Welp. Here we are, facing another New Year. Should I declare Honesty to be the best Policy, and proclaim that this year I will not lose weight, exercise or be on time? I will not get my taxes done by April 15th, I won’t get organized, nor will I prepare better meals. And, I most likely won’t get my scripture reading in each and every single day, I won’t have my Sunday lessons read before Sunday, and I won’t give up gossiping. *sigh*
Who could face a world with no progress? The year before last I did lose weight, and last year I didn’t gain all of it back, isn’t that worth something? The year before last I trained for a half-triathalon, and last year I kept walking most of the time. My main activity for the year was remodeling our house and moving. Moving involves sorting papers. In those papers I found a wish list I’d written several years earlier of things that desperately needed doing to our house. I discovered that last year we did every blessed thing on the list, times ten. Isn’t that worth something?
So what’s the point of this Resolving thing? To make you feel guilty for never accomplishing anything you say you will? Would it be better to couch resolves in possible terms like “This year I will work on being closer to being on time, when I can (and it’s really important).” Which is of course admitting that “I’ll be late to almost everything, for yet another year. Get used to it.”
That would be a life without hope. There is some sort of saying that says “Shoot for the stars, so that you’ll lift above the tree tops.” My life is more like “Shoot for the knee caps, so you’ll lift above your toes.” But oh well, progress is progress.
I look at it this way. Think of a horizon line. The trajectory of the Savior’s life went like a rocket, straight up to Heaven. I learned as little as possible about math in high school, but I still know that’s a 90 degree angle. If your angle of life is say, one o’clock, or about 85 degrees, you’re still going to get to Heaven, but it’s going to take slightly longer. Most of us don’t even have a two o’ clock trajectory, and most of our lives are a graph line that trembles upward with occasional plunges downward, with the great hope that the general trend is more up than down. Kind of like a graph of someone playing with a yo-yo while climbing stairs. Up and down, and up and down, but generally rising higher (like the stock market, so we hope).
The point is, that if our angle of trajectory for getting to Heaven is as little as one degree, eventually, sometime in our lives, we’re going to make it. It might take us longer, and we might have to hope that Heavenly Father allows for overtime, but it is possible.
So I’m going to do it. I’m going to say “This year, I’m going to be on time to church.” “I’m going to get back to exercising come Spring (I’m such a fair weather friend when it comes to exercising), and I’m going to whittle off another 25 pounds.” “I’m going to think before I speak and bridle my tongue.” More than that, “I’m going to think while I think, and bridle my thoughts!” Etc. Etc. Etc.
When I was a teen, my Dad had our family memorize a poem by Langston Hughes. It goes something like this:
Hold fast to dreams,
For when dreams die,
Life is a broken-winged bird,
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams,
For when dreams go,
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
So I’m going to keep dreaming, and keep resolving, and keep inching my toes forward. It’s mostly two steps forward and one step back, and sometimes one step forward and two steps back. But if there is in the end more steps forward than back, well-- that’s progress! Since I am apparently not a rocket-type person, nor a Hare type, and sadly, not even a Tortoise, I’m getting to be okay with the snail’s path to exaltation.
So you bet, I’m going to Resolve to Resolve. Again. How about you?
Joy in the Journey
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Happy Holy Days
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to the Universe (just wanted you to know I was thinking of you).
Joy in the Journey
Joy in the Journey
Friday, December 21, 2007
Hallelujah
Hallelujah! We just attended a performance of The Messiah. With that glorious Hallelujah Chorus still ringing in my ears, we moved into our rental home today! The miracle of running water, a flushing toilet, and a furnace blowing warmth throughout the house astounds my sensibilities!!!
To move from my 3400 sq ft home directly into this little rental (probably 800 sq ft) might have been difficult. So Heavenly Father put me in a 24 ft. trailer for about six weeks. Perspective is everything. We had a late Indian Summer thing still going on when we got there. But He kept us there long enough that the shroud of winter’s snow had fallen, and it was cold, cold, cold– nothing but cold.
I hate to be cold! I figure some ancestor of mine, possibly a pioneer, was so deeply cold for so long, that it altered their DNA so that they were scarred for life about cold. This was passed down to me, so that I have always had a dread of cold beyond reason. For me to be cold is the hardest, most paralyzing thing I could be asked to do.
Naturally, that is what God sent me for a character stretching present. I don’t know how well I passed muster. I started to say cold makes me gloomy, but let’s be honest, when I am cold, I allow myself to be gloomy. I go right down to the Maslow’s hierarchy of needs basement, way down into survival. I don’t have much to give anyone.
I tried to be chipper and all that, I really did. Getting our little propane “Dyna Glo” heater turned the corner for me, so that I could continue to face life. We torched that thing for about 15 minutes at night and in the morning, and it would bring up the temperature to a bearable level. Speaking of bears, how I wished I could be a bear, and crawl into my bed and not come out til Spring. Now that’s the perfect way to spend the winter.
Since that wasn’t evidently God’s plan for us, we ran a space heater night and day, rather like a candle in a meat locker. A for effort, but not impressively helpful. Once we had the “Dyna Glo” (which is not recommended for indoor use, but how can a trailer with shot up windows strictly qualify as indoors?), but that explains only using it for fifteen minute power bursts, which punched up the temperature, and then the space heater could hold onto it pretty well. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, Dyna Glo.
