Remember when Zane turned 18? That was a relief. Remember when he turned 19? That was hard. Today he turns 20. It's pretty great. 

Me, close to 20 years old.

Me, close to 20 years old.

The exciting thing about Zane turning 20 is that he is entering into the decade of figuring out who you're not in order to become who you are, the decade of trial and error, of growing pains and growing rewards, of becoming a substantial person in the world who other people will actually listen to. You guys, he's not a teenager anymore. Gulp.

He's like, a man. A very tall, handsome, kind, friendly, thoughtful, smart, employed, tax-paying, car-driving, apartment-renting, checkbook-owning, girlfriend-having, vote-casting, cooking-his-own-food man. When your baby is a baby you call them your baby, but you don't ever call your grown male child your man (that would sound creepy and weird and I don't suggest you do it), and maybe that's because he's not your man; he's figuring out how to be his own man, and not your baby. Double gulp.

So, today I'm missing my baby but super proud to know this man is out there, finding his way, soaking it all up, and giving it back. Happy Birthday Zane, you are the best!

 

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AuthorSarah Reid
CategoriesZaned!
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When we moved to the East Bay and I discovered that thrift stores were not going to be where I found the good stuff I started exploring Craigslist in a way I never had when we lived in MA. Along with estate sales, Craigslist is how our apartment got furnished and decorated; almost nothing has come from stores, thrift or otherwise.

That first fall I answered an ad for a cool cabinet with glass doors and hairpin legs (I think), and had an email exchange with the owner that didn't end up with me buying the piece, but she did mention that she thought she knew who I was, recognized my name, and did I ever live in Western MA? Um, yes I did. Turns out I knew her briefly when I was in my early 20's and she has a distinct memory of me wearing overalls, like, just wearing overalls, like that's okay.

So embarrassing. 

Months after this exchange she Googled me and found the blog and my Pinterest and it became clear to her that we were destined to work together and she got in touch (I love it when people do that! So brave! So something I would not do!). She wrote that she lives in Berkeley and recently bought (with her husband and two daughters) what she called their "Forever Home" and felt like she could use some help making the space function better and pulling it all together and would I be willing to come take a look?

YES.

Here's the hilarious (to me) part: Jessica has exquisite taste, a massive collection of very very cool shit, and an amazing house that doesn't need much help at all. When I first saw it I honestly thought, "Why am I here?" She has an eye for vignettes, great pieces of furniture, rugs I would kill for, and a consistent point of view. Take a look:

IMG_1746.jpg

I mean, what does it say when you're the designer but you want to trade spaces with your client? She's so clearly ahead of the game! But she is right, they do need help with function and pulling it all together and I am more than happy to oblige. Since my first visit I've been over a couple times and gone shopping with her and had her over for tea (in which we did not drink tea) and I can tell you this: it is so exciting and feels so good to work with someone who responds to what I do. After she visited my apartment she wrote me this lovely note:

Oh my gosh. LOVED seeing your house. I don't quite believe you yet that my place will ever look that stunning. But I am hopeful. And excited.  I should say that your house not only looks stunning; it FEELS so nice. There's perfect balance between charming and funky and polished.

That my friends, is just about the best feeling a designer can have I think. Now if I could just erase that memory of me in overalls...

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AuthorSarah Reid

When I first moved to the East Bay I was depressed and demoralized by the lack of good thrifty-vintagey shopping to be had. That sounds hyperbolic, but I assure it isn't, ask Matthew. I was downright UPSET. Everyone here knows how valuable the stuff I like is, unlike in Massachusetts where they sell it for $3.50 or even leave it on the side of the road for you. No, here they take what would be $3.50 back home and charge you $80 for it (not kidding, literally - it's maddening).

Then one day as I was driving to do an errand I saw a sign on the road for an estate sale just up the street. Being a person who likes to make erratic and sudden turns in traffic, I cut towards it, found street parking, held my brave, and went into my first estate sale. 

I quickly caught on to the importance of estate sales in the Bay Area; they are where the shit I want enters into the for-sale-stream and where you can indeed purchase things for $3.50. So I made a rule for myself (for when I'm driving): I am not allowed to NOT go to an estate sale if I see a sign for one. It's a good rule, it's how I have furnished and decorated our apartment for the most part. 

At these sales you are invited to sign up for list serves, so naturally I have signed up for all of them. That means every Friday I get several emails about estate sales all over the East Bay, and every Friday I agonize about whether or not to go to them. I am afflicted with what I am just now calling Potential Estate Sale Hyperventilation Syndrome (PESHS) in which as soon as I park I start to feel tingly and slightly panicked and I want to have a remote control that pauses everyone around me so that I can take things out of their arms and rifle through cabinets without competition. You laugh, but I assure you that it's actually quite an uncomfortable condition, one that I'm not always up for. Remember my basket ordeal?

So this Friday I got an email from my favorite estate sale company, Dan May Estates, who I hope to get to know personally someday as the two who run it are endlessly intriguing with their stylish glasses and unstoppable good attitudes, and it said:

 

Pretty hard to resist, right? And there were photos:

You see that there midcentury Danish wall unit? That is EXACTLY what I've been hunting for on Ebay and the like for my new friend and client Jessica's house. We need two of them to flank a couch and they need to be cheap (hah!). So I sent her the email and found myself in line with her 2 hours later.

Now, going to estate sales on the day they open is something I've never done. I've always figured, why bother? Dealers get there early, they have cash to spend, they know what's good, and the sellers aren't up for negotiating at all (not that I'd ever try - you know how not-brave I am). But it's been months since I've been to one and I like hanging out with Jessica and well, who knows, maybe I'll find some random odds and ends I didn't know I couldn't live without. I honestly had no hopes that the wall unit would still be available by the time we were let in. And we needed two anyway. The line was long and moving terrifically slow, so much that we eventually asked each other if we should just call it a day when all of a sudden they let in a bunch of people (or maybe a bunch of people forced the issue, probably that) and we were in!

We immediately set about looking for the unit to see if it had a sold sign on it (I was SURE it would). We found it in the back righthand room, still for sale, for $300. What's fun about Jessica is that she also suffers from PESHS and so we both kind of calmly freaked out and made impulsive decisions and looked slightly crazed. Yes she should buy it! Yes, she will buy it! She ran to tell the stylish lady in charge that she wanted it and discovered that there was another matching one, double the size, in the other room. She bought them both immediately as I rifled through the kitchen (with competition) and then we hugged and squealed and just couldn't believe it.

Whew. Having settled that, we went about looking at all the other wonderful stuff this poet had collected in his years. Here's what I walked away with:

Not smelly! Hooray!

Not smelly! Hooray!

It's nearly impossible for me to pass up a good brass animal.

It's nearly impossible for me to pass up a good brass animal.

I'm gonna make this my camera bag.

I'm gonna make this my camera bag.

You just cannot beat a well made leather wallet from this era.

You just cannot beat a well made leather wallet from this era.

 
All of the things. 

All of the things. 

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AuthorSarah Reid
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Um, hello. Long time no talk. I'm sorry about that. I know I owe you the best parts of the Emmys story but this winter has drained me in ways I never knew possible so I'm dipping my toes back into the blogging pool with this little apartment update of shitty photos taken with my phone. I know, super exciting.

So, we switched our office and bedroom and I am digging it. 

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AuthorSarah Reid
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