So I've been throwing myself at the yard this Winter and Spring. We had some people come and hack back limbs and brush on more than one occasion, and those portions are looking amazingly better. And as often happens, I'm inspired to tweak the upkeep.
Most recently, we had the side yard and fence line hacked back. Wow! We actually have a back yard! And now we have space to plant more fruit trees - hehe. This is part of my long-term yard revitalization, bringing it back from years of tangled neglect into a more usable space.
And although we've already dropped gobs of money on house renovations and yard reworkings this year, we are excited about the space. I've even gotten my husband excited about planting some raised garden beds for vegetables in back. That's in addition to the fruit trees I'm putting in shortly.
Anyhoo, it's been lovely and invigorating going out to rip up vines and clear brush every other evening, and watching old plantings gain more space. But in the process, I've been seeing other things start to grow. Things like... poison ivy. Ugh. It sends out its little rootlings everywhere and anytime it sees an opening, zammo - it pops out a few leaves and starts growing like heck. Urk. Like, growing all over the back! Ack! Ack!
Now, plain old ivy does not bother me. I can rip it up along with the other five or six named and unnamed vines infesting my lawn and trees and shrubbery and anything not moving fast enough. But poison ivy? Nonono. That stuff is eeeeviiiilllll.
I had been keeping ahead of most of it with daily weedings (bag over the hand technique), but the recent rains have given the stuff real legs. And it was popping up in swaths. Swaths! Sadly, that is not an exaggeration. All over the middle of the back yard, mind you!
I thought to myself that if we didn't get ahead of it, it was going to literally take over the back yard to the point to not being able to walk to the fig trees, and I couldn't bear it.
So then I was thinking to myself - I hate the heavy duty herbicides, but that's exactly what we need to knock the stuff back. I refuse to acquiesce to this horrible stuff just as we are regaining our yard.
I finally found some kind of lawn herbicide was wasn't going to immediately kill me, and said, okayokay, I can do this. I've got the long pants and the long-sleeved shirt and the gloves and all.
This evening I went out while the light was still good and zapped every sprig I could lay my eyes on. Which was a lot. In fact, I was finding large leaves of it in places I hadn't even seen it before. Ugh! So I kept going and kept going, and the bottle started running a little low. I thought, well, I'll use up as much of it as I can tonight! And I was trying to not step on the evil stuff as I was spraying, and trying to not step in the evil stuff I'd already sprayed and trying to not think too hard about the drips soaking into my gloves, and the exposure I might be getting. At least it did not stink.
I got about three-quarters of the way around, and I said Okay That is Enough! And I wrapped up the bottle and threw it out and went in to wash the darn gloves and then strip and stuff my clothing into the washer. And tell my husband that the little girl is not allowed in the back yard for a week, at least, although the spray is supposed to dry to rain-proof within hours. I just can't stand the idea of the wee one tromping through it. In fact, maybe she can stay out of the back yard until this whole mess is over. Like, maybe, June.
I thought I felt a little lump in my throat, and I guzzled lots of water to help flush out random toxins. It's ugly stuff, but I think the poison ivy is worse. And if anybody wants to argue with me about how horrible the toxins are that are capable of killing the stuff, why yes, I do agree, and I'd like to invite you to come over every other day and pull it up for me by hand instead!
I can't wait to see that nasty stuff shrivel up and die. And then I'll really get my yard back. I just may have to get some new gloves so I can get back to work.
--
Showing posts with label house projects. Show all posts
Showing posts with label house projects. Show all posts
Friday, May 6, 2011
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
And Then There Were Countertops
Oo, did you notice the new countertops?
What? Did you not notice?
You might have seen this:
.
.
.
.
.
.
They take pretty pictures indeed.
They are a vast improvement on what was there before. Let me refresh the memory.
At first, there was this:
Actually, there was much less than this.
See that strange grey board around the sink? That's the old countertop. With metal edging that you don't see around much any more. That slab was the only countertop in the entire kitchen for most of the years we've lived in this house. Yeah. I know. It's antique. Probably older than me.
At some point, we ripped out the old cabinets, of which there were very few.
And put in new shiny ones.
Okay, it took a while to rip out and install.
All that ugly stuff on the walls was from amazingly bad plastic tile that had not only been glued on but painted afterward. Yikes.
And afterwards, we were amazed.
Wow! We have storage space! And countertops!
But of course, we hadn't arranged for countertops at the same time, so for nearly a year after we installed new cabinets, there was this:
This is pieces of white board from the hardware store cut to size for temporary countertops. It wasn't bad - it was easy to clean (it was after all whiteboard), but it wasn't even fastened down. It was just an easy stop-gap measure.
And finally, there was this:
We still have the mangey walls (and the hole where the electrician moved a light switch), but that will be upgraded eventually.
The color, I lurv it. The price was right.
The installation, however, left much to be desired...
So the floor is kinda crooked, so the appliances and cabinets are crooked, so the countertops are... hmmm. How shall we say? Crooked.
And because I was measuring, they assumed some things, like I needed extra space here and there, but not over there where we really needed it. And the new dishwasher Oh! Did I mention we have a wonderful new dishwasher? sticks out a bit more and so the counter length is either too short or too long depending on which way you shove it, and of course it's shoved back so that I don't even have a freakin proper overhang on one side - gah! *ahem* And then on top of that, they affixed it with some kind of industrial strength adhesive that gave me headaches for days as it outgassed.
Oy. I'm kinda wishing I had been that picky customer, but this is just screwy.
But some of the strangeness of it is that this is an old house, and nothing is really square, much less level. So anytime one adds some new improvements to the place, you have to fit the new "semi-perfect" items with the existing structure, which is decidedly NOT. Having new countertops just draws your attention to the floor wonkiness.
But oh, well. We have new countertops!
They are otherwise attractive. They don't look boring. They look pricier than they are, which is a nice touch but not essential. (They are fancy Wils0nart laminate.) They have great texture and color. You can't even see any dirt or ants. On the other hand, you can't see the dirt or ants! Oops! hehe.
The best part is that they successfully bridge the gap between the new off white cabinets and the old dark wood paneling and let the door knobs be the dark punctuation, which is all just what I was aiming for. In other words, they look great! Nice enough for every day. Just don't look too closely, and we'll all be happier.
--
What? Did you not notice?
You might have seen this:
.
.
.
.
.
.
They take pretty pictures indeed.
They are a vast improvement on what was there before. Let me refresh the memory.
At first, there was this:
Actually, there was much less than this.
See that strange grey board around the sink? That's the old countertop. With metal edging that you don't see around much any more. That slab was the only countertop in the entire kitchen for most of the years we've lived in this house. Yeah. I know. It's antique. Probably older than me.
At some point, we ripped out the old cabinets, of which there were very few.
And put in new shiny ones.
Okay, it took a while to rip out and install.
All that ugly stuff on the walls was from amazingly bad plastic tile that had not only been glued on but painted afterward. Yikes.
And afterwards, we were amazed.
Wow! We have storage space! And countertops!
But of course, we hadn't arranged for countertops at the same time, so for nearly a year after we installed new cabinets, there was this:
This is pieces of white board from the hardware store cut to size for temporary countertops. It wasn't bad - it was easy to clean (it was after all whiteboard), but it wasn't even fastened down. It was just an easy stop-gap measure.
And finally, there was this:
We still have the mangey walls (and the hole where the electrician moved a light switch), but that will be upgraded eventually.
The color, I lurv it. The price was right.
The installation, however, left much to be desired...
So the floor is kinda crooked, so the appliances and cabinets are crooked, so the countertops are... hmmm. How shall we say? Crooked.
And because I was measuring, they assumed some things, like I needed extra space here and there, but not over there where we really needed it. And the new dishwasher Oh! Did I mention we have a wonderful new dishwasher? sticks out a bit more and so the counter length is either too short or too long depending on which way you shove it, and of course it's shoved back so that I don't even have a freakin proper overhang on one side - gah! *ahem* And then on top of that, they affixed it with some kind of industrial strength adhesive that gave me headaches for days as it outgassed.
Oy. I'm kinda wishing I had been that picky customer, but this is just screwy.
But some of the strangeness of it is that this is an old house, and nothing is really square, much less level. So anytime one adds some new improvements to the place, you have to fit the new "semi-perfect" items with the existing structure, which is decidedly NOT. Having new countertops just draws your attention to the floor wonkiness.
But oh, well. We have new countertops!
They are otherwise attractive. They don't look boring. They look pricier than they are, which is a nice touch but not essential. (They are fancy Wils0nart laminate.) They have great texture and color. You can't even see any dirt or ants. On the other hand, you can't see the dirt or ants! Oops! hehe.
The best part is that they successfully bridge the gap between the new off white cabinets and the old dark wood paneling and let the door knobs be the dark punctuation, which is all just what I was aiming for. In other words, they look great! Nice enough for every day. Just don't look too closely, and we'll all be happier.
--
Friday, November 5, 2010
One Year Past Inertia
A few months ago, I was regaling some friends with a few of our perpetually undone house projects, such as the kitchen light that fell down several years ago. "And that was when I was talking to so-n-so on the phone, and you know, he's been dead for how many years?"
My friend Brian (who makes a living fixing up and renting houses) said, "Whoa, that is a long time. And you haven't gotten it fixed yet? No, no, no, Missy. If you haven't gotten to a project within one year, then you hire someone else to do it for you!"
Ah. I'll have to tell my dear husband that. He'll be so happy to hear it.
We like house projects. We plan, we plot, we train, we buy samples and supplies. Sometimes we are even reasonably good at doing them.