But now, all of that is history. And that, my friend, is a blessing indeed. My daughters decided “We’re going to get into a house this week.” I told them that we had been searching for a month, and there were no rentals available. We had tried to make a deal with sellers, to lease while their house was on the market, but to no avail. Yet the girls remained adamant, we would find a house. I tried to prepare them for reality, so they wouldn’t lose faith when things just didn’t pan out like they imagined.
My daughters had really been great sports about our trailer adventure, far better than I expected. But I think the fun began to wear off when we began to have water dripping in on us from the snow melting (proof that the space heater was doing some good).
Within a day or so of the girls’ ultimatum, someone mentioned a list of three contacts who might have rentals. This information came as an afterthought in our conversation (which only Heaven knows why it didn’t occur to them to share this vital information with me sooner).
Of the three people, it was strike one, strike two, and on the third and last swing, we found a man with some trailers available to rent. Since we were already in a trailer, that wasn’t too appealing, so I didn't bother to even call him for a few days. On an impulse, I did call him and he said that he had a small house and a duplex I might want to look at. The duplex was about as appealing as a trailer would have been, but the house, which was opening up the very day we looked at it (in fact the previous renters were still moving out their stuff), was more hopeful. A pillar of light opened up from Heaven, and the Hallelujah chorus swelled, as we walked through the house. It’s small, and it’s old, but there is new carpeting, new linoleum, new paint, new kitchen cabinets and a new sink.
The bathroom has a pink bathtub, which can only mean 1950s or 1960s, but they’ve put up new siding on the walls around the tub, so it’s okay. The house is small, it’s true. But after time in a 24 ft trailer, space has a whole new definition to us. I can totally be here and be happy. Someday our house will sell, and then we’ll be able to move on from this rental. By then, I will be a different person than I was when I left that home. This is being an opportunity to totally redefine myself. I can be what I was, that was good. I can leave behind things about myself that no longer serve me. I can drop off the things that don’t matter. This is as painful as a birth, in many ways. But I look forward to discovering what comes out of the cocoon.
P.S. We were in the house within a week of the girls’ declaration. Thank you, Lord for sending us a Christmas Miracle, and most of all for sending me daughters with faith.
Joy in the Journey
To move from my 3400 sq ft home directly into this little rental (probably 800 sq ft) might have been difficult. So Heavenly Father put me in a 24 ft. trailer for about six weeks. Perspective is everything. We had a late Indian Summer thing still going on when we got there. But He kept us there long enough that the shroud of winter’s snow had fallen, and it was cold, cold, cold– nothing but cold.
I hate to be cold! I figure some ancestor of mine, possibly a pioneer, was so deeply cold for so long, that it altered their DNA so that they were scarred for life about cold. This was passed down to me, so that I have always had a dread of cold beyond reason. For me to be cold is the hardest, most paralyzing thing I could be asked to do.
Naturally, that is what God sent me for a character stretching present. I don’t know how well I passed muster. I started to say cold makes me gloomy, but let’s be honest, when I am cold, I allow myself to be gloomy. I go right down to the Maslow’s hierarchy of needs basement, way down into survival. I don’t have much to give anyone.
I tried to be chipper and all that, I really did. Getting our little propane “Dyna Glo” heater turned the corner for me, so that I could continue to face life. We torched that thing for about 15 minutes at night and in the morning, and it would bring up the temperature to a bearable level. Speaking of bears, how I wished I could be a bear, and crawl into my bed and not come out til Spring. Now that’s the perfect way to spend the winter.
Since that wasn’t evidently God’s plan for us, we ran a space heater night and day, rather like a candle in a meat locker. A for effort, but not impressively helpful. Once we had the “Dyna Glo” (which is not recommended for indoor use, but how can a trailer with shot up windows strictly qualify as indoors?), but that explains only using it for fifteen minute power bursts, which punched up the temperature, and then the space heater could hold onto it pretty well. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, Dyna Glo.
But now, all of that is history. And that, my friend, is a blessing indeed. My daughters decided “We’re going to get into a house this week.” I told them that we had been searching for a month, and there were no rentals available. We had tried to make a deal with sellers, to lease while their house was on the market, but to no avail. Yet the girls remained adamant, we would find a house. I tried to prepare them for reality, so they wouldn’t lose faith when things just didn’t pan out like they imagined.
My daughters had really been great sports about our trailer adventure, far better than I expected. But I think the fun began to wear off when we began to have water dripping in on us from the snow melting (proof that the space heater was doing some good).
Within a day or so of the girls’ ultimatum, someone mentioned a list of three contacts who might have rentals. This information came as an afterthought in our conversation (which only Heaven knows why it didn’t occur to them to share this vital information with me sooner).
Of the three people, it was strike one, strike two, and on the third and last swing, we found a man with some trailers available to rent. Since we were already in a trailer, that wasn’t too appealing, so I didn't bother to even call him for a few days. On an impulse, I did call him and he said that he had a small house and a duplex I might want to look at. The duplex was about as appealing as a trailer would have been, but the house, which was opening up the very day we looked at it (in fact the previous renters were still moving out their stuff), was more hopeful. A pillar of light opened up from Heaven, and the Hallelujah chorus swelled, as we walked through the house. It’s small, and it’s old, but there is new carpeting, new linoleum, new paint, new kitchen cabinets and a new sink.
The bathroom has a pink bathtub, which can only mean 1950s or 1960s, but they’ve put up new siding on the walls around the tub, so it’s okay. The house is small, it’s true. But after time in a 24 ft trailer, space has a whole new definition to us. I can totally be here and be happy. Someday our house will sell, and then we’ll be able to move on from this rental. By then, I will be a different person than I was when I left that home. This is being an opportunity to totally redefine myself. I can be what I was, that was good. I can leave behind things about myself that no longer serve me. I can drop off the things that don’t matter. This is as painful as a birth, in many ways. But I look forward to discovering what comes out of the cocoon.
