What $45 Won't Buy You

Yesterday DH finished building a chopping block center for the kitchen. Pics to the side.
The drawer was not yet completed at the time of these pics; however he did finish that last night. The piece is in the garage awaiting paint and oil. The cabinetry portions will receive white paint. The legs will get a clear finish, possibly some stain, and the top will simply be oiled. I will try to remember to post pics when it is all done and installed.

The coolest part is the entire thing cost $45. DH was at work one night and they were going to throw away a large cutting board, which
had been a toolbox top. It was blackened with use and the wood had split.
Rather than glue it back together, they were discarding the whole thing and ordering another.

DH rescued it and brought it home. Glued it back together. Sanded all surfaces. We drew a picture of what we might like as a piece of furniture to use it.

The furniture shop around the corner closed out in November and sold many parts at highly reduced prices. DH scored the 2 legs for $15.

Then he took the drawing, the chopping block, and legs to The King, a friend who builds kitchen cabinets for a livelihood. He is a friend of DH and a true nut. Very, very conservative, very vocal on any and all topics. Very opinionated. Brilliant. IQ like 450.

So The King (he calls himself this, btw, it is not a blog concoction) saw the drawing, pointed out all the inaccuracies, of course, and built the face of the cabinet; the drawer and little cupboard opening. Mortise and tenon construction. Then he cut all the remaining pieces for DH as he understandably is a little reluctant to use the table saw himself. Me, I want to sell / give / trash the table saw, whatever. The King apologetically said, "I'll have to charge you this time." How much? $30.

So DH brought home all the little pieces and constructed it.

Total cost: $45. The closest thing I can find to it in terms of size and scale is an island from World Market for $229. I am unable to paste a pic of it in here, or even to show a pic using the URL, but you can see a sketch of it and the assembly instructions at: http://www.worldmarket.com/assets/product_files/373229.pdf
And, it's made in Thailand. The cautions you see on the page say do not place in a humid location (like a kitchen?), do not use cleaners on it, do not place it in a sunny spot (like a kitchen?) etc, etc. Sooo glad DH has the creative mind.

Forebodings

What otherwise seemed to be a normal day started abruptly. Phone rang in the dark. Clock showed 5:59. "Did I wake you?" asked the voice on the other end. "No," I lied. I had to get up and answer the phone. "Tell your husband I don't have any hot water. I'm working at the high school. I'll leave the front door open." click.
DH had spent four hours last night replacing the water heater for our elderly neighbor. I guess he's still considered elderly: 79. He's a kid compared to our back door neighbor, who is 92. His work at the high school is serving as a substitute teacher. They call him frequently; he earns $75 a day at it. He had found DH yesterday at 4pm to report his water heater was leaking all over the basement. DH checked it out and found the entire bottom rusted through.
Neighbor borrowed another neighbor's pickup truck and ran to Lowe's to buy another. (They wanted $55 to deliver it and would not get it here till Friday.) They loaded it on and DH unloaded it and they dollied it down to the basement. DH un-installed the old one and installed the new one.
DH rolled out of bed and ran to see what was not working. They had forgotten to turn the thing on. He flipped the switch and came home all smiles.
Meanwhile, I had awakened Little One and was preparing French toast. She was making bed and putting on school uniform. DH offered to drive her to school since he was already dressed.
We ate / she brushed teeth, washed face, changed jacket, changed earrings. (Already becoming a little obsessed with these things.) They left.
I sat at computer to work on some new software the church bought for our Contemporary Worship. I can't get it to import song lyrics in from online service; worked on it last night and finally left it for today.
DH had already been here. He religiously (ha!) checks the astrology on MSN every day. Typically he leaves mine up on the screen. I consider it all hoodooism but he wants me to have the "edge" of knowing how my day will go, so I can be prepared.
Here is what is predicted for today:
January 20, 2006
What looks like solid ground may actually be quicksand, maggie. Be careful of where you step. There is an element of misunderstanding and fanciful actions to the day that might make it difficult to get through to people. The good news is that your emotions are apt to be quite solid, and you should find that your inner stability is the thing that will aid you in keeping a healthy frame of mind, regardless of what sort of events transpire.
Well, how cool is that. I have just realized this is the dire prediction for tomorrow, not today. I can relax. I am meeting with City folks today about the Park etc. Tomorrow a GF is taking me out to lunch for a late birthday observance, and I attend the Awards Assembly at Little One's elementary school. What can go wrong there?