However, even when we are NOT much good at them, or are having a hard time bringing them to completion (see: new boxes of ceiling fans stacked under the dining room table since this Summer, see: unfinished tile job from eons ago), we have a hard time letting them go. We say to ourselves, well, I should be able to whip that right up. No problem. We can save money by doing it ourselves! Ha. Haha. Oh, hahahahahaHAHAHa! *ahem*
The truth is that house projects often fall under the heading of Idealism + Perfectionism = Inertia. Although to be fair, the ceiling fans will require some rewiring in a crazily-accessed attic. It's not like we are dealing with a new house here.
Anyway, we rarely allow ourselves to let someone else do these jobs, because we have a mythical belief in our ability to do it, and do it alone. We come from do-it-yourselfer ancestors! we say. They put up ceiling fans in the roof of their cave in less than an hour! And we'd rather leave it undone for years and years rather than admit that no, it would be better if someone else did it.
So we are changing that.
Rather than putting the new kitchen cabinets in all by ourselves, we were thrilled to have my mom gift us with a couple days of expert carpenter work. Rather than putting up the new ceiling fans - oh, sometime before the little girl goes to kindergarten, we are hiring a handyman contractor to knock out that task. And a few more. Many, many more, oh yes!
You can imagine the glee and trepidation this inspires.
I love working up the specs and the process. I love the completed project. I get skittish around the mess that it will entail. A little noise, I can deal with. The outgassing/fumes/dust/disrupted space puts me on edge.
So yes, it will be hellaciously dusty in here for the rest of the day/week/year (mmm, plaster!); at least the dreaded plaster work will be fixed! And anyhow, the new ceiling fans should help air out the kitchen after the grouting fumes take over. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.
Now I am casting my mind over the whole property, wondering who else I might get to come tackle this mess that we'll never get to. Hmm, yard workers. Hmm, carpenters. Hmm, painters and finishers. Hmm, arborists! And let's fill in that hole, excuse me, holes that the electricians left while we are at it. Oh, and stain the window sills. Can I get a bathroom fan, too?
So. Equal parts glee and trepidation. And a banishing of perfectionism, as this old house demands.
Our new handyman is keen on "mudding" the whole living room to even out the plaster. And fixing that corner where a previous renovation never got detailed. And perhaps ripping out the bedroom ceiling. Wait, what??! He has a keen eye for finishing details, and I like that. It's an adjustment for him, too, though.
"What the hell is wrong with this?" Our handyman glares at the space above the kitchen sink. The countertops (mostly level) tilt a different way than the window sill (also mostly level, but the other way). The floors tilt, throwing off the neat line of cabinets. Cracks shyly snake down our plaster walls. The wiring patterns are whacked out (we've known this for years).
"Well, it's an old house," I explain. "Nothing is really square or level, so every time you "fix" something, you notice how nothing matches up."
"And no," I tell my husband," we are not ripping out the bedroom ceiling. NOT a priority." If we started trying to make everything perfect, we'd never finish. But if we get someone else to do it with a generous modicum of competency, it will at least get finished.
Yes, this house is crazy and neglected. Yes, we are slow-moving perfectionists. It's maddening. It's saddening. It's depressing. It's an exercise in letting go of perfection. It's now someone else's job!
Whoo-hoo!
--
My friend Brian (who makes a living fixing up and renting houses) said, "Whoa, that is a long time. And you haven't gotten it fixed yet? No, no, no, Missy. If you haven't gotten to a project within one year, then you hire someone else to do it for you!"
Ah. I'll have to tell my dear husband that. He'll be so happy to hear it.
We like house projects. We plan, we plot, we train, we buy samples and supplies. Sometimes we are even reasonably good at doing them.
However, even when we are NOT much good at them, or are having a hard time bringing them to completion (see: new boxes of ceiling fans stacked under the dining room table since this Summer, see: unfinished tile job from eons ago), we have a hard time letting them go. We say to ourselves, well, I should be able to whip that right up. No problem. We can save money by doing it ourselves! Ha. Haha. Oh, hahahahahaHAHAHa! *ahem*
The truth is that house projects often fall under the heading of Idealism + Perfectionism = Inertia. Although to be fair, the ceiling fans will require some rewiring in a crazily-accessed attic. It's not like we are dealing with a new house here.
Anyway, we rarely allow ourselves to let someone else do these jobs, because we have a mythical belief in our ability to do it, and do it alone. We come from do-it-yourselfer ancestors! we say. They put up ceiling fans in the roof of their cave in less than an hour! And we'd rather leave it undone for years and years rather than admit that no, it would be better if someone else did it.
So we are changing that.
Rather than putting the new kitchen cabinets in all by ourselves, we were thrilled to have my mom gift us with a couple days of expert carpenter work. Rather than putting up the new ceiling fans - oh, sometime before the little girl goes to kindergarten, we are hiring a handyman contractor to knock out that task. And a few more. Many, many more, oh yes!
You can imagine the glee and trepidation this inspires.
I love working up the specs and the process. I love the completed project. I get skittish around the mess that it will entail. A little noise, I can deal with. The outgassing/fumes/dust/disrupted space puts me on edge.
So yes, it will be hellaciously dusty in here for the rest of the day/week/year (mmm, plaster!); at least the dreaded plaster work will be fixed! And anyhow, the new ceiling fans should help air out the kitchen after the grouting fumes take over. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.
Now I am casting my mind over the whole property, wondering who else I might get to come tackle this mess that we'll never get to. Hmm, yard workers. Hmm, carpenters. Hmm, painters and finishers. Hmm, arborists! And let's fill in that hole, excuse me, holes that the electricians left while we are at it. Oh, and stain the window sills. Can I get a bathroom fan, too?
So. Equal parts glee and trepidation. And a banishing of perfectionism, as this old house demands.
Our new handyman is keen on "mudding" the whole living room to even out the plaster. And fixing that corner where a previous renovation never got detailed. And perhaps ripping out the bedroom ceiling. Wait, what??! He has a keen eye for finishing details, and I like that. It's an adjustment for him, too, though.
"What the hell is wrong with this?" Our handyman glares at the space above the kitchen sink. The countertops (mostly level) tilt a different way than the window sill (also mostly level, but the other way). The floors tilt, throwing off the neat line of cabinets. Cracks shyly snake down our plaster walls. The wiring patterns are whacked out (we've known this for years).
"Well, it's an old house," I explain. "Nothing is really square or level, so every time you "fix" something, you notice how nothing matches up."
"And no," I tell my husband," we are not ripping out the bedroom ceiling. NOT a priority." If we started trying to make everything perfect, we'd never finish. But if we get someone else to do it with a generous modicum of competency, it will at least get finished.
Yes, this house is crazy and neglected. Yes, we are slow-moving perfectionists. It's maddening. It's saddening. It's depressing. It's an exercise in letting go of perfection. It's now someone else's job!
Whoo-hoo!
--
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Holiday Odyssey Goes On Forever
I survived Christmas and the rest of the holiday with sanity intact, and I even enjoyed myself.
We went, we shopped, we managed a few potentially stressful interactions, we enjoyed small but meaningful moments.
Christmas Eve we made it to the early service with the childrens' pageant and stayed for a communal meal between services, meeting lots of people we hadn't seen in months or longer. It was a luxury to visit and ask about other people's lives. We spent hours watching the little girl play with wrapping paper (never mind the presents), then spent an additional afternoon of fun and laughter and paper shreddings and food with family. The little girl tolerated the madness remarkably well. We are so proud of her!
I also survived (but just barely) the packing/travel madness to and from a New Year's dance weekend event with the little girl in tow. Much wrangling of the schedule, trying to catch the main events, and missing out on many other things. When the clock got close, I told my husband, "count it down for us," and he whispered the count and we kissed while the little girl snoozed on. She continued to snooze soundly through fifteen minutes of nearby fireworks. She did not sleep well through painful diaper rash episodes. We traded off dancing and got to visit occasionally with friends who ran across us and wanted to chat. How I had any brain for that is astounding. I never did get to go walking down by the ocean this trip, and I was sad about that, but not eager to extend the trip that much longer.
The whole project was another semi-miserable travel odyssey, wherein an trip that ordinarily takes a reasonable amount of time mysteriously extends by some factor of time, and any "quick stop" takes half an hour if you expected 15 minutes, or 1.5 hours if you expected an hour, or nearly 3 if you expected 1.5. I'm still trying to decide if all the aggravation of traveling is worth it these days. The time and effort expended don't seem to quite fit into the pleasure of a given goal. A number of things feel that way. I find myself narrowing down my ambitions and focus. I have only so much energy to work with.
OH! And did I mention we had half a kitchen of new cabinets installed the day after Christmas?! Yes, those same cabinets we've spent a couple of years planning, the same set that we bought more than a year ago - all finally installed by one of my mother's church friends, a master carpenter in need of work. The best present for all of us my mother could have ever thought of. Even as a partially completed kitchen, they look beautiful. We've spent so much time rearranging the new space, both of us gleeful over it all. And today, while I pulled another long day with the kiddo, Mr Sweetie went to the nearest IKEA for the rest of the kitchen's worth of cabinets for a future final installation. Another long odyssey that took nearly twice as long as hoped.
So all of this to say that this "break" has not been very relaxing, yet remarkably, it's been mostly gratifying. I still have cookies to mail and a kitchen to clean up and.... oh, did I mention that the little girl is starting to pull up on any available furniture? We are just trying to keep up with our lives! And the internet is not feeling so special at the moment. I just don't have the attention to spare.