P.S. We were in the house within a week of the girls’ declaration. Thank you, Lord for sending us a Christmas Miracle, and most of all for sending me daughters with faith.
Joy in the Journey
Counter Productive
We sanded our new, unfinished cabinets with little sponge sanders. An employee of a heretofore unmentioned store in my local town, and which shall remain unnamed, suggested that we sand with 0000 steel wool pads. We tried this with disastrous results. It left flecks of the steel wool in the grain of the wood, looking like grimey dirt. The only solution was to sand that layer away. My son bought the little sponge sanders and they worked like a charm. You don’t really have to sand much, you just want it to smooth up, and take the stain evenly.
Oh, it is worth mentioning that the cabinets from the store may have various flaws and gauges in them. You’ll want to inspect each little nook and cranny carefully for defects that might bother you. I knew that we were going to bung things up a bit once we got them installed. But after you are spending all the money on replacing them, you somehow just want them to start as perfectly as they can. That’s a hazzard of ordering things like this from a distance. You have no control of that, and the hassle of returning is expensive and stressful. (Ask my son, who lives in a fairly remote small town, and does remodeling for a living).
We rubbed the stain in with a rag, which my son says is the best way. I also used some sponge brushes. After it dries awhile, you rub it again, and sand it again, with a finer sponge. We did this twice. I thought we would brush on the varnish layer, but my son didn’t want brush marks. He taped up a plastic curtain to protect the rest of the house, wore a face mask, and sprayed on the varnish (polyethelene). This was fast, and made a very even, beautiful coat. He did that twice, as well.
At this point my son tiled the counters, and from that point on we really had a kitchen. I became conscious of the importance of beauty. It was so restful to have a place to put my eyes that was lovely. I would leave other places in the house, just to come back to see the kitchen.
My son put crown molding at the top of the cabinets, which connected them to the ceiling. This deprives you of the temptation to stash unsightly junk on top of your cupboards, and really finishes the lines beautifully. He had done it in his work, but not alone, so he googled crown molding, and figured out how to do the job. He said it was miserable, but for us it was magic.
By moving the edge of the bar counter flush with the door way, instead of ending several inches before the door, we were able to widen the kitchen by one foot. This equaled one drawer space of cabinet added to the size of the kitchen. It was amazing how much twelve inches of extra space made! It went from cramped, claustrophobia, “I can’t stand to have anyone else in the kitchen with me,” to comfortable and just the right amount of space.
I always wanted a bigger kitchen, until I went to someone’s house who had a huge kitchen. At first I lusted after the space. Then I helped cook a meal. I discovered that you can walk five miles preparing dinner if your kitchen is too big. This is fine, if that’s what your exercise program is, but I’d rather take a walk outside, down a pretty country road. I was exhausted. It was a good thing for me to learn that there is such a thing as too much space.
In my little square kitchen I was always just a few steps away from exactly what I needed. And with the addition of one more foot, I didn’t feel crowded when the kids were in the kitchen with me. It was great. Another important thing we did was leave the hanging cupboards off. This opened up the room so that it flowed into the family area. I knew that we needed to get rid of the boxy cupboards, but what I didn’t know is how it would affect the flow of light in the room. Remember, I’m the girl who loves light. It was wonderful! I can’t even tell you.
Sliding doors marked the transition between the Kitchen and Family room, opening to a covered deck. Sliding doors are called Sliding Doors because no one would buy them if they were called Sticking Doors, which is what they really are. Ours could only be opened by children if they hung onto the handle, using their feet to push out from the wall. The answer was to take out the Sliding doors and install French doors, which are better in every way. If you need to take something really big through it, both doors open and free up tons of space. This was my husband’s stroke of genius idea, and it was perfect.
The final thing we did was take out the box the fluorescent lights were in. Everyone has these high vaulted ceilings anymore, and ours are only eight feet tall, a la 1970s, fuel crisis, lower the ceilings to lower fuel costs era (and explain to me how we are in less of a crisis thirty years later, and closer to the end of peak fossil fuels, by far). We knew it wouldn’t do, to have the ceiling be one inch lower than it had to be. We reinstalled three small boxes, just to cover the lights in pairs. The boxes are white, matching the ceiling, and it really is amazing how having the ceiling in between the banks of light being a full eight feet high really helped the feel of spaciousness in the room.
To summarize, we tiled the floor, replaced all the cabinets, raised the ceiling, got rid of the hanging cupboards, pushed the room out one foot, and put granite tile on the counters. We also replaced the kitchen sink, and the dishwasher and stove (more on that later). It was a total remodel. We even replaced the window, which had been broken some years ago when said remodeling son had thrown a snowball outside at the person doing dishes. I would say he more than atoned for his sin, with his help during our remodel.
Would it be unkind to point out that this son was the most mischievous, mess making, let’s be honest, destructive child we had out of nine children? It just goes to show that you never know where your children’s energy is going to lead. If I could have known then, I might have lightened up a little and enjoyed the wild ride a little more. If that’s where you are along the trail, give it some thought.
Joy in the Journey.
