After being rear-ended twice for abruptly stopping for roadside finds, I finally put a bumper sticker on my car that warns: I brake for EVERYTHING.
My treasures-in-the-trash days began two decades ago in tony Brooklyn Heights when I found a Dresden porcelain lamp perched on top of the trashcan outside Norman Mailer’s digs. This lovely boudoir lamp with its finely painted lady and floral decorations sits near my bed, and every night when I turn it off I say, “Goodnight Norman.”
My newest treasure, found in front of a VFW that was undergoing a facelift, is a magnificent solid oak round table with two leaves—large enough to seat 12. Of course, having spent its entire life in a VFW, it reeked of cigarettes and not even Murphy’s Oil Soap made a dent. I gave it to a friend who sanded off the old varnish. Voila! With a bit of stain and polish it’s been reincarnated into a thing of beauty without a hint of its previous smoke-filled life.
My utterly feminine dressing table is a former oak computer desk that lounged on the roadside with a sign that pleaded, “Please take me,” so how could I resist! I swathed it with yards of lace and topped it with a Victorian tasseled cloth, and now it’s fit for a queen.
Last month I found a huge, round mahogany beveled mirror with a lipsticked sign that announced, “Free!” Nearby was the ramshackle bureau that it used to sit on and this also had a sign: “Please take!” I took the mirror and left the bureau with a penciled apology: “Sorry, needs too much fixing.”
I’ve also been known to dumpster dive but only in wealthy areas. In New York City I found an 1897 Baedecker of France in pristine condition, complete with foldout maps and wonderful line drawings of historic buildings. Thank goodness I was with my sister because she held onto my legs as I dove in headfirst and rummaged around. I also found a silk lampshade that fit my art deco pole lamp and a vintage wicker laundry hamper with lid.
Dumps are also gold mines, but again, only in ritzy neighborhoods. Last summer I took home a large cherry rocker circa the 1890s in almost perfect condition. The patina is warm and nicely aged, and the rocker now sits proudly in front of the fireplace at a friend’s house.
One of my sisters is an antiques dealer with a divi’s nose (short for diviner) and the luck of the Irish. People call her to remove the contents of their attics and barns, and after a quick browse she pays them, backs up her truck, and takes it all away. More times than not, she finds treasure like real silver spoons, valuable needlepoint cushions, and Bavarian porcelain dessert dishes. On her desk sits an adorable pair of 17th century hand-sewn baby shoes in soft leather that she found in an old rain barrel.
I’ve always known that the best things in life ARE free. I just didn’t know they were sitting by the side of the road!
Humorist and freelance scribe Joyce Faiola is a consultant/designer for the hospitality industry and lives in New England. Her e-mail is JLFaiola@Juno.com.