Family in Small Spaces

We have just returned from a weekend at a neighboring town to attend LO's 2nd swim meet. For those results-based readers, she did fine, coming in 2nd in her backstroke heat and 1st in butterfly. She swam a 200 freestyle (that's 8 lengths of the pool) and got disqualified for not touching the end firmly with both hands on one turn. This kind of thing is very normal for a beginning swimmer; in fact, we have some girls who have not gotten valid times in any events yet because of DQ's. Swam a total of 8 events; four individuals and 2 relays.

We stayed at a HI Express and sat in (backless) bleachers hip-to-hip with other exhausted but supportive parents. We chatted about every arcane topic our poor chlorine-bleached brains could think of. We ate Chex Mix, Cheezits, cookies, hot dogs, luncheon meat, granola bars, nabs, and my homemade oatmeal cookies. (pretty good, btw. I googled "world's best oatmeal cookie" and found the recipe.) -- all this on top of the free cereal and cinnamon buns the hotel gave us for breakfast. So ready for salad / broccoli / anything without nitrates.

Digital camera is acting up after only 7 years of use, so we took the SLR. Will scan / post pics when Eckerd's gets them done this week.

The proximity to humanity has left us exhausted, crabby and so glad to be home. Proud of LO and glad it's another TWO weeks before we repeat the drill.

More progress on kitchen

DH took a few days off to continue work on the kitchen. We (ahem, HE) painted it (well, I primed!) and that inspired him to complete trimming out the back door. He had removed the whole door, frame and all, this summer, and rebuilt it into a sound entity, much closer to square than the original, and besides that, the new version had about 9 coats less paint than the original. So the doorframe has stood without any molding on it since about July. He trimmed it all out on Monday and came home Tuesday afternoon announcing, "I'm taking a few days off to work more on the kitchen."

Hooray.

Inspired, myself, with the new color, (imagine this, it's a very rosy yellow,) I of course am anxious to hang art.

I don't have any valuable pieces or anything that would appeal to anyone else. We picked up two vintage Cream of Wheat ads, each about 11x14, at an auction several years ago, and this Christmas DH bought me a vintage botanical from DF who owns the eclectic shop at the farm. It's an authentic vintage piece, about 15x22, in an old black simple frame. It actually doesn't have flowers per se, but tomato plants with the yellow blooms, also some herbs. She also threw in some floral vintage botanicals, a set of six, and four of them are red flowers -- dahlia, geranium, poinsetta, and one other. My fifty year old brain can't seem to call it up right now. I'll get back to you on that one. These botanicals (of course) are an odd size as well, something like 13.5x19. I scored some frames with 14x20 openings from Garden Ridge, the great store that sells scads of useless crap. The frames cost more than I had wanted to pay, so the frame clerk directed me to "Value Art" on sale. I found the frames I wanted, pulled out the prints, and put in the florals.

My new friend from New Orleans, a Salisbury immigrant thanks to Katrina, lost both her home and art gallery to the storm / flood. Art gallery.....hmm... the perfect person to help us hang our art in the perfect places.

She was going to come this morning to help us place it, but something came up. "Want to pull down these old cabinets?" asked DH with a distinct twinkle in his eye. "Sure!!" I replied. So with crowbar in hand, we did the deed. Hauled cabinets outside / scrubbed walls and ceiling that had been inside them for 73 years (ick) / patched plaster where mounting screws (nails!) had been (also cracks in plaster) / scrubbed again / cut hole in ceiling where cabinet had been over sink / wired for a light over sink / hung light.