Oh, it is worth mentioning that the cabinets from the store may have various flaws and gauges in them. You’ll want to inspect each little nook and cranny carefully for defects that might bother you. I knew that we were going to bung things up a bit once we got them installed. But after you are spending all the money on replacing them, you somehow just want them to start as perfectly as they can. That’s a hazzard of ordering things like this from a distance. You have no control of that, and the hassle of returning is expensive and stressful. (Ask my son, who lives in a fairly remote small town, and does remodeling for a living).
We rubbed the stain in with a rag, which my son says is the best way. I also used some sponge brushes. After it dries awhile, you rub it again, and sand it again, with a finer sponge. We did this twice. I thought we would brush on the varnish layer, but my son didn’t want brush marks. He taped up a plastic curtain to protect the rest of the house, wore a face mask, and sprayed on the varnish (polyethelene). This was fast, and made a very even, beautiful coat. He did that twice, as well.
At this point my son tiled the counters, and from that point on we really had a kitchen. I became conscious of the importance of beauty. It was so restful to have a place to put my eyes that was lovely. I would leave other places in the house, just to come back to see the kitchen.
My son put crown molding at the top of the cabinets, which connected them to the ceiling. This deprives you of the temptation to stash unsightly junk on top of your cupboards, and really finishes the lines beautifully. He had done it in his work, but not alone, so he googled crown molding, and figured out how to do the job. He said it was miserable, but for us it was magic.
By moving the edge of the bar counter flush with the door way, instead of ending several inches before the door, we were able to widen the kitchen by one foot. This equaled one drawer space of cabinet added to the size of the kitchen. It was amazing how much twelve inches of extra space made! It went from cramped, claustrophobia, “I can’t stand to have anyone else in the kitchen with me,” to comfortable and just the right amount of space.
I always wanted a bigger kitchen, until I went to someone’s house who had a huge kitchen. At first I lusted after the space. Then I helped cook a meal. I discovered that you can walk five miles preparing dinner if your kitchen is too big. This is fine, if that’s what your exercise program is, but I’d rather take a walk outside, down a pretty country road. I was exhausted. It was a good thing for me to learn that there is such a thing as too much space.
In my little square kitchen I was always just a few steps away from exactly what I needed. And with the addition of one more foot, I didn’t feel crowded when the kids were in the kitchen with me. It was great. Another important thing we did was leave the hanging cupboards off. This opened up the room so that it flowed into the family area. I knew that we needed to get rid of the boxy cupboards, but what I didn’t know is how it would affect the flow of light in the room. Remember, I’m the girl who loves light. It was wonderful! I can’t even tell you.
Sliding doors marked the transition between the Kitchen and Family room, opening to a covered deck. Sliding doors are called Sliding Doors because no one would buy them if they were called Sticking Doors, which is what they really are. Ours could only be opened by children if they hung onto the handle, using their feet to push out from the wall. The answer was to take out the Sliding doors and install French doors, which are better in every way. If you need to take something really big through it, both doors open and free up tons of space. This was my husband’s stroke of genius idea, and it was perfect.
The final thing we did was take out the box the fluorescent lights were in. Everyone has these high vaulted ceilings anymore, and ours are only eight feet tall, a la 1970s, fuel crisis, lower the ceilings to lower fuel costs era (and explain to me how we are in less of a crisis thirty years later, and closer to the end of peak fossil fuels, by far). We knew it wouldn’t do, to have the ceiling be one inch lower than it had to be. We reinstalled three small boxes, just to cover the lights in pairs. The boxes are white, matching the ceiling, and it really is amazing how having the ceiling in between the banks of light being a full eight feet high really helped the feel of spaciousness in the room.
To summarize, we tiled the floor, replaced all the cabinets, raised the ceiling, got rid of the hanging cupboards, pushed the room out one foot, and put granite tile on the counters. We also replaced the kitchen sink, and the dishwasher and stove (more on that later). It was a total remodel. We even replaced the window, which had been broken some years ago when said remodeling son had thrown a snowball outside at the person doing dishes. I would say he more than atoned for his sin, with his help during our remodel.
Would it be unkind to point out that this son was the most mischievous, mess making, let’s be honest, destructive child we had out of nine children? It just goes to show that you never know where your children’s energy is going to lead. If I could have known then, I might have lightened up a little and enjoyed the wild ride a little more. If that’s where you are along the trail, give it some thought.
Joy in the Journey.
Don't take your Tile Grout for Granite
The first thing we did, once we pulled everything out of the kitchen, was to tile the floor. My son assured me that tile is all the rage, and the house would sell better if we put in tile. Having never installed tile, my husband and I felt daunted. But my son got us started on what ended up being a lot of tile in the house, by doing the kitchen floor.
Our adult married kids came home and helped, making quite a party of it. Adult kids are great people to have in your life, everyone should get some.
This of course meant we had to choose the tile. This fell to me. Ironically, I became the Gofer Girl of this show. I say ironically because I am very visually challenged, to say it the nicest way possible. For the first decade of my married life my home decorations consisted of Christmas gifts from my crafty sisters-in-law gave me. Just when they became too busy with their own families to produce tasteful decorations for in-laws, my own daughters grew up overnight into little crafting mavens and took over the job of decorating my home. I can prove it, too. Here are links to their own blogs:
http://benandeirene.blogspot.com
http://allanandmim.blogspot.com/2007_06_01_archive.html
You’ve heard of tone deaf (which I’m that, too), well, I’m color deaf. Not color blind, I can tell what the colors are. But deaf to clashing tones. I mean, I can usually tell if something obviously looks bad, but I have a hard time telling what will look good.
