and a Wicked Waste and Frivolity.

Early yesterday morning I was dreaming of this chandelier and how much I waaaaaaannnted it-- usually a sure sign I should buy something and that I will be Very Glad if I do and Very Unhappy if I don't. This piece is unique and fun and marvellous. It's exactly the right size. It has six (count 'em, 6) lights in it-- great because I read at the dining room table constantly. Oh, yes, oh, yes, want!

But I looked at it again and my chikenhed streak starting leaking through. Shouldn't my dining room feature something more classical-- like this?












Maybe, but the ersatz Gothicky chandelier will look loverly with my William Morris "Savernake" wallpaper and "Strawberry Thief" curtain material.
Matter of fact, we can say the archer is shooting at the birds!

And there's that wonderful Jacobean tridarn I've been drooling over at the antique emporium up the road. Yeah, I haven't visited it for a few months and they may have sold it by now. But I can dream, right? And if I could get it, this chandelier will go with it perfectly.

Besides, the Rejuvenation fixture I'm looking at, they want over $800 for it these days. Owwww!

On the other hand, the 19th century Medieval fixture being flogged on eBay is, possibly, a little too idiosyncratic?

So what to do, what to do? Auction ends in a couple-three hours, gotta make a decision soon!

_____________________________
Update 8:08 EDT-- I went ahead and put in a bid on it. If I get busy and somebody else swoops in and outbids me, that'll take care of that quandary, won't it?

That's Enough

I admit it. I delayed and now I have wimped.

For the night, that is.

Didn't start painting my 2nd floor hall until 8:30 PM. By 11:30 PM I had its four walls coated with what has got to be the final layer of my faux finish and the paint tray was almost empty. Excellent excuse to say phooey on it, I'll clean up, turn in, and do the rest of it in the daylight.

Only I haven't done so well in the turning in department. I came up to my computer to do a quick blog post. But instead, inspired (or led astray) by Greg at the Petch House, I've spent the last, um, oh, I don't know how long on eBay looking at antique light fixtures. No business doing that right now, but no harm in asking a question or two about any that seem interesting, just in case, right?

The latest layer of paint is interesting in its own way. Not madly in love with the color effect, at least not in the incandescent glow of the hall light. But after seven blinking coats I think it will have to do. In that light, at least, the peach toned glaze blends in with everything underneath and looks kind of yellow. Or-- God forbid, beige.

But the textural effect is nice, and the new color's warmer and better than the cold gray-blue I had before, so I guess I can get used to it. (A lot will depend on the tone of the refinished woodwork.) Only alternative if I decided to chuck the whole thing would be to cover it all with wallpaper. Even after days of spackling and sanding, the plaster's too irregular and pitted for a flat one-color paint job.

(Here's where I think of a clever ending. But if I were clever, I would have crashed three hours ago.)

See Sharp or Be Flat?

Here's the next installment of the continuing saga of the 1911 Lester piano I'm contemplating giving a good home to (I keep this up, Jeannie and Aaron might question whether this is truly a house blog anymore!):

Last night, I sent a link to my last post, along with a filled-in worksheet, to a piano tech in New Jersey. I made the virtual acquaintance of this person through purchasing a used piano buying guide from him on eBay Thursday night ($2.99 Buy It Now). The price included follow-up advice, so I took advantage of it.

Early this morning, his reply came in. He strongly recommended I not take this piano on, even as a giveaway. The buzz in the one key, he wrote, is a hard damper felt. The lost motion in some others would be missing felts or loose jacks coming unglued. The bottoming out in the bass notes is likely a cracked bass bridge. The same, he said, was likely true for the treble bridge. The fact that the pinblock had been doped (chemically treated to make the wood swell to keep the tuning pins in snugly) was a bad sign that the pins are probably still loose.

It would, he said, cost around $6,600 to regulate and repair the piano to playable condition (including replacing the pinblock to the tune of $4,700). And even then, I'd have a 97 year old piano with mostly 97 year old parts. And that doesn't include moving and tuning.

"Lester pianos," the Jersey tech wrote, "are quite good – but the age and condition is working against this one." I could, he said, buy something much younger and better for a lot cheaper.

With this advice in mind, I've done some objective thinking on the subject.