Does that ever happen to you? I feel myself sitting back, watching the flow of interaction among my friends and interest groups online, but not yet ready to dive back in. I feel tired, truth be told. I leave my computer alone for hours at a time while I try to keep up with the latest episode of diaper rash and the little girl finding new ways to nearly endanger herself, and myself trying to beat back the leftover mess and chaos of the holidays. Even new gifts are an additional drag on my time, wanting new attention and more ambitions. I can't do it all. Anything new has to come out of something old. It's not bad to drop a few things if it means making space for new things. It's also not bad to put off new things to take care of ones basic priorities.
And although it's a cliche of the New Year to set out wishful goals and resolutions, I have a few of those too. This year, it does feel fresh, blank slate ready for a new start. Or as the lovely Oprah quote says, “Cheers to a New Year and another chance for us to get it right.” If I pick my battles and refine my vision of what I can actually do, I am hopeful I'll get it closer to "right."
Happy New Year and new decade to all my regular and random readers!
--
We went, we shopped, we managed a few potentially stressful interactions, we enjoyed small but meaningful moments.
Christmas Eve we made it to the early service with the childrens' pageant and stayed for a communal meal between services, meeting lots of people we hadn't seen in months or longer. It was a luxury to visit and ask about other people's lives. We spent hours watching the little girl play with wrapping paper (never mind the presents), then spent an additional afternoon of fun and laughter and paper shreddings and food with family. The little girl tolerated the madness remarkably well. We are so proud of her!
I also survived (but just barely) the packing/travel madness to and from a New Year's dance weekend event with the little girl in tow. Much wrangling of the schedule, trying to catch the main events, and missing out on many other things. When the clock got close, I told my husband, "count it down for us," and he whispered the count and we kissed while the little girl snoozed on. She continued to snooze soundly through fifteen minutes of nearby fireworks. She did not sleep well through painful diaper rash episodes. We traded off dancing and got to visit occasionally with friends who ran across us and wanted to chat. How I had any brain for that is astounding. I never did get to go walking down by the ocean this trip, and I was sad about that, but not eager to extend the trip that much longer.
The whole project was another semi-miserable travel odyssey, wherein an trip that ordinarily takes a reasonable amount of time mysteriously extends by some factor of time, and any "quick stop" takes half an hour if you expected 15 minutes, or 1.5 hours if you expected an hour, or nearly 3 if you expected 1.5. I'm still trying to decide if all the aggravation of traveling is worth it these days. The time and effort expended don't seem to quite fit into the pleasure of a given goal. A number of things feel that way. I find myself narrowing down my ambitions and focus. I have only so much energy to work with.
OH! And did I mention we had half a kitchen of new cabinets installed the day after Christmas?! Yes, those same cabinets we've spent a couple of years planning, the same set that we bought more than a year ago - all finally installed by one of my mother's church friends, a master carpenter in need of work. The best present for all of us my mother could have ever thought of. Even as a partially completed kitchen, they look beautiful. We've spent so much time rearranging the new space, both of us gleeful over it all. And today, while I pulled another long day with the kiddo, Mr Sweetie went to the nearest IKEA for the rest of the kitchen's worth of cabinets for a future final installation. Another long odyssey that took nearly twice as long as hoped.
So all of this to say that this "break" has not been very relaxing, yet remarkably, it's been mostly gratifying. I still have cookies to mail and a kitchen to clean up and.... oh, did I mention that the little girl is starting to pull up on any available furniture? We are just trying to keep up with our lives! And the internet is not feeling so special at the moment. I just don't have the attention to spare.
Does that ever happen to you? I feel myself sitting back, watching the flow of interaction among my friends and interest groups online, but not yet ready to dive back in. I feel tired, truth be told. I leave my computer alone for hours at a time while I try to keep up with the latest episode of diaper rash and the little girl finding new ways to nearly endanger herself, and myself trying to beat back the leftover mess and chaos of the holidays. Even new gifts are an additional drag on my time, wanting new attention and more ambitions. I can't do it all. Anything new has to come out of something old. It's not bad to drop a few things if it means making space for new things. It's also not bad to put off new things to take care of ones basic priorities.
And although it's a cliche of the New Year to set out wishful goals and resolutions, I have a few of those too. This year, it does feel fresh, blank slate ready for a new start. Or as the lovely Oprah quote says, “Cheers to a New Year and another chance for us to get it right.” If I pick my battles and refine my vision of what I can actually do, I am hopeful I'll get it closer to "right."
Happy New Year and new decade to all my regular and random readers!
--
Monday, December 8, 2008
ETA and Chaos
We have about two months before her expected arrival, and I am going nuts. There is way too much to do, and seemingly not enough time to do it in. This is not even including the part about "making the room look cute." This is clearing the space to make room. Complicating the usual preparation are all the projects and tasks we have been neglecting the last few years, both inside and outside the house.
So to organize anything, I have to drag out a bunch of junk to make space, and then figure how what/where to put the junk. In another box? In the trash? Sell it? But then I have to _____. And our basement is already full of random piles of Stuff-We-Will-Probably-Never-Use-Again. I consider it a success if we put the Junk-We-Can't-Get-Rid-Of on some shelving instead of on the concrete so that it looks *somewhat* organized. FlyLady would say that you can't organize clutter. Oh, SO TRUE! Most of it is clutter alright. I just don't have the mental energy to make those decisions right now and decide what goes and where it goes. The easy stuff goes into the trash or off to Goodwill or the thrift store. The hard stuff goes on a shelf.
So I have plans for neatening and organizing (and decluttering- yea!), and some things are getting done. But jeez, I forgot the part about how I have to make more of a mess before I can neaten up. If this post sounds repetitive and disorganized, uh, welcome to my head these days.
In addition, Mr. Sweetie has decided that he needs to do certain things to make the house look presentable for our upcoming house appraisal (don't ask), even though they have nothing to do with the ETA of our daughter. So we have new drop cloths and rearranging of various things (which stresses me out when he wants it done NOW), and oh, did I mention that one of my earrings dropped off the rack as he was moving it across the house? It's... somewhere. Hopefully not down the heating vent or into the basement. On the upside, our gutters are clean.
We hashed out some of our work strategies last night. We have different styles of getting things done, and sometimes thar be clashes. We often just step back and let each other have our project space, but it's more complicated when the projects involve both of our spaces. So let's establish a few key communication set-pieces to mesh our expectations and personal needs a little better. So far, so better.
But here's one project aside from the gutters that is actually proceeding: The hall/linen closet.
I forgot to take a before picture, but here's the after. And it's actually well-organized now, although it might not be obvious considering how full it is.
This includes things like sleeping bags, blankets, sheets, towels, spare fleece blankets and pillows, tissue, etc.
Also things like games, several air mattresses, kitty litter, furnace air filters, hand warmers, light bulbs, medicine box, certain appliances, step stool, and oh yeah, coats and jackets as well. Theoretically, this is where the vacuum cleaner lives as well.
My secret here is that I did not take an entire day to tear my hair out over it and make myself crazy. I set my timer for 15 minutes FlyLady fashion and pulled out, sorted, and reorganized stuff for those 15 minutes. Then I took another 15 to put everything back in order and put rejected stuff into bags for Goodwill. Note I did not redo the *entire* closet; I only neatened to the point that I could find things. Or as the Get-It-Done-Guy says, file for retrieval! And I didn't kill myself doing it.
So now we want to have a house-project friend clean and paint the baby's room for us (also involving spackle and wallpaper border removal). It's not vital to gussy up the place, but it would be nice to have that done. And so in order to have her do that, I have to clear the room! Convenient, that. (Now if I could do the same thing to the office, I'd be estatic, but let's start with baby steps, here.)
Here's another project that is actually proceeding: The sorting of the fabric.
The baby's room has had fabric in it for years. Years.
And other random stuff from previous careers, but yeah, mostly it's fabric.
It's even been taking up drawer space in the changing table!
So my goal has been to sort all this stuff in some organized fashion so it's not just a Pile-O-Fabric. It can't go into the basement because Hellooo Mildew, and all the closets are taken, taken, I tell you! As are the corners. When my mother offered bigger boxes with the suggestion that we "just stack them in the corners," I had to tell her, "Mom! We don't have any corners left!" (Oh, did I mention that we have a rather small house?) So my current plan is to box it up by color and store it under the bed. This I can do.
Rather than buy yet more plastic boxes, I have been retrieving a set of my favorite sized box for the sorting. Certain boxes have piles of paperwork in them. Others are half filled with other projects. Over the course of a few weeks, I have consolidated and thrown out enough stuff to clear five whole boxes and possibly another two! Yea! That in itself is an accomplishment - fling, fling, fling!
So now commences the sorting. At some point, I will likely include the tossing as well. I doubt I can keep all of it. So far, so good.
I have to keep these successful progressions in mind to hold off the panic attacks. If it weren't for the Do-Everything-for-15-Minutes-At-A-Time, I'd be sunk. At there are still times that I get overwhelmed with just Too Much To Do. I just hope I have some sanity left after the holidays. Wish me luck.
--
So to organize anything, I have to drag out a bunch of junk to make space, and then figure how what/where to put the junk. In another box? In the trash? Sell it? But then I have to _____. And our basement is already full of random piles of Stuff-We-Will-Probably-Never-Use-Again. I consider it a success if we put the Junk-We-Can't-Get-Rid-Of on some shelving instead of on the concrete so that it looks *somewhat* organized. FlyLady would say that you can't organize clutter. Oh, SO TRUE! Most of it is clutter alright. I just don't have the mental energy to make those decisions right now and decide what goes and where it goes. The easy stuff goes into the trash or off to Goodwill or the thrift store. The hard stuff goes on a shelf.
So I have plans for neatening and organizing (and decluttering- yea!), and some things are getting done. But jeez, I forgot the part about how I have to make more of a mess before I can neaten up. If this post sounds repetitive and disorganized, uh, welcome to my head these days.