A few years back, we had taken carpet out of our entry way at the front door and put in some tile, about nine squares of it. I made the decision of what color tile to buy based on the dirt in my yard. Truly. I went and scooped some dirt up into a baggy, took that to the store, and bought tile that was the closest match. Not that I was planning on never sweeping the floor, but it seemed practical to make my life easy by installing the tile that would make the dirt less noticeable between sweepings.
You can imagine me in the store then, making the choice of which tile to buy. My son was with me the first trip, and we decided on a splotchy grey granite for the kitchen counters. The splotches included other colors, including a peachy tone and some browns. My son promised us that granite was popular, and tile would be a vastly less expensive way to get granite counters than slabs. At $4-5 per square foot tile I was doubtful. I later learned that slab granite goes for $45-$75 a square foot!
It ended up being my job to match the floor tile and the splashback tile to this granite. I was totally befuddled. I realized I needed help, but didn’t know where to turn. I began scrutinizing the other customers in the aisle. I chose a woman who was very well coifed, extremely neatly and attractively dressed, including matching fingernails. This was a woman I could trust.
“Excuse me,” I pleaded, would she help me with my final decision. And I was right, she was perfect. She knew exactly what would work, and explained why some of my choices wouldn’t work. She quickly narrowed it down to the only possible selection. The floor ended up being a solid grey, that wouldn’t clash with the splotchy, more busy pattern of the counters. Yet it wasn’t too dark, and had just a little rust color (my nod to coordinating with the outside dirt), that also pulled out the lighter colors of the counters. The splashbacks were darker than the floor, nicely framing the kitchen.
I did love having tile counters. You can set hot pans and dishes with wild abandon to your heart’s content. There is a glassy richness when they are cleared, shined and cleaned. A veteran clutterer (someday I’ll regale you with my theory on stackers and clearers), it gave me a passion for keeping the counters absolutely clear. It was a little more work, cleaning out between the tiles from time to time, but not to the point that it was a big deal to me. We set them right next to each other, with hardly any space between the tiles. I liked the continuity that gave and feel it minimized the cleaning.
Of course that brings up the subject of grout, which rhymes with grouch, and with good reason. After spending an hour in the store with my tile, matching the grout with the brown splotches, I found that the color on the box resembled the actual color of grout on the floor about as much as a fetus resembles a baby. Not much.
The color on the box was clearly brown, and the grout turned out to be much lighter and pinkish. Thankfully it did tie in with some lighter colors in the granite, but not to the credit of the grout makers. Like Frank Church and Emma, the grout did no harm, but not to the credit of the grout manufacturers.
When I complained about this to a store guy, he said “Well, the amount of water you add, really makes a difference.” So that's how the manufacturers absolve themselves of any responsibility, leaving apparently no real way to tell what color of grout you are getting except to buy a five pound box and experiment. No doubt, not once, but again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again.
If your reality includes working with men, who want to get the job DONE, I recommend making very neutral grout choices, and making peace with however it turns out. There ARE more important things in the Universe. Think of world peace, the hole in the Ozone, and the fact that you are alive today instead of dead. There are worse things than disappointing grout.
Which I’m not saying I am disappointed with my grout, but I can see how a person could be. Ours turned out to coordinate, but if we didn’t have such a variagated pattern in the granite, there may have been a different ending to our story. Just a little caveat for unwary grout seeking persons.
Joy in the Journey
Our adult married kids came home and helped, making quite a party of it. Adult kids are great people to have in your life, everyone should get some.
This of course meant we had to choose the tile. This fell to me. Ironically, I became the Gofer Girl of this show. I say ironically because I am very visually challenged, to say it the nicest way possible. For the first decade of my married life my home decorations consisted of Christmas gifts from my crafty sisters-in-law gave me. Just when they became too busy with their own families to produce tasteful decorations for in-laws, my own daughters grew up overnight into little crafting mavens and took over the job of decorating my home. I can prove it, too. Here are links to their own blogs:
http://benandeirene.blogspot.com
http://allanandmim.blogspot.com/2007_06_01_archive.html
You’ve heard of tone deaf (which I’m that, too), well, I’m color deaf. Not color blind, I can tell what the colors are. But deaf to clashing tones. I mean, I can usually tell if something obviously looks bad, but I have a hard time telling what will look good.
A few years back, we had taken carpet out of our entry way at the front door and put in some tile, about nine squares of it. I made the decision of what color tile to buy based on the dirt in my yard. Truly. I went and scooped some dirt up into a baggy, took that to the store, and bought tile that was the closest match. Not that I was planning on never sweeping the floor, but it seemed practical to make my life easy by installing the tile that would make the dirt less noticeable between sweepings.
You can imagine me in the store then, making the choice of which tile to buy. My son was with me the first trip, and we decided on a splotchy grey granite for the kitchen counters. The splotches included other colors, including a peachy tone and some browns. My son promised us that granite was popular, and tile would be a vastly less expensive way to get granite counters than slabs. At $4-5 per square foot tile I was doubtful. I later learned that slab granite goes for $45-$75 a square foot!
It ended up being my job to match the floor tile and the splashback tile to this granite. I was totally befuddled. I realized I needed help, but didn’t know where to turn. I began scrutinizing the other customers in the aisle. I chose a woman who was very well coifed, extremely neatly and attractively dressed, including matching fingernails. This was a woman I could trust.
