At mid morning (8:30 AM Maine time) I called Peggy (Mrs. Margaret Bacon Abbott) who I call "Mrs. Abbott" even though she's a decade younger. "Peg" or "Peggy" collects antiques following the heritage of her mother and grandmother. She and family moved to Maine from South Chatham on Cape Cod. Her mother came to me first. She told Peggy I was "ok". That critical appraisal, common to my experience, means I know about and sell the right kind of antiques. The right kind of antiques are the antiques that Peggy's mother's mother told the mother "are good". "Are good" means traditional, classic and understated decorative arts made in New England prior to 1840. One's old Maine home is decorated with these objects and …NOT TOO MANY of them. It should NOT look like one collects. It should look like one inherited all of them. The actual collecting is the ever continuing musical chairs style upgrading where a single item is replaced by a better specimen and the former… sold. Some objects (almost) NEVER are sold, replaced or even moved because they actually were inherited.
I told Mrs. Abbott about the pickle bottle critically noting that it was "tall" and "fancy" and would compliment the pair I had sold her nearly a decade before. "It will sit well between them" I said. "I will bring it down for you to inspect".
"I'M GOING INTO TOWN RIGHT NOW AND I'LL COME BY I WANT TO LOOK AROUND ANYWAY" she shouted into the telephone and hung up.
Two hours later she arrived with her two pickle bottles. We put our new bottle out, her bottles out, put them all side by side and took pictures of all of them. Mrs. Abbott's pair of cathedral pickle bottles are a large and deep colored pair of classic cathedral pickles. They are a "THE CLASSIC PAIR". We found them in an estate in Phippsburg, Maine. They were being used as decoration in the living room. I sold them to Mrs. Abbott who lives six miles away. She uses them as decoration in her living room. "THEY ARE NICE TOGETHER" she said. "I WANT IT". We hadn't discussed price.
As I packed her pickle bottles with Baxter's pickle bottle she went to her car, opened the hatch back and pulled out an old chair. "I DON'T WANT THIS ANYMORE DO YOU WANT IT" she shouted. I looked at the chair. I knew the chair. It is a Connecticut style four slat sausage turned ladder back side chair, circa 1760, with fine tall finials, a rewoven rush seat and a mid 1950's black painted and Hitchcock style gold stencil decorated surface. She had it a back hallway alcove next to the new kitchen. It was her mother's. The mother probably got it from her mother. The family was originally from Connecticut. Mrs. Abbott's mother probably paid to have the seat replaced and the painting done by a professional on the Cape. "YOU HAVE TO TAKE THIS BECAUSE I DON'T WANT IT BECAUSE I TRIP OVER IT AND SO DOES EVERYONE ELSE".
"How much?" I queried having been along this trail before.
"ONE HUNDRED NO… EIGHTY…NO… SEVENTY" She shouted from the car's back and started moving the chair toward me.
"I can pay a little more" I said.
"NO".
I told Mrs. Abbott about the pickle bottle critically noting that it was "tall" and "fancy" and would compliment the pair I had sold her nearly a decade before. "It will sit well between them" I said. "I will bring it down for you to inspect".
"I'M GOING INTO TOWN RIGHT NOW AND I'LL COME BY I WANT TO LOOK AROUND ANYWAY" she shouted into the telephone and hung up.
Two hours later she arrived with her two pickle bottles. We put our new bottle out, her bottles out, put them all side by side and took pictures of all of them. Mrs. Abbott's pair of cathedral pickle bottles are a large and deep colored pair of classic cathedral pickles. They are a "THE CLASSIC PAIR". We found them in an estate in Phippsburg, Maine. They were being used as decoration in the living room. I sold them to Mrs. Abbott who lives six miles away. She uses them as decoration in her living room. "THEY ARE NICE TOGETHER" she said. "I WANT IT". We hadn't discussed price.
As I packed her pickle bottles with Baxter's pickle bottle she went to her car, opened the hatch back and pulled out an old chair. "I DON'T WANT THIS ANYMORE DO YOU WANT IT" she shouted. I looked at the chair. I knew the chair. It is a Connecticut style four slat sausage turned ladder back side chair, circa 1760, with fine tall finials, a rewoven rush seat and a mid 1950's black painted and Hitchcock style gold stencil decorated surface. She had it a back hallway alcove next to the new kitchen. It was her mother's. The mother probably got it from her mother. The family was originally from Connecticut. Mrs. Abbott's mother probably paid to have the seat replaced and the painting done by a professional on the Cape. "YOU HAVE TO TAKE THIS BECAUSE I DON'T WANT IT BECAUSE I TRIP OVER IT AND SO DOES EVERYONE ELSE".
"How much?" I queried having been along this trail before.
"ONE HUNDRED NO… EIGHTY…NO… SEVENTY" She shouted from the car's back and started moving the chair toward me.
"I can pay a little more" I said.
"NO".
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