It also doesn't have streetlights on the extremely narrow roads in the residential section. So this is what our pretty neighborhood looks like at night. Especially on rainy or overcast nights.
So J and I are on our way home from the grocery, on a rainy holiday week night when something glimmers in the corner of my eye. I slam on the brakes. J unfortunately was holding a drink the moment I slammed on the brakes.
Whoops. He was then no longer so much holding the drink as wearing it.
"OH MY GOD WHAT'S WRONG?" J screamed, dripping with milk (yes, he carries milk around in the grown-up equivalent of a sippy cup. It's a long story). "DID YOU HIT SOMETHING?" He later tells me he thought someone's pet had gotten loose. Thank goodness, no.
I'm staring openmouthed, waving my hands around in UTTER SHEER EXCITEMENT. I can't speak. I can't breathe. I'm so excited.
I can see the merest glimmer of a metal foot and a tapered leg. I can make out one long piece topped by a smaller one.
Finally, I breathlessly announce, "There's mid-century furniture in that trash pile!!!!"
"Are you serious?" J asks quietly. Then, "Where? I can't see anything."
This is what I'm seeing in my mind's eye at this point.
|Photo From Strictly Heywake|
I am absolutely ridiculously excited.
This is when I jump out of the car and run over to the tables. Leaving my door ajar. I see immediately that I'm right, they are bi-level vintage side tables. They aren't Heywood-Wakefield. I don't care.
"You need to pull the car up so we can put them in the trunk," J says, getting out of the car, into the blowing rain.
I freeze. Honestly? I was worried if I stopped to move the car up someone else would come along, on this cliched dark and stormy night, and take my mid-century side tables from the trash pile.
"But...someone could take them," I stammer, clutching the table I've freed from the pile in an incredibly awkward embrace.
"MOVE THE CAR. NO ONE WANTS YOUR TRASHED TABLES." He didn't yell, by the way. But there was a certain firmness there.
So I nervously move the car up the requested five feet (I slammed on the brakes the instant my eye registered mid century leg) and we load them into the car. My incredibly patient husband helps me get them in the house, although they (and we) are absolutely soaked. Then he helps me dry them off, because I'm afraid if they stay wet they'll warp.
The good news is that one table is in really nice shape.
The other table is missing a leg. HOWEVER. The incredibly considerate neighbors also threw away said leg, and I found it. J says it'll be easy to reattach it. The bigger issue is that the finish on that table is marred. These are Formica, or laminate, side tables. Refinishing isn't an option, so I think I'll just paint them. I am toying with the idea of re-formicaing them.
(Also? These pics were taken while I prepped the living room for waxing the floors. I'll have the horrific details of that experience later in the week. I'm still processing.)
I'm picturing the end result looking something like this.
|Photo From A Modern Line|
Creamy top, black legs, preserve the vintage brass details. I'm so glad we found these, partly because we recently broke our bed and I think what we will get will be a lot lower than our current bed, which means our nightstands would be higher than the top of the mattress. Not good. These will be perfect with a lower bed.
Also, did you know my Facebook followers got a sneak peak? Follow me to get even more glimpses of the insanity around here!
So...am I the only trash picker? Does anyone else have a trash picked score they'd like to share?
I hope everyone has a safe New Year's Eve and I'll see you back here next year!