Here's the result.
Please ignore the bottle of homemade Kahlua some friends gave us for New Year's. DH never remembers to remove incriminating evidence before he shoots a pic.

So, tomorrow, we will hang art, and prime and paint the green wall you see over the windows.

Silk Flowers in the Ground

I live in a pretty cool neighborhood. It was developed 100 years ago and is now inhabited by a mix of senior citizens who are still here from earlier and younger families who have bought these substantial houses on tiny lots for a somewhat reduced price, and are trying to fix them up. It's a mix of bungalows, Tudors and Victorian homes and the average lot size is 1/3 to 1/2 acre. Our front lawn is actually so small I can mow it with a reel mower (read that, no motor) in about 10 minutes.

Most of us are middle class folks who work for a living and know the value of a dollar. We have everything we need and most of what we want.

All that said, there is a pretty major amount of decorum observed in the neighborhood. It's almost as if there were rules.
o We don't mow on Sunday. In fact, any power yard tools are pretty much frowned upon.
o We wave. Someone drives by, you wave. If they don't wave back, they're not from here.
o We watch our children. It's very rarely you'll see a child outside without a parent nearby.
o We watch each other's children. Kid comes by on a bike without a helmet, we tell him to go home and put one on. And the amazing thing is -- they do.
o We watch each other's pets/homes/cars. Someone goes out of town, neighbors have a key to feed the pets, bring in the mail, turn the lights on, keep an eye on things.
o With some exceptions, most of us keep our yards mown, decorate tastefully for Christmas, take the decorations down in a timely fashion.

Which brings me to today's revelation. We. have. a. neighbor. who. has. planted. silk. flowers. in. her. yard.

It was kind of predictable. When the American Flag appeared on the front with tinsel and Christmas lights around the edges, I should've thought to myself, "Next thing you know she'll plant some silk flowers," but I did not have that foresight.

She does have ceramic ducks in her front yard, but discreet yard ornamentation has never been verboten around here. Silk flowers, however, are a little over the top, even around here.

It's not like I really mind. One of the big atmosphere things in the neighborhood is our pioneer spirit. We are fighting the good fight with old houses. If we wanted an easy life, we'd be down highway 150 in a new house. No, we are rugged individuals.

No, I just would like to understand what she's thinking. Is she for real? "Hm, I'll buy some flowers for the yard. .. hey, if I buy silk ones, they'll 'live' forever."

Or did she do this tongue-in-cheek? "Hey, it's winter and all, and things look kind of bleak. I'll give the neighborhood a good laugh and stick some silk flowers in the dirt. It'll brighten everyone's day."

I don't know the lady -- don't know her name and if I ran into her, I'm not sure I'd recognize her. She rents from a friend who also lives on the block.

Well. Whether she did it innocently or as a joke, you got to admire her spirit.

The Wrong Monogram

In clearing my dresser this morning to dust, I picked up this teething ring and realized the story might be of interest to my kids -- that is, if I haven't already told them. I never can remember.

The shot is not the best, but it's the best of the 3 or 4 I took. My mother told me through the years that the ring is made of bone. Now that I think of it, I find that rather odd. Did she really want me teething on an old bone? I really think it's probably white Bakelite, which was a popular ornamental predecessor to plastic, used in the 50's. Attached to the ring is a hollow sterling heart with my initials engraved on it -- rather, my temporary initials: MEA.

Story has it that you could hear my dad singing, "Love and Marriage" through the halls of the Maternity Ward on the day I was born. Mother said she would hear the "ding" of the elevator, then Daddy's voice hailing Love and Marriage. (My dad was really good at a number of things; singing was not one of them.)

I was a baby who was not supposed to be born. After my older sister was born, mother had an unsuccessful pregnancy and was unable to conceive for quite some time after. When I was born, Mother and Daddy truly thought I was the last baby they'd have. Because my sister was named for mother, and it didn't look as if they would have a boy, Mother wanted to include Dad's name into mine. They both agreed they wanted my first name to be, Margaret. Mother wanted my middle name to be, Allen, which was Dad's middle name. Dad, in a rare humble moment, felt it should be more feminine, and wanted my middle to be, Ellen.

