NYC Markets revisited, episode 6. In which I share a new type of collection.

I gave myself a little homework assignment this past week because there are very few things
I dislike more than ambiguity (even more than I dislike homework.) Just how many collections are there in our home?  How many have I acknowledged thus far?
As I was preparing to share the newest additions to my typewriter-ribbon tin collection (yes, that's a thing), I couldn't remember having previously acknowledged it (a passing mention in Chicago-Indiana-Michigan, episode 8).

So, I did what any obsessed collector-traveller-documentarian-(slightly OCD) listmaker would do...

...I made a(nother) list.

In previously blogged order...

owls * white milkglass * paperweights

vintage cameras * vintage razors * cuff links

signed books * Starburst dinnerware * vintage linen tablecloths

Christmas nutcrackers * watches * license plates

snuff bottles * old bottles * Playbills/theater tickets

head vases * vintage tins * porcelain bells

typewriter-ribbon tins * Peanuts collectibles * mortar & pestle sets

roosters * Florentine wood items * teapots & teacups

The length of the list surprised me, but it shouldn't have.  There are indeed many transported treasures that I have not yet shared with you and I also did not include Mari's previously pictured vintage jewelry finds.
Let's just add "jewelry" to the list and call it a (collectors') day.  Eventually, some of our discoveries move on to the hands and hearts of other collectors as we travel and find new pieces for our ever-rotating displays.

One of the best pieces of collecting and organizing advice we ever learned was from professional organizer, Peter Walsh, whose series Clean Sweep was a regular edu-tainment fixture in our home.  This was the program in which beleaguered (not quite yet hoarders) homeowners would drag the entire contents of their overwhelmed homes onto front lawns and driveways so couples could fully appreciate (or not) the magnitude of their stuff.  Peter would eventually guide (sometimes force) his clients to the realization that people are more important than objects and only the most loved items would find their way back into freshly painted and organized rooms.  Peter's final piece of advice before leaving was always, "If you bring in something new, get rid of something old."

Armed with Peter Walsh's advice, Mari and I frequently evaluate our ever-expanding collections (and our deeply-diminishing display space) and a resulting yard sale or eBay purge ensues.  I am approaching that "about to burst" stage of one of my newest collections, but was still able to squeeze in two more typewriter-ribbon tins in the lighted living room display cabinet/entertainment center after returning home from our recent Grand Bazaar NYC visit.  Like most of my collections, I did not start out to collect typewriter-ribbon tins.  I didn't even know such a thing existed or that it was collectible.  I know I grew up with typewriters and there was a manual typewriter in our basement upon which I clickety-clacked habitually through my senior year at Sleepy Hollow High School.

Boy if that baby could talk!

I remember changing the cloth, ink-soaked ribbons on that typewriter a few times back in the day, but I don't recall their packaging.  I certainly don't remember finding them in elaborately embellished tins like the ones I started collecting about fifteen years ago.  I do remember first coming across a few of these tiny font-fabulously emblazoned tins at the monthly West Palm Beach Antiques Festival during a holiday visit to my parents and, since I already collected old tins, curiosity got the better of me and I started a new collection.

The typewriter above is one of the last items I purchased at Picker's Paradise in Niles, Michigan before moving to Texas in August of 1989. I knew it would make a great addition to our future home, representing a formerly-functional yet artfully-crafted connection to a past era as well as a sentimental link to our soon-to-be-deeply-missed Midwest.  What I didn't know was that eventually there would be an appropriately accompanying typewriter-ribbon tin collection to display alongside said sentimental link.

Below is a glamor shot of the entire collection along with some IBM Selectric font elements from the 1970s and 1980s down in front (let's not count that as another collection, please, just a subset).  I am always amazed at the detail on some of these.  Remember, this is basically a box that most office workers or home typists perhaps threw away or hopefully reused to store paperclips or thumbtacks or other tiny office supply storables.  When I came across that vendor at the South Florida Fairgrounds so long ago, I had no idea what I was getting into.  I just liked tins!  And of course I liked typewriters, and fonts, and after purchasing three delicately dinged-up tins for twenty dollars I was well on my way to a new old collection.  I don't come across these very often, but when I do I try to buy the tins with curiously-combined color combinations and cool retro graphics.

I confess, I'm a bit of a font fanatic.  Normally, I like to keep it simple (as with the elegant authority of the Helvetica I've chosen to represent my inner thoughts throughout this blog), but I am a great admirer of the subtle artistic effect a decorative font can have on something as intentionally and essentially functional as a storage container for a typewriter ribbon.  Occasionally, I'm lucky enough to find an intactly wrapped ribbon inside a fleamarketed tin like the round red-cellophaned KeeLox ribbon above.  Should I ever enter that lapse in the space-time continuum that will allow me to put my previously plundered slide rule (Chicago-Indiana-Michigan, episode 2) to practical use I will also be prepared with a freshly inked ribbon for my vintage Royal.

We begin the big thaw in New York next time.