In addition, Mr. Sweetie has decided that he needs to do certain things to make the house look presentable for our upcoming house appraisal (don't ask), even though they have nothing to do with the ETA of our daughter. So we have new drop cloths and rearranging of various things (which stresses me out when he wants it done NOW), and oh, did I mention that one of my earrings dropped off the rack as he was moving it across the house? It's... somewhere. Hopefully not down the heating vent or into the basement. On the upside, our gutters are clean.
We hashed out some of our work strategies last night. We have different styles of getting things done, and sometimes thar be clashes. We often just step back and let each other have our project space, but it's more complicated when the projects involve both of our spaces. So let's establish a few key communication set-pieces to mesh our expectations and personal needs a little better. So far, so better.
But here's one project aside from the gutters that is actually proceeding: The hall/linen closet.
I forgot to take a before picture, but here's the after. And it's actually well-organized now, although it might not be obvious considering how full it is.
This includes things like sleeping bags, blankets, sheets, towels, spare fleece blankets and pillows, tissue, etc.
Also things like games, several air mattresses, kitty litter, furnace air filters, hand warmers, light bulbs, medicine box, certain appliances, step stool, and oh yeah, coats and jackets as well. Theoretically, this is where the vacuum cleaner lives as well.
My secret here is that I did not take an entire day to tear my hair out over it and make myself crazy. I set my timer for 15 minutes FlyLady fashion and pulled out, sorted, and reorganized stuff for those 15 minutes. Then I took another 15 to put everything back in order and put rejected stuff into bags for Goodwill. Note I did not redo the *entire* closet; I only neatened to the point that I could find things. Or as the Get-It-Done-Guy says, file for retrieval! And I didn't kill myself doing it.
So now we want to have a house-project friend clean and paint the baby's room for us (also involving spackle and wallpaper border removal). It's not vital to gussy up the place, but it would be nice to have that done. And so in order to have her do that, I have to clear the room! Convenient, that. (Now if I could do the same thing to the office, I'd be estatic, but let's start with baby steps, here.)
Here's another project that is actually proceeding: The sorting of the fabric.
The baby's room has had fabric in it for years. Years.
And other random stuff from previous careers, but yeah, mostly it's fabric.
It's even been taking up drawer space in the changing table!
So my goal has been to sort all this stuff in some organized fashion so it's not just a Pile-O-Fabric. It can't go into the basement because Hellooo Mildew, and all the closets are taken, taken, I tell you! As are the corners. When my mother offered bigger boxes with the suggestion that we "just stack them in the corners," I had to tell her, "Mom! We don't have any corners left!" (Oh, did I mention that we have a rather small house?) So my current plan is to box it up by color and store it under the bed. This I can do.
Rather than buy yet more plastic boxes, I have been retrieving a set of my favorite sized box for the sorting. Certain boxes have piles of paperwork in them. Others are half filled with other projects. Over the course of a few weeks, I have consolidated and thrown out enough stuff to clear five whole boxes and possibly another two! Yea! That in itself is an accomplishment - fling, fling, fling!
So now commences the sorting. At some point, I will likely include the tossing as well. I doubt I can keep all of it. So far, so good.
I have to keep these successful progressions in mind to hold off the panic attacks. If it weren't for the Do-Everything-for-15-Minutes-At-A-Time, I'd be sunk. At there are still times that I get overwhelmed with just Too Much To Do. I just hope I have some sanity left after the holidays. Wish me luck.
--
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Chewing on Cabinetry
Oh hi. It's still NaBloPoMo, isn't it? Oh, that's right: I haven't posted anything for today yet, have I? Well, let's get to it, then.
Today was supposed to be the grand odyssey to pick up a couple of cabinets. You see, we discovered that to have our contractor to do the things we wanted done in the kitchen and elsewhere would run us, oh, about the cost of our new car. We swiftly and regretfully concluded that that was a no-go. Rats, anyway.
After some gnashing of teeth, Mr. Sweetie came up with the idea that we would redo the kitchen cabinets ourselves, but in stages. We'd start with a couple of cabinets and work out the kinks in the assembly and installation, thereby saving ourselves time, money, excessive renovation mess, and larger mishaps. This actually makes a lot of sense, especially if we start with the corner that currently has non-permanent storage.
We'd install one corner's worth of cabinets, transfer the stuff in the existing cabinets into the new and then tear out the old to install the rest of the new cabinets, again in stages. This is much what my church did 15 years ago as we were expanding into a larger sanctuary - build a new building to temporarily house church offices along with childcare/religious education classes while the older building was torn down and built anew. (We also had a smaller space that would serve as sanctuary while all this was going on.)
The trick now is *getting* the stuff we need without spending an arm and a leg on shipping and then finding the time to acquire what we need. This has turned into an issue; many of our weekends are taken already. How did we get so busy?
Mr. Sweetie came up with this great idea to wing our way over to the Ikea today and pick up a few cabinets and even the chair we're lusting after. See, once again, we were supposed to be in at least the same state as our target Ikea, and hey, what's another 4 hours to drive over? While we're already in the same state and all. As we have been busy preparing for this and that, we said: yeah! That sounds stressful but doable! And we threw our kitchen folder into the car on our way out of town.
Flash forward to this morning. We wake up super early, have a great breakfast and visit with our hosts, and hie our tails up the road in the opposite direction of home.
As we drive, we chat. DH wants to replace the flimsy backs with a sturdier construction. First time I've heard about this. My objections are several, namely that he is *already* planning to build his own bases *and* seal the raw edges *and* all of this was on the recommendation of our not-to-be contractor, who (you notice) is not actually undertaking the picky details of this project!! This is what I call mission creep. This is what I call the overly-engineered do-it-yourself project from hell.
So we argue about this until DH says he won't argue about it, so we agree to not argue about this, only sharing our concerns and reassurances about the do-ability of this line of attack. (ha!) The air thus cleared we continue up the highway.
And then I take a look at the package dimensions which I had conveniently compiled and printed out earlier. Each individual cabinet comes flat-packed in anywhere from three to nine separate packages. And each package's dimensions are up for grabs. One is something like 52 by 32 by 2 inches and weighs 64 pounds. Another is something like 23 by 18 by 1.5 inches and weighs 5 pounds. The list goes on ad confusiom. The question then arises as to whether our new car has the capacity to actually hold any significant amount of packages, especially cabinets *plus* this new chair we have had our eye on. It (the new car, not the chair) is much bigger than our old car, but we have neglected to actually measure the interior before we left for the weekend. Have I mentioned that we were rather busy?!
And by the way, is this going to be worth the hassle of driving these many hours to and from to pick up what may or may not fit and may or may not suffice AND which may drive me bonkers since I can't quite bend over any more and suffer from near-perpetual indigestion due to my GI tract being scrunched into a sub-compact space? You can see where this is going.
So what with all the questions, we decide that we need to collect a little more information before continuing. At the last place we can easily turn homeward, we stop to find a store that will sell us a measuring tape on a Sunday morning so that we can measure the car capacity and assess whether this is just a fool's errand, or whether it's worth adding another 7 hours of travel onto our day. After much measuring, we discover that a few cabinets will definitely fit, but whether the chair plus cabinets will fit is uncertain.
There are still too many uncertainties we haven't sorted out. In addition, Mr. Sweetie says he doesn't want this to turn into a slog for me as we have hours to go and I *still* have this digestive pain and am highly uncomfortable. There's no denying that it would be a slog.
We slowly and regretably conclude that this trip is not to be, at least not for today. So we turn homeward by a slightly different but more direct route, and it *still* takes us another few hours to get home.
So now the plan is for DH to take a day trip and do the trip alone without our extra baggage in back and without my extra pregnant self needing to eat and pee every hour and feeling miserable on the road. But when?? Have I mentioned that we are rather busy? Working and traveling hither and yon and the next thing you know, it's Christmas season. It's possible to have the items shipped to us, but that would get damn expensive. The chair alone would practically double in price were it shipped! Our car gets better gas mileage than that, so clearly picking it up is the way to go. But when?
This project is grinding our teeth down. It's doable, but WHEN? It's not just time versus money (although that's clearly an issue), it's time AND money with a side of aggravation. We'll clearly have to spend a little of each. Le Sigh.
Lalala! I am now going to think happy thoughts and work on clearing our the baby's room so that *someone else* can paint it. Don't mind the teeth marks.
--
Today was supposed to be the grand odyssey to pick up a couple of cabinets. You see, we discovered that to have our contractor to do the things we wanted done in the kitchen and elsewhere would run us, oh, about the cost of our new car. We swiftly and regretfully concluded that that was a no-go. Rats, anyway.
After some gnashing of teeth, Mr. Sweetie came up with the idea that we would redo the kitchen cabinets ourselves, but in stages. We'd start with a couple of cabinets and work out the kinks in the assembly and installation, thereby saving ourselves time, money, excessive renovation mess, and larger mishaps. This actually makes a lot of sense, especially if we start with the corner that currently has non-permanent storage.
We'd install one corner's worth of cabinets, transfer the stuff in the existing cabinets into the new and then tear out the old to install the rest of the new cabinets, again in stages. This is much what my church did 15 years ago as we were expanding into a larger sanctuary - build a new building to temporarily house church offices along with childcare/religious education classes while the older building was torn down and built anew. (We also had a smaller space that would serve as sanctuary while all this was going on.)
The trick now is *getting* the stuff we need without spending an arm and a leg on shipping and then finding the time to acquire what we need. This has turned into an issue; many of our weekends are taken already. How did we get so busy?