I'm not dead set on acquiring this particular piano. It just happens to be available. If it doesn't work well enough, it'd be taking up the space of another that'd suit me better.

Late this afternoon, then, I called back the local tech/piano tuner to see about getting a second opinion. I've forwarded him all the info I sent the tech in New Jersey, including the NJ tech's reply, and asked him to quote me a fee to meet me at the church to look at it himself.

But the local guy is a lot more optimistic. He feels the tech in New Jersey has to be painstakingly conservative on the advice he gives me, in order to cover his rear. That is, any one symptom can have any number of causes, more or less critical. Someone giving advice via email has to assume the worst. The local tuner, being able to see the instrument in person, can afford to be more optimistic.

So we'll see. If the local tuner/tech tells me it'd cost me too much to fix, forget it. Hey, if I want to sink thousands of dollars into a handsome piece of woodwork, I'd rather go broke buying the 1698 Jacobean tridarn dresser an antique dealer up the Beaver River has for sale.

And of course if the piano's an outright junker, then it's for the dump. In that case, I'd like to get with the church to see about their allowing me to salvage the wooden casework for reuse in a new project. And try to convince them to recycle the harp and wires and other metal parts. There's a metal scrap yard just up the Ohio River from me I could refer them to.

But all this is contingency thinking. I'll wait to hear what the local tuner/tech says.

Traumerei

I've always wanted a piano.

I've always considered it ironic that I, the most musical of my siblings, should in childhood never have had the chance to take lessons due to lack of family funds.

It always seemed to me a tragedy, if not a sacrilege, that when I was about six my dad traded our piano in on a buzzy electric organ.

So a month or so ago, when a church in my presbytery advertised an upright piano free for the taking to any church or individual that wanted it, I started to dream.

The congregation's in the middle of renovations after a fire last summer and they need the old piano out of the way. I'd like a free piano. What could be more ideal for everyone?

I answered the email directly, stating that of course, a church should have first claim, but if no one else offered for it . . .

No one did. I began to dream more vividly. I talked to some friends who'd recently acquired a used piano of their own to get their help in moving what I hoped soon would be mine. I measured likely walls that the piano could go up against. I reminded myself to make sure it was mounted on wheels, so I could move it when the time comes to refinish the baseboards.

And today I arranged to come out and look at it. I found the instrument pushed out of the way, crowded into what used to be the pastor's office, off the new-laid vinyl tile floor in the fellowship hall.

It is a beauty. Forgot to note down the serial number (idiot!), but it's a Philadelphia Lester, probably at least 100 years old. The carving is lovely without being overdone. Keys all of ebony or of ivory overlay. None of the keys stick or go down without coming back up. True, two of them don't sound-- they're missing their hammers. But they're the G7 and the C8 way at the top, and if in the short term I'm using the piano mainly to teach myself vocal repertoire, repairing those can wait. It's definitely out of tune, but not wildly so. The works are accessible from the front, which should make tuning easier. And the bench comes with it.

However. However. This baby is big. A lot bigger than I expected. Almost five and a half feet wide at the upper cornice and four foot eight inches high and twenty-eight inches deep. A lot bigger than the more modern piano my friends recently used a refrigerator dolly and three guys to move. I showed the pictures to them this evening, and the husband said, "My dad's dolly won't hold that. You'll need six strong men. And a pickup truck."

He did not sound encouraging. Or too eager to volunteer, either.

And my front steps are another nightmare. Five big concrete risers in a stair that goes out sideways. No way a piano that size is making that turn from my walkway to those stairs. I'd have to get permission to shoot at it from the neighbors' yard. If the ground is frozen it might not destroy their grass, but who can really tell?

And it'd need a ramp. Definitely a ramp. I don't see even six strong guys lifting that behemoth up those steps.

And then this evening, I went on eBay to see what pianos like this are being offered for. Didn't find any equivalent, but I did find (and buy) an inexpensive booklet on how to buy used upright pianos, being sold by a piano tech in New Jersey. According to him, tuning and reconditioning an old piano can run into the hundreds or thousands!

