Hunting For: Cathrineholm for a Song

Scandinavian mid century design doesn't get more iconic than the lotus pattern enamel Cathrineholm pieces. I'm sure you've seen their bowls or platters or fondue pots somewhere--ever since Rachel Ray got her EVOO streaked paws all over them (she used a lookalike bowl on her show 30 Minute Meals), they've transformed into mid century for the masses.

Source

That doesn't mean they're easy to find in Toronto, though. I've said it before and I'll say it again: TO's antique prices are off the chain. Ripped right off the chain. The smallest of teak pieces at antique stores are never under $200, Craigslist ads easily demand $500 for a 'retro looking' chair somebody else farted on, and I've even seen garage sales asking upwards of $1500 for a 1960's couch with cat scratches. There's no fun in that. And, trapped in my entry level job, there's no money for that.

I've never seen any lotus pattern Cathrineholm pieces for sale in this city. I've seen them in antique store windows, defiantly not for sale, but I've never spotted some at my usual haunts. In the summer, that means street sales and church bazaars and flea markets. The deals always migrate outside. In the winter, I hole up in thrift stores, desperate to find a treasure, but rarely do. I spend full days at "thrift corner" (Dixie and Dundas in Mississauga) where four thrift stores converge into one beautiful little shopping mecca, and still find nothing special. (Note: never go to thrift corner. Forget I told you about it. It's MINE.)

I still have dreams about finding that elusive piece of Cathrineholm, though. I don't want to pay through the nose for an avocado green lotus lasagna pan on eBay. Again, that's not the point. I want to roam through a stinking Goodwill and find an avocado green lotus lasagna pan hidden among the old Tupperware and chipped comic strip Cathy mugs (Ack!!). In a perfect world, I find two pieces: one to keep and one to sell. But for now I'll just keep looking.

From nopatternrequired.com

Ikea Kitchen Cart DIY

Truth: I've never wanted a Bekvam cart, that Ikea staple of a million undergrad kitchens.

It's a functional size and shape, but the untreated wood isn't very appealing. Last month, during a DIY drought--our apartment is running out of projects, how will I live?--I decided to give in, buy the Bekvam, lug the box home and start staining. Our existing kitchen "cart" needed to eat it, after all:

I mean, look at that thing. Purchased on sale at Canadian Tire in 2008 for $10. It could barely even stand up straight.  

Staining and painting are hard tasks when you live in a cramped apartment, so I opted to get the job done outside on our (equally cramped) front porch. Let's just say, I spent a lot of time yelling at wind.

After:

(Please ignore the disgusting switch plate. This ain't my house, so I ain't DIY-ing that thing.)

It looks like a million bucks--or like $249.00, which is the price of Ikea's similar Stenstorp cart. 

I'm currently living cheaper than Ikea. I didn't think it could be done. 

Also!

A gift from Devan's mom, or, a book salvaged from a basement in London, ON. Yes, those are goblets of milk on the front cover. 

I may have to start a series of blog posts testing out these recipes. Nay, will. 

Late Night Ottoman Upholstery

In second year university, my aunt foisted some furniture on me: an old pale pink corduroy wingback chair and matching ottoman from 1980s Sears. They were super ugly; still are. The wingback at least is in good shape, but the ottoman hasn't held up so well. It's barely survived countless house parties, spills, feet, crosswords and cats. Note the historical evidence below:
                                           

                                                                            

I've been wanting to recover the ottoman for a while. I bought a yard at Designer Fabrics, borrowed a staple gun from my mom, referenced a tutorial from Remodelaholic.com, and set to work at 10pm on a Friday night.  Please ignore any tall boys or glasses of red wine that may have crept into the backgrounds of these photos. 

Before shot. The ottoman in all of its filthy, Febrezed glory.

I removed the wooden legs first, only to discover that they WEREN'T WOOD AT ALL. You duped me, Sears.

Next, I made buttons using leftover scraps and a button kit. 

Don't do what I did: use a too-heavy fabric for the buttons, render the plastic button kit useless and end up hammering them together until a neighbour starts banging on the walls to shut you up.

Next, I measured and marked the locations for my buttons. This is where things got tricky. My ottoman is basically a hollow wooden box, and I decided to leave the existing fabric and padding in place-- not ideal conditions for button tufting. Devan drilled holes through both the top and bottom of the ottoman. 

Don't do what we did: forget to recharge your drill before using it. 

I centered the fabric, pulled it taut and stapled it to the bottom of the ottoman. I did the sides before tackling the corners; those I folded up, creating a double fold which I then straightened out (hard to explain). Don't do what I did: try to make it up as you go along. 

Somebody's pleased.

I couldn't find any long upholstery needles, so I made do with what I had on hand; a regular sewing needle taped to a barbecue skewer (really). I had to poke the "needle" through the new fabric, the old fabric, and the old padding before I could even hit the first hole in the wood. It took at least thirty minutes to get the first button tufted, but it was doable!

Don't do what I did: expect to tuft six buttons, when it's clear that you'll be giving up after number four.

The finished product!

Digby still likes it. 

West Elm Summer 2011

I am a sucker for the wares at West Elm. It doesn't help that their prices are reasonable, their colours are bright, their designer collaborations are unexpected, or that their only Canadian outpost (so far) is located in Liberty Village, just a short, pleasant, Parkdale streetcar ride away from my apartment. It's a perfect storm of retail stimulation.

The Summer 2011 catalogue just came out, and it decided it would be fun to read my mind:

Look! A bright yellow architectural pillow. Exactly what I was looking for a month ago, right before I got desperate and was forced to take matters (fabric) into my own hands. My pillow covers are still in the process of being cut out and sewn together, but West Elm's can be had easy for $34 USD.