Mr. Sweetie came up with this great idea to wing our way over to the Ikea today and pick up a few cabinets and even the chair we're lusting after. See, once again, we were supposed to be in at least the same state as our target Ikea, and hey, what's another 4 hours to drive over? While we're already in the same state and all. As we have been busy preparing for this and that, we said: yeah! That sounds stressful but doable! And we threw our kitchen folder into the car on our way out of town.
Flash forward to this morning. We wake up super early, have a great breakfast and visit with our hosts, and hie our tails up the road in the opposite direction of home.
As we drive, we chat. DH wants to replace the flimsy backs with a sturdier construction. First time I've heard about this. My objections are several, namely that he is *already* planning to build his own bases *and* seal the raw edges *and* all of this was on the recommendation of our not-to-be contractor, who (you notice) is not actually undertaking the picky details of this project!! This is what I call mission creep. This is what I call the overly-engineered do-it-yourself project from hell.
So we argue about this until DH says he won't argue about it, so we agree to not argue about this, only sharing our concerns and reassurances about the do-ability of this line of attack. (ha!) The air thus cleared we continue up the highway.
And then I take a look at the package dimensions which I had conveniently compiled and printed out earlier. Each individual cabinet comes flat-packed in anywhere from three to nine separate packages. And each package's dimensions are up for grabs. One is something like 52 by 32 by 2 inches and weighs 64 pounds. Another is something like 23 by 18 by 1.5 inches and weighs 5 pounds. The list goes on ad confusiom. The question then arises as to whether our new car has the capacity to actually hold any significant amount of packages, especially cabinets *plus* this new chair we have had our eye on. It (the new car, not the chair) is much bigger than our old car, but we have neglected to actually measure the interior before we left for the weekend. Have I mentioned that we were rather busy?!
And by the way, is this going to be worth the hassle of driving these many hours to and from to pick up what may or may not fit and may or may not suffice AND which may drive me bonkers since I can't quite bend over any more and suffer from near-perpetual indigestion due to my GI tract being scrunched into a sub-compact space? You can see where this is going.
So what with all the questions, we decide that we need to collect a little more information before continuing. At the last place we can easily turn homeward, we stop to find a store that will sell us a measuring tape on a Sunday morning so that we can measure the car capacity and assess whether this is just a fool's errand, or whether it's worth adding another 7 hours of travel onto our day. After much measuring, we discover that a few cabinets will definitely fit, but whether the chair plus cabinets will fit is uncertain.
There are still too many uncertainties we haven't sorted out. In addition, Mr. Sweetie says he doesn't want this to turn into a slog for me as we have hours to go and I *still* have this digestive pain and am highly uncomfortable. There's no denying that it would be a slog.
We slowly and regretably conclude that this trip is not to be, at least not for today. So we turn homeward by a slightly different but more direct route, and it *still* takes us another few hours to get home.
So now the plan is for DH to take a day trip and do the trip alone without our extra baggage in back and without my extra pregnant self needing to eat and pee every hour and feeling miserable on the road. But when?? Have I mentioned that we are rather busy? Working and traveling hither and yon and the next thing you know, it's Christmas season. It's possible to have the items shipped to us, but that would get damn expensive. The chair alone would practically double in price were it shipped! Our car gets better gas mileage than that, so clearly picking it up is the way to go. But when?
This project is grinding our teeth down. It's doable, but WHEN? It's not just time versus money (although that's clearly an issue), it's time AND money with a side of aggravation. We'll clearly have to spend a little of each. Le Sigh.
Lalala! I am now going to think happy thoughts and work on clearing our the baby's room so that *someone else* can paint it. Don't mind the teeth marks.
--
Monday, September 29, 2008
Cleaning Up the Mess - The Peanut Butter Bailout
Daily Kos recently quoted Nancy Pelosi regarding the current job ahead of Congress, hashing out the plan to bail out the financial industry:
Kos' response:
Gosh, this really reminds me of something. I might even be able to make an analogy. You see, I have a huge mess in my life that needs cleaning up. I didn't make it... in fact, I have spoken repeatedly about the need for caution on the issue, yet this big mess happened. And apparently, if I want anything done, I will have to clean it up.
I should tell you first that we like our unhydrogenated peanut butter. It tastes great, but it takes more work because it doesn't have those hydrogenating agents in it. Therefor, the oil separates out and rises to the top of the container. When you first open a jar, you need to carefully and persistently mix in all of the the oil into the heavy, sticky butter, a potentially messy process. It is possible if not likely to get oil all down the sides of the jar and surrounding table if you are not extremely careful. Not a job for for the young, careless, or faint of heart.
My husband has a genetic inability to see how any minute amount of sticky or oily substance, if not attended to, will spread to other formerly pristine surfaces. I don't have a toddler, but I do have sticky fingerprints on the back on my chair. So given the potential for oily messes regarding the peanut butter, I have a taken to premixing the jars just so my husband doesn't have to. I avoid feeling resentful about this; it's just what I do for my own sanity, to avoid running into oily boobie traps. The same way I wash off oily jars. No guilt trips. It's just what I do.
So this latest jar, it's big, it's new. I bought it thinking it was a bigger, yet cheaper-brand jar, a possible substitute for the even more expensively organic peanut butter we've been indulging in. The jar was so big that it had nearly an inch of oil standing just under the lid. On this one occasion, I fell down on the job to to regulate the mixing in of the oil on this non-standard loan, I mean, purchase. (You can see where this is going.)
So late last week (yes, last week), Mr. Sweetie hit one of those days when he was trying to grab his breakfast while running late for work. His standard pb toast construction was slowed down because the current jar of pb was empty. He grabbed the bigger jar lurking in the cabinet. It was, of course, difficult to open. Without pause, he hugged it to his chest, wrenched it open, and then took it to the kitchen table (on the other side of the room) to spread on his toast. At some point, he took it back over to the cabinet. At some MUCH later time, he nearly slipped on the floor. (I have to presume this because it would be unusual for him to *see* something spilled on the floor.)
And then he realized that --oh shit-- he had spilled peanut butter oil on the floor. He cleaned up as best he could because -- remember -- he was late to work at this point. But he did spare a moment to come into the bedroom and warn me to be careful in the kitchen because - he was really, really sorry, but he had spilled peanut butter oil and it was really slippery.
I groaned and tried to go back to sleep. The oil wasn't going anywhere, so why ruin the rest of my perfectly good sleep cycle? I successfully slept through the alarm a a few more hours while ignoring this impending reality.
By the time I was ready to face the kitchen to see how bad it really was, armed with a roll of paper towels and some grease cleaner, I was still unprepared to see the sight of peanut butter oil spilled across *most* of the kitchen floor. I started laying down towels to soak up the remaining oil. Some there, some more there, and over there, and OMG I was standing in some! And over there... there were even traces in the hallway.
Yes, Mr Sweetie had unwittingly tracked it to the sink, to the table, past the fridge, back and forth across most of the linoleum, with grace notes down the hall and into the bedroom. There is about 50+ square feet of floor involved in the kitchen alone.
Shocked and discouraged, I practically papered the floor with towels and half-heartedly stepped on them to start the soaking process. Those would be the stop-gap measures.
And of course, we were supposed to leave to go out of town for the weekend within 4-6 hours. I barely had time to finish preparing and packing much less crouch at the floor for hours while pregnant... that was my rationale. I didn't have the heart to tackle this task while trying to get ready to leave, although it meant we'd have to deal with it when we got back.
So the towels would have to cover the floor all weekend... and there they remain. We got back home last night, looked at the kitchen, sighed, and put down a few more towels. See, we've been stepping on the towels because any floor uncovered is still shining with the oil slick.
And I'm *still* trying to face this huge cleanup.
I'm thinking I need to find my stool to sit on because squatting on the floor for periods of time while pregnant would be uncomfortable and potentially hazardous. (Don't fall into the oil!) I'm thinking I should use the cleaner before even attempting to mop. I shudder to even think of adding water to that mix. I'm thinking that I'm hungry already and don't have time to deal with this... as I tiptoe across the towels to get my direly needed waffles and orange juice to Feed Teh Baby.
It's daunting. Can you tell it's daunting? I am trying to steel myself to take care of it already, but OMG where to start??? It's huge.
I'm trying to not point fingers. Yes, Mr. Sweetie did it, but this is way beyond the normal careless "oops" situation; it was the perfect storm of bad circumstances, and I don't want to make him feel any worse about it than he already does. Really I don't. I have made my own huge mistakes, and he cleans up nasty messes for me all the time. Like the soup I forgot to throw away before we left for the weekend... *ahem*
But still, I am not entrusting the floor cleanup to my husband, the person who cannot see juice spilled on the floor, the person who in fact doubted the number of towels on the floor.
"Why are there towels over there? It's not over there is it?"
Oh, yes. Oh yes, it unfortunately is.
So it'll be me wiping and scrubbing. Maybe after breakfast...
Okay, so this is not really a perfect analogy to the Wall Street crisis. In our case, the person responsible for the peanut butter oil fiasco is not overseeing the bail out/cleanup. It's not the end of the world, really. It's not a permanent situation that will forever change our lives. Our kitchen won't collapse without a bailout from the local cleaning service, although the mess did bring a halt to food preparations. (Who can cook when our steps are squeaking? Eek! eek!) Meanwhile, I can postpone the reckoning by writing a post about my frustrations, analyzing how we got to this point. I guess that part would ring true, though, what with everyone on Wall Street and in Congress staggering around in shock trying to come to terms with the financial situation. Maybe there is more of an analogy but my pregnant brain has been distracted yet again.
So true, the oil spill in our kitchen is not really on the scale of a national disaster. I do think, though, that I will be implementing a few small changes. Such as sticking to hydrogenated peanut butter from here on out. Must regulate the ratio of oily food containers to potential scale of disaster. On this, I think we can agree.