“Excuse me,” I pleaded, would she help me with my final decision. And I was right, she was perfect. She knew exactly what would work, and explained why some of my choices wouldn’t work. She quickly narrowed it down to the only possible selection. The floor ended up being a solid grey, that wouldn’t clash with the splotchy, more busy pattern of the counters. Yet it wasn’t too dark, and had just a little rust color (my nod to coordinating with the outside dirt), that also pulled out the lighter colors of the counters. The splashbacks were darker than the floor, nicely framing the kitchen.
I did love having tile counters. You can set hot pans and dishes with wild abandon to your heart’s content. There is a glassy richness when they are cleared, shined and cleaned. A veteran clutterer (someday I’ll regale you with my theory on stackers and clearers), it gave me a passion for keeping the counters absolutely clear. It was a little more work, cleaning out between the tiles from time to time, but not to the point that it was a big deal to me. We set them right next to each other, with hardly any space between the tiles. I liked the continuity that gave and feel it minimized the cleaning.
Of course that brings up the subject of grout, which rhymes with grouch, and with good reason. After spending an hour in the store with my tile, matching the grout with the brown splotches, I found that the color on the box resembled the actual color of grout on the floor about as much as a fetus resembles a baby. Not much.
The color on the box was clearly brown, and the grout turned out to be much lighter and pinkish. Thankfully it did tie in with some lighter colors in the granite, but not to the credit of the grout makers. Like Frank Church and Emma, the grout did no harm, but not to the credit of the grout manufacturers.
When I complained about this to a store guy, he said “Well, the amount of water you add, really makes a difference.” So that's how the manufacturers absolve themselves of any responsibility, leaving apparently no real way to tell what color of grout you are getting except to buy a five pound box and experiment. No doubt, not once, but again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again.
If your reality includes working with men, who want to get the job DONE, I recommend making very neutral grout choices, and making peace with however it turns out. There ARE more important things in the Universe. Think of world peace, the hole in the Ozone, and the fact that you are alive today instead of dead. There are worse things than disappointing grout.
Which I’m not saying I am disappointed with my grout, but I can see how a person could be. Ours turned out to coordinate, but if we didn’t have such a variagated pattern in the granite, there may have been a different ending to our story. Just a little caveat for unwary grout seeking persons.
Joy in the Journey
Take my Kitchen, Please!
In our Dark Ages, our kitchen was too small, the cabinets too dark, the ceiling too low, and the floor hideously ugly. Well, I will confess one thing about the floor. It was a gold and brown pattern that did not improve with mopping. This had its good aspect, because that meant you also couldn’t tell when I didn’t mop it. I will not publicly reveal how far I tested this, but let me assure you that my kitchen floor often went a good long time without mopping, to no real detriment to the appearance of the home. This is more of a statement on how it’s ugliness couldn’t be helped than anything.
That hideous linoleum, as opposed to the white tile in my military housing that would soil the first time a person walked across its freshly dried surface, could hide a multitude of sins, including splotches of mud, gravy and mustard. As ugly as my linoleum was, I will admit I enjoyed this feature and utilized it to full advantage.
Anyhow, we puzzled and perplexed about how to solve our kitchen’s problems for about thirteen years. It is a square kitchen, with an east facing sink, a stove on the south, a bar on the north (which also contained the dishwasher which was for the most part a decoration), and the fridge on the west wall, which was also the pass through space for traffic coming from the living room into the family room.
One other good point is that the family room is set right off the kitchen, which, let’s be honest, is where everybody wants to be. It’s always a little more comforting to be close to the food. The bar had cupboards hanging over it, further boxing up the kitchen. They had installed fluorescent lights in a box, lowering the entire kitchen ceiling, in as near as I can tell, an effort to duplicate the ambience of a ship’s galley.
With all that going on, we stood wringing our hands like the Wicked Witch of the West, wondering “What to do, what to do.”
What we finally did, with the encouragement of our afore mentioned son, was to rip everything out. We (this is the Royal We, my part in this was giving my opinion of how things were looking, often, just too late to do any good). *sigh* Okay, “We” installed unfinished cabinets, which in our area are only available at Lowe’s. These were vastly less expensive, and allowed us to choose our finish.
We (and here the We means pretty much me) chose a finish with the doubtful title of “Pickled Oak.” It is light, and after the dark walnut of the previous cabinets I really wanted light. I felt like golden oak was too orange, and the wood wasn’t really beautiful enough to just varnish clear. If I could have afforded lovely wood like maple or hickory, that would have been a beautiful option.
However, with as much remodeling to do as we envisioned, our decisions were based mostly on “not quite the least value money can buy.” Here’s my theory: Spending the least money you can on just about anything, is equally as cost effective as flushing your money down the toilet. The least expensive product will end up being so cheaply made that it breaks instantly. This holds true for paint, carpeting, appliances, furniture– everything!
I am can only imagine how this damages the spirit of factory workers that give their lives away making can openers that open seven and one half cans. My conscience screams at the waste of valuable resources, and I have no doubt there is a special place in Hell for factory owners who perpetuate this.
On the other hand, if you spend the most money possible, you are often throwing away even more money for bells and whistle features that are doomed to fail. This is the electric can opener that is supposed to also take the cut lid off the can for you and which also works for seven and one half cans. After a short while, you have a regular run of the mill can opener (washer, CD player, electric toothbrush) that you paid a lot of extra money for. That explains why I almost always put my money on the middle range product.