When I was born, Dad made a quick call to the paper, where he was City Editor. He got my birth announcement into the paper quickly with the name, Margaret Ellen. Mother would smile with irony when she told this story. Daddy may have had the public power, but Mom had the true power. When he returned to the office, she completed the paperwork for my birth certificate, giving me the name, Margaret Allen.

The teething ring was apparently a gift from someone who had read the birth announcement.

As I grew up, my parents had this gentle argument over which was my real middle name. As for me, I would pick and choose as my mood dictated. Some days I was Margaret Allen, some days, Margaret Ellen.

My senior year of high school, my guidance counselor called me to her office. I walked in, puzzled as to why I had been called. After asking me to have a seat, she gestured to two neat stacks of paper on her desk. "Today," she said, "is the day you will choose your middle name."

I had finally reached the point in my life at which I valued the novelty of having a guy name, and did not need it to be "normal." Plus, legally, it was Allen all along. I've enjoyed being Margaret Allen ever since.

Footnote. Today my legal name is Margaret Allen Blackwell. I chose to use the middle name rather than my maiden name. I like the Allen so well, and it still reflects my dad, and I don't have to spell it for folks as I would my maiden name. The initial is the same so it all works out.

The teething ring is my reminder of the story when my dad grandstanded for power and Mother quietly made things happen behind the scenes. Maybe it was the first time she did this, but it certainly was not the last.

Dream Life

Fortunately, I have an extremely rich dream life. Last night, I dreamed I stepped into a Van Gogh painting.

It wasn't unusual at the time. I saw the painting in a museum and thought, "I'll step in here a moment." So I did.

The painting was "The Harvest." I have tried and tried to post an image of it here but apparently the poster websites have some voodoo on their images that prevents your borrowing a copy for a teeny weeny second. Anyway, if you really want to see it, (even though you surely have seen it in the past) you can go to art.com and type the harvest in the search field.

It's not my favorite Van Gogh painting. What ARE my favorites? Let's see... the church at auvers...cafe terrace at night...cherry blossoms...and prisoners exercising in the yard.

I do love Van Gogh so. He dared live life. We all know the ear story and the insanity thing. 'Hardly a life to envy,' you might think. Well, IMHO, his life was hardly ordinary and he left behind quite a legacy. My life is quite ordinary and my legacy, other than children and grandchildren who might be extraordinary, .... well, I don't have one yet, and I'll be fifty in a day or two. If I plan to make my mark on history, I'd better get going.

So, the dream. I stepped into it, kind of stepped over the frame as if it were a threshold, or is that threshhold? Two H's in one word like that? I'll have to look that up...... aw, it's only one H. ...and there I was, in the wheat field. The workers had blue mesh face masks like those worn by fencers. Blank. No facial features showing. I looked at them and remarked the same to myself, and I breathed deeply to smell the harvested wheat. No smell. "After all," I thought, "it's just a painting." The stubble beneath my feet did crunch, however, and I tried to go beyond the edges of the painting to see what lay beyond. I couldn't go. There was nothing beyond. It was as if I were walking against plate glass. "Oh," I thought, "it's the edge of the painting." So I stepped back into the museum.

Occasionally I do have these remarkable dreams. When Bill Clinton first ran for President, I dreamed we went fishing together. No, I don't know if Bill fishes or not. We all know I don't -- well, not usually, not unless some very intelligent and dynamic politican asks me....

And of course, I routinely dream that I can fly. Sometimes I just fly up into fruit trees and look down on humanity. At other times, I fly distances to see what's happening below. I don't wave my arms or hold them outward like Superman, I just --- just ... fly. Kind of go up on tiptoe and will myself up.

It's nice, having such an ordinary life, to know I can go to sleep and have extraordinary dreams.

Good night.