We sent a message to Wall Street - the party is over.
Kos' response:
Sure, the party is over. But we weren't invited to the party, yet we're the ones left cleaning up the mess and paying for the house they burned down.
Gosh, this really reminds me of something. I might even be able to make an analogy. You see, I have a huge mess in my life that needs cleaning up. I didn't make it... in fact, I have spoken repeatedly about the need for caution on the issue, yet this big mess happened. And apparently, if I want anything done, I will have to clean it up.
I should tell you first that we like our unhydrogenated peanut butter. It tastes great, but it takes more work because it doesn't have those hydrogenating agents in it. Therefor, the oil separates out and rises to the top of the container. When you first open a jar, you need to carefully and persistently mix in all of the the oil into the heavy, sticky butter, a potentially messy process. It is possible if not likely to get oil all down the sides of the jar and surrounding table if you are not extremely careful. Not a job for for the young, careless, or faint of heart.
My husband has a genetic inability to see how any minute amount of sticky or oily substance, if not attended to, will spread to other formerly pristine surfaces. I don't have a toddler, but I do have sticky fingerprints on the back on my chair. So given the potential for oily messes regarding the peanut butter, I have a taken to premixing the jars just so my husband doesn't have to. I avoid feeling resentful about this; it's just what I do for my own sanity, to avoid running into oily boobie traps. The same way I wash off oily jars. No guilt trips. It's just what I do.
So this latest jar, it's big, it's new. I bought it thinking it was a bigger, yet cheaper-brand jar, a possible substitute for the even more expensively organic peanut butter we've been indulging in. The jar was so big that it had nearly an inch of oil standing just under the lid. On this one occasion, I fell down on the job to to regulate the mixing in of the oil on this non-standard loan, I mean, purchase. (You can see where this is going.)
So late last week (yes, last week), Mr. Sweetie hit one of those days when he was trying to grab his breakfast while running late for work. His standard pb toast construction was slowed down because the current jar of pb was empty. He grabbed the bigger jar lurking in the cabinet. It was, of course, difficult to open. Without pause, he hugged it to his chest, wrenched it open, and then took it to the kitchen table (on the other side of the room) to spread on his toast. At some point, he took it back over to the cabinet. At some MUCH later time, he nearly slipped on the floor. (I have to presume this because it would be unusual for him to *see* something spilled on the floor.)
And then he realized that --oh shit-- he had spilled peanut butter oil on the floor. He cleaned up as best he could because -- remember -- he was late to work at this point. But he did spare a moment to come into the bedroom and warn me to be careful in the kitchen because - he was really, really sorry, but he had spilled peanut butter oil and it was really slippery.
I groaned and tried to go back to sleep. The oil wasn't going anywhere, so why ruin the rest of my perfectly good sleep cycle? I successfully slept through the alarm a a few more hours while ignoring this impending reality.
By the time I was ready to face the kitchen to see how bad it really was, armed with a roll of paper towels and some grease cleaner, I was still unprepared to see the sight of peanut butter oil spilled across *most* of the kitchen floor. I started laying down towels to soak up the remaining oil. Some there, some more there, and over there, and OMG I was standing in some! And over there... there were even traces in the hallway.
Yes, Mr Sweetie had unwittingly tracked it to the sink, to the table, past the fridge, back and forth across most of the linoleum, with grace notes down the hall and into the bedroom. There is about 50+ square feet of floor involved in the kitchen alone.
Shocked and discouraged, I practically papered the floor with towels and half-heartedly stepped on them to start the soaking process. Those would be the stop-gap measures.
And of course, we were supposed to leave to go out of town for the weekend within 4-6 hours. I barely had time to finish preparing and packing much less crouch at the floor for hours while pregnant... that was my rationale. I didn't have the heart to tackle this task while trying to get ready to leave, although it meant we'd have to deal with it when we got back.
So the towels would have to cover the floor all weekend... and there they remain. We got back home last night, looked at the kitchen, sighed, and put down a few more towels. See, we've been stepping on the towels because any floor uncovered is still shining with the oil slick.
And I'm *still* trying to face this huge cleanup.
I'm thinking I need to find my stool to sit on because squatting on the floor for periods of time while pregnant would be uncomfortable and potentially hazardous. (Don't fall into the oil!) I'm thinking I should use the cleaner before even attempting to mop. I shudder to even think of adding water to that mix. I'm thinking that I'm hungry already and don't have time to deal with this... as I tiptoe across the towels to get my direly needed waffles and orange juice to Feed Teh Baby.
It's daunting. Can you tell it's daunting? I am trying to steel myself to take care of it already, but OMG where to start??? It's huge.
I'm trying to not point fingers. Yes, Mr. Sweetie did it, but this is way beyond the normal careless "oops" situation; it was the perfect storm of bad circumstances, and I don't want to make him feel any worse about it than he already does. Really I don't. I have made my own huge mistakes, and he cleans up nasty messes for me all the time. Like the soup I forgot to throw away before we left for the weekend... *ahem*
But still, I am not entrusting the floor cleanup to my husband, the person who cannot see juice spilled on the floor, the person who in fact doubted the number of towels on the floor.
"Why are there towels over there? It's not over there is it?"
Oh, yes. Oh yes, it unfortunately is.
So it'll be me wiping and scrubbing. Maybe after breakfast...
Okay, so this is not really a perfect analogy to the Wall Street crisis. In our case, the person responsible for the peanut butter oil fiasco is not overseeing the bail out/cleanup. It's not the end of the world, really. It's not a permanent situation that will forever change our lives. Our kitchen won't collapse without a bailout from the local cleaning service, although the mess did bring a halt to food preparations. (Who can cook when our steps are squeaking? Eek! eek!) Meanwhile, I can postpone the reckoning by writing a post about my frustrations, analyzing how we got to this point. I guess that part would ring true, though, what with everyone on Wall Street and in Congress staggering around in shock trying to come to terms with the financial situation. Maybe there is more of an analogy but my pregnant brain has been distracted yet again.
So true, the oil spill in our kitchen is not really on the scale of a national disaster. I do think, though, that I will be implementing a few small changes. Such as sticking to hydrogenated peanut butter from here on out. Must regulate the ratio of oily food containers to potential scale of disaster. On this, I think we can agree.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
IKEAified!
So, I'd heard about this place from my far-off internet friends. Camelot! I mean, Ikea!
Some dreamland of inexpensive, well-designed home decor, both heaven and bane of decorators on the cheap. Heaven, because you can find the best cool home stuff for modest cash outlay, and the bane because there are so many good things, it's hard to get away without more than you planned on. Ir-re-sist-able! LIke a Swedish Target with better furniture. Or something.
I heard people speak with glee and satisfaction of putting together that new orange couch or finding the perfect thingie to organize or round out the room. You'd think it was the holy grail of "the rug that pulls the whole room together."
This remained a curiosity, though, because there are no Ikea stores in my area. None, nada, zilch. We finally got a few Trader Joe's last year, and oh, happy day! But no Ikea. Okay, I can deal.
Flash forward to this Summer when we decided we had to replace/expand kitchen cabinets and countertops this year. (Must. Renovate. Before. Baby. Comes.)* And somehow in the last 5 or 6 years, the price for replacing kitchen cabinets has skyrocketed. I have an old cost estimate I worked up in the Dark Ages. $800 dollars, people. Today's prices? About $5000. *gak* Worse, I frankly hated the stuff I was now seeing at H0me Dep0t and L0wes.
*We currently have a mere 8 cabinets and 2 small countertop spaces. Renovation would at least double that.
The neighborhood listserv gave me all kinds of ideas. Many people suggested custom-built, which, as we know, is doable, but (probably) not in our better budget. But! A couple people raved about their Ikea experience. I thought, wait, you mean Ikea does kitchen cabinets too????? It took that many question marks because I had that big light bulb over my head. I lit up with the idea that Ikea was going to save us from over-priced bad design (or even over-priced good design).
I did a g0ogle search, and found that the nearest Ikea was either in DC or Atlanta, or maybe Cincinnati. Never fear, we could also order cabinets online. I poked about on the website and it was definitely worth looking into. However, we have this thing called We-need-to-see-it-in-person-to-satisfy-quality-standards-and-design-ideas. Conveniently enough, we were supposed to go to Virginia for a work/social event. What's another few hours to DC? We could do this thing AND visit the Ikea. My husband was on board with this plan, so that's what happened.
This happened to be the Hurricane Ike weekend wherein gas prices shot up way past $4/gallon, and the weather was all hot and icky, AND I was a little stressed about preparing for the work thing. But luckily, at the last minute, I found my old kitchen floor plan and notes buried in the office (under "current" house projects - ha!), and my husband drove the whole way.
Thus it was that we did our work thing Saturday, woke up Sunday morning, visited some more, then headed up I-95 to Woodbridge. Thanks to those online maps, I even knew which exit to use to get to the mall (which, by the way, appears to cover a solid two miles of acreage).
Me in my current condition, I also had to eat every couple of hours. Never fear, I told my husband, I heard they have a cafe too.
I have to admit, I felt a little shiver of excitement as we pulled into the parking garage. "Oo! oo! Ikea!" And again when we entered the store. "Look, honey! They have a loading dock!" We tried to not look like hicks visiting the big city for the first time, but it's hard to remain cool when faced with such an iconic giant.
We deliberately did not follow the crowd, pausing frequently to get our bearings. I had warned my husband that it was known as a place to get lost. But first, we had to eat. We followed the sound of clinking dinnerware past the kids' play area to the cafeteria. I was chagrined to notice they had few vegetarian options, and amused to notice that they had the desserts on display first thing in line. But we opted for penne pasta with marinara sauce and either salad or mixed vegetables, and that turned out to be the perfect lunch.