Thus, walking down the canyons of The Home Depot and Lowe’s was an experience in torture. I could see the el cheapo choices and ignore them easily enough. But I could also see how far you could go with extravagance and exquisiteness. Thus, my middle range choices, which were often lovely, were only a candle to the brilliance of what might have been, if price were not an object. I had to remind myself of my theory often, but it wasn’t much comfort.
Still, I have no doubt that we spent way, WAY too much money on our remodel. I knew we were going to move, so I wasn’t thinking of myself. If it were just for me, I think I would have gladly settled for less, with my inherited Puritan ideals on suffering insuring me a better place in the hereafter. (My religion does NOT teach me this, btw, but Puritan DNA is strong stuff, not easily cast aside--oh and let's be honest, so far as I know I don't have any actual Puritan ancestors, but my ancesters who were living at the time were no doubt influenced by their Puritan associates, and that was enough to cause the damage).
I was remodeling for an Invisible woman, whom I’ve never met, and I wanted her to have all the things I wished for, but never had. I’m sure we nearly doubled what we planned to spend, for two reasons:
1. Incremental Increases in quality. This is how it works: You buy one thing, and it isn’t so much money. Spending a few extra bucks will make it so much better. A few bucks for a better tile, or trim, or you name it, doesn’t seem like much. But when you add all those little extra dollars on top of each other...... you’ve made a mountain of difference.
2. Ripple effect.
Ripple effect is when you decide that this and this look okay, but you really MUST replace that. But when you replace that, now this and this look very shabby, and it is obvious they need to be replaced, too. And there your money goes, with glad little cries, rippling away from you.
But, it must be admitted that the end result was fabulous, and that’s worth something, too (we hope).
Joy in the Journey
That hideous linoleum, as opposed to the white tile in my military housing that would soil the first time a person walked across its freshly dried surface, could hide a multitude of sins, including splotches of mud, gravy and mustard. As ugly as my linoleum was, I will admit I enjoyed this feature and utilized it to full advantage.
Anyhow, we puzzled and perplexed about how to solve our kitchen’s problems for about thirteen years. It is a square kitchen, with an east facing sink, a stove on the south, a bar on the north (which also contained the dishwasher which was for the most part a decoration), and the fridge on the west wall, which was also the pass through space for traffic coming from the living room into the family room.
One other good point is that the family room is set right off the kitchen, which, let’s be honest, is where everybody wants to be. It’s always a little more comforting to be close to the food. The bar had cupboards hanging over it, further boxing up the kitchen. They had installed fluorescent lights in a box, lowering the entire kitchen ceiling, in as near as I can tell, an effort to duplicate the ambience of a ship’s galley.
With all that going on, we stood wringing our hands like the Wicked Witch of the West, wondering “What to do, what to do.”
What we finally did, with the encouragement of our afore mentioned son, was to rip everything out. We (this is the Royal We, my part in this was giving my opinion of how things were looking, often, just too late to do any good). *sigh* Okay, “We” installed unfinished cabinets, which in our area are only available at Lowe’s. These were vastly less expensive, and allowed us to choose our finish.
We (and here the We means pretty much me) chose a finish with the doubtful title of “Pickled Oak.” It is light, and after the dark walnut of the previous cabinets I really wanted light. I felt like golden oak was too orange, and the wood wasn’t really beautiful enough to just varnish clear. If I could have afforded lovely wood like maple or hickory, that would have been a beautiful option.
However, with as much remodeling to do as we envisioned, our decisions were based mostly on “not quite the least value money can buy.” Here’s my theory: Spending the least money you can on just about anything, is equally as cost effective as flushing your money down the toilet. The least expensive product will end up being so cheaply made that it breaks instantly. This holds true for paint, carpeting, appliances, furniture– everything!
I am can only imagine how this damages the spirit of factory workers that give their lives away making can openers that open seven and one half cans. My conscience screams at the waste of valuable resources, and I have no doubt there is a special place in Hell for factory owners who perpetuate this.
On the other hand, if you spend the most money possible, you are often throwing away even more money for bells and whistle features that are doomed to fail. This is the electric can opener that is supposed to also take the cut lid off the can for you and which also works for seven and one half cans. After a short while, you have a regular run of the mill can opener (washer, CD player, electric toothbrush) that you paid a lot of extra money for. That explains why I almost always put my money on the middle range product.
Thus, walking down the canyons of The Home Depot and Lowe’s was an experience in torture. I could see the el cheapo choices and ignore them easily enough. But I could also see how far you could go with extravagance and exquisiteness. Thus, my middle range choices, which were often lovely, were only a candle to the brilliance of what might have been, if price were not an object. I had to remind myself of my theory often, but it wasn’t much comfort.
Still, I have no doubt that we spent way, WAY too much money on our remodel. I knew we were going to move, so I wasn’t thinking of myself. If it were just for me, I think I would have gladly settled for less, with my inherited Puritan ideals on suffering insuring me a better place in the hereafter. (My religion does NOT teach me this, btw, but Puritan DNA is strong stuff, not easily cast aside--oh and let's be honest, so far as I know I don't have any actual Puritan ancestors, but my ancesters who were living at the time were no doubt influenced by their Puritan associates, and that was enough to cause the damage).
I was remodeling for an Invisible woman, whom I’ve never met, and I wanted her to have all the things I wished for, but never had. I’m sure we nearly doubled what we planned to spend, for two reasons:
1. Incremental Increases in quality. This is how it works: You buy one thing, and it isn’t so much money. Spending a few extra bucks will make it so much better. A few bucks for a better tile, or trim, or you name it, doesn’t seem like much. But when you add all those little extra dollars on top of each other...... you’ve made a mountain of difference.