Then there's the transport problem at the church end. This was the Sunday School piano, and it's down in the church basement. You'd think that aspect of the problem would have hit me this afternoon when I was over there inspecting it, but no, I was going dreamy over the fluted columns and the applique scrollwork! We walked down a narrow set of stairs with a 180 degree turn at the top to get down to that lower level. Surely there's got to be another exit, but where? Getting the instrument into my house looks easy compared to this!

My piano dreams are rapidly dissipating.

Or are they?

My friend is all for arranging nephews with pickup trucks and all sorts of other help, if, as she says, I've got my heart set on having it.

I told her no, not quite . . . But I'm going to give it a good shot, keeping in mind how broke I am.

First thing is to find out what the local piano tuner would charge to meet me at the church and tell me what I'd be getting into for tuning and repairs.

Then it might be worthwhile finding out what real professional piano movers would want to be paid.

And if that's too rich for my blood, maybe I'll just tell the people at the church that if they really really really want to get their old piano out of the way of their renovation work, they'll have to supply the manpower to get it out of their basement.

I can dream, can't I?

Ebay Drapery Fabric!

Is this fast delivery, or what?

The William Morris drapery fabric I bought via eBay arrived from Wales yesterday morning, only four days after I paid for it!

I verified the yardage, and the seller added in a third of a yard more, for good measure-- more good news.

As it happened, there was no Customs duty (I'm still ignorant as to what the regulations are).

As to the color, I was concerned it would be too bright red. Here's how it turned out:

At least, this is the best my camera can do to show how it looks in person. The background red has a pronounced tinge of russet brown, more than you see here. And the colors are actually more subdued. My dining room window hangings definitely will not be screaming.

(The funny thing is, while I was waiting for the shipment to arrive, I'd kind of gotten used to the idea of flaming red!)

Here's the fabric with a swatch of the wallpaper I'm planning to use:
It's another William Morris pattern, "Savernake." They work well together, I think.

All I have to figure out now is, what should I use to reupholster my dining room chair seats? I had them done in a beautiful "Owen Jones" patterned cotton when I bought the chairs back in the '80s, but by now it's shot.

. . . Well, no, actually, what I have to figure out now is what to do with the dining room windows, and how to pay for it. The custom window builders' recommended carpenter called back Wednesday morning, and he's to ring again tomorrow evening to see about coming out to look at the job sometime next week.

When it comes time to make up these draperies, I'll try to remember to post pictures of the process. I'm no expert, but I had decent success making some Roman shades a few years ago. So drapes shouldn't be too difficult (she says, as she staggers under the weight of all the fabric . . . ).

Am I a Genius . . . or an Idiot?

Am I a bloody genius or what?

I took the plunge and did a "Buy It Now" for some William Morris drapery fabric on eBay this afternoon.

I've decided to go with William Morris patterns in my house-- The style should do well to marry the Arts and Crafts and the Victorian elements I'm trying to pull together. I want red, full-length drapes in my dining room. I think "Strawberry Thief" is a fun pattern to have in a dining room.

And even at the Buy It Now price and adding in the freight, what I'm paying is very, very, very inexpensive for this fabric, especially for a colorway I haven't seen anywhere else. (And believe me, I've looked.)

I'll be making these drapes up myself, and I'll be saving beaucoup over what I would pay getting the sizes I need from Smith+Noble or some shop of that ilk.

So why do I worry I may have been an idiot?

Because the fabric is coming from Wales and I have no idea how much Customs duty our dear US inspectors may choose to slap onto it.

Because of a creeping fear that when I see it in person, the color will turn out to be too screamingly orange.

Because after I committed to buy, I blew up the sale page images on my computer, to get an idea of the actual pattern size-- and oh, dear, it looks rather, well, large.

Not that I want my DR drapes to be coy and mimsey. But I prefer they not yell "Look at meeeeeeeeeeee!!!!" all through dinner.

Too late now. And at the price, it's still worth the risk. If it doesn't work and the seller won't take it back, I'll relist the goods myself.

I shall not, however, be bidding on the "Chrysanthemum" fabric I've been coveting from another seller the past week and a half. Gosh, I love these colors! They'd look so good in my front room. But I've checked the proportions, and if "Strawberry Thief" is large, "Chry-santhemum" is humongous.

What I don't understand is why Mr. Morris designed his patterns so darned big. Maybe he thought we should all live in large, well-proportioned manor houses like Kelmscott?

I could only dream!