I was a bit of a late bloomer in the Craigslist department, for the few times I had gone there before, I never found anything that I really wanted.  A couple of months ago, however, I started getting into a record player phase, and Craiglist delivered like Domino’s in that department.  I picked up a nice little hand-cranked unit in Sioux Falls, and then I discovered a 1962 console record player in Mankato, Minnesota.  It had the lighter wood that I desired and was more compact than the monstrous ones of the ’70s, so I was sold on it immediately … and it was sold to me.  Behold the beautiful machine:

A friend and I made the trip to Mankato a few days ago, and in addition to picking up the console record player, we found a few other retro goodies as well, like THIS SIGN!

The antique store we were headed to just happened to be on this little access road that ran by this beautiful relic, and I immediately requested for my friend to pull over so I could jump out and admire it close up.  I only wished that I had seen this sign at night, for the neon covers the entire starburst and I’m sure that it twinkles like a star. The BOWL sign has two panels that must have been replaced with white rather than colored background, but the two remaining colors make it look retro enough.

While we were shopping downtown, we asked an antique store owner about the cafe next door.  ”It has 1950s food at 1950s prices,” he stated.  It didn’t take much more than that to sell me on that food.  I wish I had taken a picture of the menu, because he was not exaggerating.  Much of the food was under $2.00!  A cheeseburger cost $1.70.  My friend wondered how this place stayed in business with prices like that, and we discovered that the answer lay in the magic of smaller portions, for the cheeseburger was pretty tiny and came with a smattering of onion rings.  Then again, I have a feeling that these 1950s prices offered 1950s portion sizes as well.  No super sizing happening here!  One reviewer urbanspoon.com mentioned that it usually takes “many things” ordered in order to fill him up.  Sign of the times, I suppose.

Truthfully, the food was nothing special.  It was a quaint little place that had been stuck in time for ages, and that was neat to see.  It was a little portion of Lost America that is hanging on by its fingernails, and I will always be the biggest cheerleader for that.

Before eating at the cafe, we walked by this book store and were charmed by the sight of a cat milling around the books in the window.  Indeed, the Once Read Bookstore has two “shop cats” who are fairly friendly with customers.  This is a good old fashioned bookstore, with books crammed in every nook and cranny. They are organized by topic, but not organized much after that.  One just has to find the right topic area and let your eyes do the searching for something you just can’t live without.  I walked away with a biography about F. Scott Fitzgerald and some sniffles from the kitties that I was allergic to.  However, I would be the last person on earth to complain to a shop owner that his cats make me sniffle.  I love these old bookshops that are creaky and dusty and, in this case, filled with cat dander.  I’d prefer that in an instant over a sanitized Barnes and Noble.

Don’t get me wrong — I love Barnes and Noble for a multitude of reasons, but there’s something very … um … American-ish — maybe small town-ish — about cats roaming around a bookstore.  There’s no government gestapo telling this guy he can’t have a cat in his business because some random person might have an allergy.

Truthfully, I think the incense pouring out of the hippie shop next door was more toxic than the cats.

This weekend brought some lucky finds on Craigslist as well as my local antique store, and I also happened to turn another year older.  Perhaps the purchases were a way to offset the agony of getting older?  I dunno.

Anyway …

I’ve been on the hunt for a vintage radio lately, preferably one that had a record player built in.  Yesterday I was at the local antique store when I ran across this beauty.

Usually when I see old wooden radios, the wood has taken some serious beating: it’s scratched, worn, cracked, or there is water damage somewhere on it.  The wood on this one was absolutely flawless, and once I gave it a quick cleaning, it gleamed like it was new.  The cord has been cut in the back, but I knew that could be fixed.  The price was low enough to make me plunk down the money for it.

After some quick reading, I’ve found out that this is a Montgomery Ward Airline radio and phonograph circa 1941.  There were many, many versions of Airline radios, and an internet search didn’t land any exact matches for pictures or resources for this particular model, but I loved the fact that the wood was in such good condition, the original knobs were still on it, and there was a phonograph on top of all of it.  There’s even a little depression next to the phonograph that has a bunch of spare needles in it. Score!

I will admit: I know zilch about repairing electronics.  However, I also know that restoring these radios is important, for we will probably never see newer versions of them ever again.  Long gone are the days of polished wood with carefully placed stylistic elements.  Never again will radios be crafted to look like the furniture of your house.   I have a few resources in mind for getting this baby up and going again, but even if I can’t, it will have a nice little home in my retro house.

While digging through the piles in the shop, I came across this little gem that stood out because of the bold advertising.

It’s a little hard to read, but the plate says, “Pies by Fasano.”  I had no idea who Fasano was, but I liked how the pie plate had holes in the bottom and could be easily hung as a display piece in my kitchen, where it currently is.  Curiosity got the better of me, however, and I did a quick search to find out who Fasano was and why his pies were so wonderful.

Fasano & Sons Bakery was a Chicago-based business that began in 1946.  Its pies were quite the popular item, as evidenced from this news story which claims that 500-600 pies were delivered as part of a daily route back in the company’s heyday.  The company shut down just over 25 years ago, but the grandson of the original owner has now started Fasano Pie Company back up again and seems to be doing some mad business in Chicago.  Judging from its Facebook page, the company does a lot of fundraiser business, but their pies are also being sold by local restaurants.  Facebook comments on their page rave about these pies, and yes, I did wonder how I could get my hands on one.

Anyone up for a weekend trip?

This is a love story, really.

It all started in the local antique shop, where I spotted a tea cart with gold starbursts on both shelves.  Anyone who knows me and my vintage tastes knows that this is not a good combination because it will take every ounce of willpower to hold me back from purchasing something like this.

I asked the store owner about the cart; she told me that it was $35 and she had gotten a lot of comments on it. However, she was expecting to sell it that weekend when there was a huge craft show going on in town.  Stuff like that always flew out the door on craft show weekend.

I could hear the cash in my purse practically screaming to get out as I thought about buying the cart.  There was one problem, though: where in the world would I put it?  My house was small and I didn’t have any out-of-the-way spaces where I could park a tea cart.  I didn’t want my house to be cluttered just because I couldn’t say “no” to a good deal.

But the starbursts — they were calling my name …

Amazingly enough, I didn’t buy the tea cart that day.  I walked out of the store and figured that some lucky craft show attendee would snap it up and give it a good home.

The next time I went back, however, the tea cart was still there, this time parked in the back of the store rather than displayed in the front windows. When I mentioned my surprise to Polly, the bird-like woman (with a voice to match) who runs the store, she babbled on about how so many people had commented on that tea cart when they come in the store, but no one had purchased it yet.  I lamented to her again how much I loved it but how I didn’t have the room, and she chirped on about how if I didn’t have the room, then I probably shouldn’t get it.  Polly was trying to help me out, I’m sure, but she also mentioned that if I wanted it and didn’t have the cash on me, she’d be happy to hold it until I could come back.

Even that offer wasn’t enough to make me cave, and I once again walked out of the store without the tea cart.

Come last May and some nine months after I first saw the tea cart, I had finally decided that I deserved the dang thing.  It was waiting for me — I was convinced.  It hadn’t found someone to enjoy it, and those gold starbursts were finally to much to resist.  I walked into the antique store during a break in semester tests, plunked down $35, and wheeled the tea cart to my car as Polly twittered on about how happy she was that I finally bought it.

So am I, Polly …. so am I.