During lunch, we reviewed the paperwork I had brought with me: One kitchen floor plan to scale and some cabinet piece counts. We also reviewed strategy. There would be a lot to look at, but our priority was to hash out some ideas of kitchen design based on what they had, and still have time left to drive all the way home that night, 5+ hours.
So after lunch and a quick bathroom break (Oo, look! A mother's room!) , we started in on the cabinetry.
Right in the front of the kitchen area was the cutest little 3-D model kitchen. The walls of the doll-house, I mean, model, were gridded with measurements and the floor was littered with wooden scale models of cabinet and appliances that you would rearrange to your satisfaction. The wee wall cabinets even had magnets that would make them cling to the sides of the model. It was so darling, I immediately wanted to play with it, but we were quickly distracted by a walls worth of models of all the door finishes. But first, I had to pry my husband away from the appliances! Yes, they have dishwashers, too.
I had already narrowed down our preferences via the internet, and we zeroed in on our top two choices, asking questions and taking notes. Mr. Sweetie was in his element, looking things over with a sharp eye and analyzing data. He took their estimated price for a 10-ft kitchen space and extrapolated what our space would cost... coming up with something very doable! Okay, then!
We quickly decided that the white old-fashioned look was both more to our preference and more economical than the one wood version that would go with our existing paneling, and within minutes, reassured ourselves that this would make sense for both our stylistic ideals and our budget.
I was surprised to realize how much I liked the wooden counter tops. That might tie in to all that existing wood in the rest of the room, and they looked great with our fav cabinets. My husband then spent some time asking about the difference between Corian stone and marble countertops, even though we had soon figured out that the Corian would run 5 times as much as the wood or laminate. The prices looked similar until I noticed that the wood was priced by the piece lengths and the Corian was priced by square foot. Sneaky!
Then I was entranced by a display that had all the cabinet widths displayed in sequence: 12", 15", 18", 24", 30", 36"... So many combinations of shelves or pull out drawers, my head was spinning. What I really wanted, I declared, was a brochure that had all options and prices and pictures together, so that I wouldn't drive myself crazy trying to write down every single available option. I found one product list and started checking my cabinet dimensions against the catalogue while the Mister started browsing amongst the drawer inserts. (I really like the wooden one. Yes, honey, but we have one already.)
Then Mr. Sweetie wandered off himself and found the sample kitchen for our favorite cabinet... Oooo!
This was bliss indeed. We wandered about that corner in a happy daze, absorbing the feel of the design, and gazing about as if we were living there. For a while, we ping-ponged around, opening cabinets and exploring, and saying, oo, I like that! How about *that* cabinet feature?
I finally started to focus and correlate the display in front of us with the catalogue, and cross-checking against our floor plan. It was then we discovered that the display showed all of the mid-to-large widths.
They looked fantastic, but since our kitchen space is rather restricted, our options were also limited. No fancy glass doors for us, alas, because they were only available in widths that did not fit in our space! A big bummer to adjust to that reality. As a consolation, I started taking pictures of the info tags and pieces that *would* fit in our kitchen plan.
It felt really important to be able to bring home the vision of what we wanted, so I was glad that nobody fussed at us for taking pictures. [insert pictures here] We also realized that we had enough ceiling height to put in the taller cabinets, making more use of the space we have, so at least that was a nice surprise.
After we had exhausted ourselves of all practical and feel-good activities, we realized we had been there almost two hours, and time well-spent indeed! We decided that we'd give ourselves only another 30-40 minutes to scan the *rest* of the store to see what was there was to see. There was actually a path with traffic flow arrows on it, but since the kitchen was near the end of the route, we were far from the starting point. We decided to continue in a clockwise direction, not realizing that we'd be walking against the rest of the customer traffic! D'oh! Call us nonconformists.
We walked through the rest of the kitchens and into bedrooms and into living rooms, offices, et al, skimming through the entire place.
Now, this was interesting. I did not expect my husband to be ultimately enamored of Ikea in the same way I heard my friends talk about it. But gradually, we both became really delighted with the place. Especially after trying out multiple chairs, we did find a living room reading chair/recliner that we both loved. This place was *so cool*, we agreed. We both noticed that the designs were not so overblown as to overpower our living space. Everything seemed sleek and modest rather than lavish and oversized. It must be a European thing, I concluded... and we like it! Living in a modest space, we were delighted to find furniture that would actually fit!
I was starting to get tired, but we rushed through the children's section long enough to note a few pieces of furniture for future reference. Not enough attention to really wander at that point. (Oo, look at that cute (and inexpensive) crib! And those darling little wall lamps! I want green kiddie chair!)
And then when we were leaving, Mr. Sweetie asked about getting the recliner. Um, can we get it into the car within half and hour, because I am fading fast... Can it even *fit* in our little car? No energy to contemplate, so we left the store tired but glowing, stopping only to eat some bento box sushi at one of the surrounding strip/clump malls. The food did us good, and we got back on the road by 5 p.m.
Of course, later, we were kicking ourselves for not attempting to get the box into the car, because the shipping charges would kill us. It really was a great recliner. It is. Maybe if we go up to haul the cabinets home, we can stuff the chair in the U-Haul as well.
And if we get the recliner, maybe we could get the matching chair and thereby have an even better excuse to get rid of the ugly 70s brown metal tubing chairs that I've had forever? Hmmm. And maybe a new couch someday? Oh, the possibilities!
Yup, it's official. We've been Ikeaified. And we *like* it.
Some dreamland of inexpensive, well-designed home decor, both heaven and bane of decorators on the cheap. Heaven, because you can find the best cool home stuff for modest cash outlay, and the bane because there are so many good things, it's hard to get away without more than you planned on. Ir-re-sist-able! LIke a Swedish Target with better furniture. Or something.
I heard people speak with glee and satisfaction of putting together that new orange couch or finding the perfect thingie to organize or round out the room. You'd think it was the holy grail of "the rug that pulls the whole room together."
This remained a curiosity, though, because there are no Ikea stores in my area. None, nada, zilch. We finally got a few Trader Joe's last year, and oh, happy day! But no Ikea. Okay, I can deal.
Flash forward to this Summer when we decided we had to replace/expand kitchen cabinets and countertops this year. (Must. Renovate. Before. Baby. Comes.)* And somehow in the last 5 or 6 years, the price for replacing kitchen cabinets has skyrocketed. I have an old cost estimate I worked up in the Dark Ages. $800 dollars, people. Today's prices? About $5000. *gak* Worse, I frankly hated the stuff I was now seeing at H0me Dep0t and L0wes.
*We currently have a mere 8 cabinets and 2 small countertop spaces. Renovation would at least double that.
The neighborhood listserv gave me all kinds of ideas. Many people suggested custom-built, which, as we know, is doable, but (probably) not in our better budget. But! A couple people raved about their Ikea experience. I thought, wait, you mean Ikea does kitchen cabinets too????? It took that many question marks because I had that big light bulb over my head. I lit up with the idea that Ikea was going to save us from over-priced bad design (or even over-priced good design).
I did a g0ogle search, and found that the nearest Ikea was either in DC or Atlanta, or maybe Cincinnati. Never fear, we could also order cabinets online. I poked about on the website and it was definitely worth looking into. However, we have this thing called We-need-to-see-it-in-person-to-satisfy-quality-standards-and-design-ideas. Conveniently enough, we were supposed to go to Virginia for a work/social event. What's another few hours to DC? We could do this thing AND visit the Ikea. My husband was on board with this plan, so that's what happened.
This happened to be the Hurricane Ike weekend wherein gas prices shot up way past $4/gallon, and the weather was all hot and icky, AND I was a little stressed about preparing for the work thing. But luckily, at the last minute, I found my old kitchen floor plan and notes buried in the office (under "current" house projects - ha!), and my husband drove the whole way.
Thus it was that we did our work thing Saturday, woke up Sunday morning, visited some more, then headed up I-95 to Woodbridge. Thanks to those online maps, I even knew which exit to use to get to the mall (which, by the way, appears to cover a solid two miles of acreage).
Me in my current condition, I also had to eat every couple of hours. Never fear, I told my husband, I heard they have a cafe too.
I have to admit, I felt a little shiver of excitement as we pulled into the parking garage. "Oo! oo! Ikea!" And again when we entered the store. "Look, honey! They have a loading dock!" We tried to not look like hicks visiting the big city for the first time, but it's hard to remain cool when faced with such an iconic giant.
We deliberately did not follow the crowd, pausing frequently to get our bearings. I had warned my husband that it was known as a place to get lost. But first, we had to eat. We followed the sound of clinking dinnerware past the kids' play area to the cafeteria. I was chagrined to notice they had few vegetarian options, and amused to notice that they had the desserts on display first thing in line. But we opted for penne pasta with marinara sauce and either salad or mixed vegetables, and that turned out to be the perfect lunch.
During lunch, we reviewed the paperwork I had brought with me: One kitchen floor plan to scale and some cabinet piece counts. We also reviewed strategy. There would be a lot to look at, but our priority was to hash out some ideas of kitchen design based on what they had, and still have time left to drive all the way home that night, 5+ hours.
So after lunch and a quick bathroom break (Oo, look! A mother's room!) , we started in on the cabinetry.
Right in the front of the kitchen area was the cutest little 3-D model kitchen. The walls of the doll-house, I mean, model, were gridded with measurements and the floor was littered with wooden scale models of cabinet and appliances that you would rearrange to your satisfaction. The wee wall cabinets even had magnets that would make them cling to the sides of the model. It was so darling, I immediately wanted to play with it, but we were quickly distracted by a walls worth of models of all the door finishes. But first, I had to pry my husband away from the appliances! Yes, they have dishwashers, too.