2. Ripple effect.
Ripple effect is when you decide that this and this look okay, but you really MUST replace that. But when you replace that, now this and this look very shabby, and it is obvious they need to be replaced, too. And there your money goes, with glad little cries, rippling away from you.
But, it must be admitted that the end result was fabulous, and that’s worth something, too (we hope).
Joy in the Journey
Friday, December 14, 2007
Here's Hoping that Time Flies, even when you're NOT having Fun
“Here I sit like a bird in the wilderness.” That’s the first line to a very annoying song to be sung while waiting for someone to come. If you want someone to really hate you, go ahead, sing it. The rest of the words are “waiting for you to come,” repeated enough times that it explains why people get angry enough to kill when they hear it. And then you repeat the first line and begin again.
I mention it because I’m waiting for Spring to come. When I shared this, my husband reminded me that it is technically still Fall. This is not something on my “ways to stay happily married” list. But I knew it for what it was, an irresistible urge to get a rise out of me, so I ignored the comment (which IS on my "ways to stay happily married" list).
The happiest day in December for me (and this reveals that I am officially no longer a child at heart, and the magic of Christmas is marred by the stress I experience over the spending I’ve done) is Winter Solstice. Because that means that from that day forth the days will be getting longer.
I love the light, I need the light, and I long for the light. Endless, dark, winter days are no good for me. One year we had an inversion that lasted for six weeks. This means that a pocket of clouds hung over us for over six weeks. It was like living in frozen fog. I was capable of seeing the beauty in the frost lined fences and trees. Even the barbed wire looked beautiful with its lacy frost. It was very Dr. Zchivagoesque. But it was also very dreary, never seeing the sun. I felt my spirits sinking, sinking, sinking.
I always knew that I responded to the light of summer, and dreaded the darkness of winter, but this was when I learned for sure how much of a difference it made in my life. When we would travel out of our Basin and over the mountains, we would reach a point when we rose above the fog. I would feel my spirits soar, it was like taking off a heavy cloak of gloom. Likewise, when we returned home I would see that wall of fog and would feel my spirits sinking as we drew closer. It was outside of reason, that it made so much difference. It’s not like we didn’t have plenty of lights on in the house. But there is something true and real about the sun, that is not found in incandescent or fluorescent bulbs. They are shadowy substitutes compared to the real thing.
After it was over and the clouds lifted and I could feel my real self again, I vowed that if it ever happened again I would spend the couple hundred bucks it takes to get one of those special full spectrum natural light box thingamajigs. That would be a small price to pay for sanity.
I’ll tell my husband it’s either that or a trip to the Bahamas for the winter. Price, after all, is always relative. Or I can put on my “bug-eyed woman over the edge face” and ask if he wants to wake up to that every day. I don’t think there will be any resistance.
In fact, I’m wearing that face all too often, these cold days. I notice he’s getting serious about searching out a place for us lately– could be a connection.......
As I wither in this cold, it makes me grateful time flies, and there’s never enough time. Because that means this month will hurry up and get over with, and the next, and the next, and then it will be Spring again. I can just feel it now...
Shivers of Joy in the Journey
I mention it because I’m waiting for Spring to come. When I shared this, my husband reminded me that it is technically still Fall. This is not something on my “ways to stay happily married” list. But I knew it for what it was, an irresistible urge to get a rise out of me, so I ignored the comment (which IS on my "ways to stay happily married" list).
The happiest day in December for me (and this reveals that I am officially no longer a child at heart, and the magic of Christmas is marred by the stress I experience over the spending I’ve done) is Winter Solstice. Because that means that from that day forth the days will be getting longer.
I love the light, I need the light, and I long for the light. Endless, dark, winter days are no good for me. One year we had an inversion that lasted for six weeks. This means that a pocket of clouds hung over us for over six weeks. It was like living in frozen fog. I was capable of seeing the beauty in the frost lined fences and trees. Even the barbed wire looked beautiful with its lacy frost. It was very Dr. Zchivagoesque. But it was also very dreary, never seeing the sun. I felt my spirits sinking, sinking, sinking.
I always knew that I responded to the light of summer, and dreaded the darkness of winter, but this was when I learned for sure how much of a difference it made in my life. When we would travel out of our Basin and over the mountains, we would reach a point when we rose above the fog. I would feel my spirits soar, it was like taking off a heavy cloak of gloom. Likewise, when we returned home I would see that wall of fog and would feel my spirits sinking as we drew closer. It was outside of reason, that it made so much difference. It’s not like we didn’t have plenty of lights on in the house. But there is something true and real about the sun, that is not found in incandescent or fluorescent bulbs. They are shadowy substitutes compared to the real thing.
After it was over and the clouds lifted and I could feel my real self again, I vowed that if it ever happened again I would spend the couple hundred bucks it takes to get one of those special full spectrum natural light box thingamajigs. That would be a small price to pay for sanity.
I’ll tell my husband it’s either that or a trip to the Bahamas for the winter. Price, after all, is always relative. Or I can put on my “bug-eyed woman over the edge face” and ask if he wants to wake up to that every day. I don’t think there will be any resistance.
In fact, I’m wearing that face all too often, these cold days. I notice he’s getting serious about searching out a place for us lately– could be a connection.......
As I wither in this cold, it makes me grateful time flies, and there’s never enough time. Because that means this month will hurry up and get over with, and the next, and the next, and then it will be Spring again. I can just feel it now...
Shivers of Joy in the Journey
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