The Salvation Army Cult

D. and I have spent the past two Saturdays scoping out our local Salvation Army -- I'm learning that there is a cult of people who do go there every Saturday morning to buy furniture with restoration potential, keep an eye on price cuts (I mean, all the money goes to charity), and buddy-up with the workers to try to get insider prices and items before they hit the floor. I don't know if we're going to become such active members of this cult, but we did get some great finds. This past week, we bought two items that only needed cleaning; no restoration. One was my pick, one was D.'s. Mine is a black roll-top desk that I plan to use in the foyer in lieu of a traditional console. I love its character, the storage potential, and general size and shape. I'm going to keep the distressed look and not try to mess with it:




D.'s pick was a "captain's chair" (his description). I'm convinced some WWII veteran died in that chair and his ghost is hella pissed that his no-good grandchildren gave it away instead of keeping it in his honor. Hopefully we can make him happy by enjoying it. D. hopes that whoever's chair it was isn't mad that he didn't serve in the military. We may have been sniffing too many cleaning supplies while working on it, but something about the chair makes you think there is a major story behind it.
(And in this photo, you can see the lovely state of my poor parents' garage with all of our possessions in it.)