I had already narrowed down our preferences via the internet, and we zeroed in on our top two choices, asking questions and taking notes. Mr. Sweetie was in his element, looking things over with a sharp eye and analyzing data. He took their estimated price for a 10-ft kitchen space and extrapolated what our space would cost... coming up with something very doable! Okay, then!
We quickly decided that the white old-fashioned look was both more to our preference and more economical than the one wood version that would go with our existing paneling, and within minutes, reassured ourselves that this would make sense for both our stylistic ideals and our budget.
I was surprised to realize how much I liked the wooden counter tops. That might tie in to all that existing wood in the rest of the room, and they looked great with our fav cabinets. My husband then spent some time asking about the difference between Corian stone and marble countertops, even though we had soon figured out that the Corian would run 5 times as much as the wood or laminate. The prices looked similar until I noticed that the wood was priced by the piece lengths and the Corian was priced by square foot. Sneaky!
Then I was entranced by a display that had all the cabinet widths displayed in sequence: 12", 15", 18", 24", 30", 36"... So many combinations of shelves or pull out drawers, my head was spinning. What I really wanted, I declared, was a brochure that had all options and prices and pictures together, so that I wouldn't drive myself crazy trying to write down every single available option. I found one product list and started checking my cabinet dimensions against the catalogue while the Mister started browsing amongst the drawer inserts. (I really like the wooden one. Yes, honey, but we have one already.)
Then Mr. Sweetie wandered off himself and found the sample kitchen for our favorite cabinet... Oooo!
This was bliss indeed. We wandered about that corner in a happy daze, absorbing the feel of the design, and gazing about as if we were living there. For a while, we ping-ponged around, opening cabinets and exploring, and saying, oo, I like that! How about *that* cabinet feature?
I finally started to focus and correlate the display in front of us with the catalogue, and cross-checking against our floor plan. It was then we discovered that the display showed all of the mid-to-large widths.
They looked fantastic, but since our kitchen space is rather restricted, our options were also limited. No fancy glass doors for us, alas, because they were only available in widths that did not fit in our space! A big bummer to adjust to that reality. As a consolation, I started taking pictures of the info tags and pieces that *would* fit in our kitchen plan.
It felt really important to be able to bring home the vision of what we wanted, so I was glad that nobody fussed at us for taking pictures. [insert pictures here] We also realized that we had enough ceiling height to put in the taller cabinets, making more use of the space we have, so at least that was a nice surprise.
After we had exhausted ourselves of all practical and feel-good activities, we realized we had been there almost two hours, and time well-spent indeed! We decided that we'd give ourselves only another 30-40 minutes to scan the *rest* of the store to see what was there was to see. There was actually a path with traffic flow arrows on it, but since the kitchen was near the end of the route, we were far from the starting point. We decided to continue in a clockwise direction, not realizing that we'd be walking against the rest of the customer traffic! D'oh! Call us nonconformists.
We walked through the rest of the kitchens and into bedrooms and into living rooms, offices, et al, skimming through the entire place.
Now, this was interesting. I did not expect my husband to be ultimately enamored of Ikea in the same way I heard my friends talk about it. But gradually, we both became really delighted with the place. Especially after trying out multiple chairs, we did find a living room reading chair/recliner that we both loved. This place was *so cool*, we agreed. We both noticed that the designs were not so overblown as to overpower our living space. Everything seemed sleek and modest rather than lavish and oversized. It must be a European thing, I concluded... and we like it! Living in a modest space, we were delighted to find furniture that would actually fit!
I was starting to get tired, but we rushed through the children's section long enough to note a few pieces of furniture for future reference. Not enough attention to really wander at that point. (Oo, look at that cute (and inexpensive) crib! And those darling little wall lamps! I want green kiddie chair!)
And then when we were leaving, Mr. Sweetie asked about getting the recliner. Um, can we get it into the car within half and hour, because I am fading fast... Can it even *fit* in our little car? No energy to contemplate, so we left the store tired but glowing, stopping only to eat some bento box sushi at one of the surrounding strip/clump malls. The food did us good, and we got back on the road by 5 p.m.
Of course, later, we were kicking ourselves for not attempting to get the box into the car, because the shipping charges would kill us. It really was a great recliner. It is. Maybe if we go up to haul the cabinets home, we can stuff the chair in the U-Haul as well.
And if we get the recliner, maybe we could get the matching chair and thereby have an even better excuse to get rid of the ugly 70s brown metal tubing chairs that I've had forever? Hmmm. And maybe a new couch someday? Oh, the possibilities!
Yup, it's official. We've been Ikeaified. And we *like* it.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Garden Party Green
I bought fabric! 3.5 yards of leafy green solid, perfect for that garden party look.
I had a piece of solid printed color from a wall calendar that I thought I might aim for, so I was schlepping that around. The solid I had been eyeing a couple of months earlier at the store was darker and duller than I had imagined/remembered (or at least compared to the color swatch), so I carried the fabric around the shop for half an hour, looking for alternatives.
I did find a brighter green with a subtle spiral scatter pattern, but I thought it might be a little TOO bright. Another one appeared to have an ideal color, but had a leafy-flowerish pattern. After much mucking around and holding up bolts to different swaths of colors to estimate compatability, I determined by process of elimination that the solid I had picked out earlier was actually the best for my purposes. Not too dark, not too bright, not too yellow, but yellow enough to be cheerful. Whew! You know how difficult these color choices can be--I want them all! But I am pleased with my choice of the background fabric. It sets the tone for the whole design.
Here's the fabric in situ with cat and wall. Already it's a brighter look. But see how cool everything is in that light?
Part of what I am trying to do in the bedroom is to warm it up a little. The *original* paint was burnt orange, and we painted that over asap. I was going for calm and restful, so I used a lovely dark lavender-purple. Most of the furnishing are either dark wood or green stained/painted wood. All of the artwork on the walls is very nature oriented with mostly cool colors. I do like it. We've liked it for years.
However, although the room gets lots of natural light, it often shaded enough that the colors seem a little too subdued at times. That pale green coverlet gets completely washed out in certain light. Sooo, my idea is to bring in deeper shades of my favorite blues, purples, greens, and teals, as well as some of those gorgeous, warm, subtle, desert colors. Oh yes, and to bring in some paler shades for contrast. I am a big fan of contrasting clean whites against darker or mid-tones shades. I have a yard or two of a pale "fresh garden" fabric that is the perfect tone, although I don't think I could get away with a coverlet of the whole thing. Too much cat hair floating around for one thing.
But overall, I want to bring in more of those warmer colors to contrast with all the fabulous cools I already have.
Some of the possible fabrics with the new green in ambient + overhead light. This is important because ambient is most of what it gets!
That upper right fabric (bright cream with leafy splashes) is the one I especially love. I made a mini pillow case out of it once to recover a small pillow I use for back support.
I am thinking I will keep the blocks fairly simple instead of going for a more complicated design, and let the colors shine surrounded by the leafy green. Keep in mind that I could change my mind at any time! (For instance, if I do end up with a more complicated block, I might be able to include more colors and be able to introduce a more scrappy look... Hmmm. More ideas. Can't wait to play!)
Feeling happy. It's a start.
I had a piece of solid printed color from a wall calendar that I thought I might aim for, so I was schlepping that around. The solid I had been eyeing a couple of months earlier at the store was darker and duller than I had imagined/remembered (or at least compared to the color swatch), so I carried the fabric around the shop for half an hour, looking for alternatives.
I did find a brighter green with a subtle spiral scatter pattern, but I thought it might be a little TOO bright. Another one appeared to have an ideal color, but had a leafy-flowerish pattern. After much mucking around and holding up bolts to different swaths of colors to estimate compatability, I determined by process of elimination that the solid I had picked out earlier was actually the best for my purposes. Not too dark, not too bright, not too yellow, but yellow enough to be cheerful. Whew! You know how difficult these color choices can be--I want them all! But I am pleased with my choice of the background fabric. It sets the tone for the whole design.
Here's the fabric in situ with cat and wall. Already it's a brighter look. But see how cool everything is in that light?
Part of what I am trying to do in the bedroom is to warm it up a little. The *original* paint was burnt orange, and we painted that over asap. I was going for calm and restful, so I used a lovely dark lavender-purple. Most of the furnishing are either dark wood or green stained/painted wood. All of the artwork on the walls is very nature oriented with mostly cool colors. I do like it. We've liked it for years.
However, although the room gets lots of natural light, it often shaded enough that the colors seem a little too subdued at times. That pale green coverlet gets completely washed out in certain light. Sooo, my idea is to bring in deeper shades of my favorite blues, purples, greens, and teals, as well as some of those gorgeous, warm, subtle, desert colors. Oh yes, and to bring in some paler shades for contrast. I am a big fan of contrasting clean whites against darker or mid-tones shades. I have a yard or two of a pale "fresh garden" fabric that is the perfect tone, although I don't think I could get away with a coverlet of the whole thing. Too much cat hair floating around for one thing.
But overall, I want to bring in more of those warmer colors to contrast with all the fabulous cools I already have.
Some of the possible fabrics with the new green in ambient + overhead light. This is important because ambient is most of what it gets!
That upper right fabric (bright cream with leafy splashes) is the one I especially love. I made a mini pillow case out of it once to recover a small pillow I use for back support.
I am thinking I will keep the blocks fairly simple instead of going for a more complicated design, and let the colors shine surrounded by the leafy green. Keep in mind that I could change my mind at any time! (For instance, if I do end up with a more complicated block, I might be able to include more colors and be able to introduce a more scrappy look... Hmmm. More ideas. Can't wait to play!)
Feeling happy. It's a start.
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