Hall of Mirrors

Last week I had to completely reformat my hard drive. Thanks, Windows 8.1! While I messed around with tech support looking for a way to back up my data before wiping the drive, There was no way to blog, or surf, or anything. I missed you, Gentle Readers! I'll spare you the gory details, but in the end, I prevailed, and all my work is safe once again. Between attempts at data retrieval, I did non-digital things, in an effort not to lose the remainder of my mind.

Ever notice how one project begets another? One part of the Great Laundry Room Adventure I didn't tell you about was Lindsay's book case. Perched in the corner return of our staircase, it had to be completely emptied and moved in order to get washers and dryers in and out. And of course, the only place to stack her book collection was my bedroom floor. Don't ask. 

Once I was done with the laundry room, it was time to reclaim my bedroom floor. Lindsay and her dad bravely sorted and purged her collection; a job which had not been done since around 2006. I think going through the books made Lindsay realize that she's not a little girl anymore. She told me she'd outgrown the old book case, with its white paint (now dented and peeling) and scalloped trim.  For the girl who has trouble parting with so much as a gum wrapper, the idea of jettisoning the old thing was pretty radical. I went along with her, mostly because I agreed that the case, itself, was no longer working. Together we chose and installed some nice new wall-mounted shelving, which fits the space much better, and holds even more books:

I showed Lindsay how to choose straight boards, cut them to size, sand and varnish them. Then we learned all about stud-finding, how much books weigh per linear foot, wall anchors, and how to use a power drill. And then rehearsals for the Spring play kicked into high gear, and I was on my own to shelve the collection. After which, I realized we were going to need book ends. Five of them. With the budget well and truly blown between the laundry room and the new shelves, I had to think fast. Here's what I came up with:

Our very own hall of mirrors! Plain picture frames and metal brackets I found at the craft store (regular metal bookends would work fine too - I just couldn't find any) totaled $15. I took the frames apart and removed the back easels. Then retrieved the leftover mirror paint from the vintage window project. Man, this stuff is awesome.

First I sprayed vinegar on the glass panes, then three coats of mirror paint.

Then I sprayed black over the mirror paint.

Once everything was dry, I reassembled the frames and glued the metal brackets to the backs of the frames.

Poof! $3 bookends. I like the way they add a little sparkle to the ends of the shelves.

And with that project out of the way (and my bedroom floor finally cleared of books), I pronounced the Laundry Room Adventure officially concluded. 

What are your favorite bookend ideas?

Climbing Mount Washmore

So there I was, minding my own business, when I heard the washing machine cry for help.

Phillip had taken it upon himself to load the poor old thing down with his most giant shawl-collared shaker knit wool sweater (yes, I DID ask if he forgot who he was married to), jeans, towels, and, I think, a buffalo robe. 

Not that I knew this. Yet. When the noise (death rattle) started, Phillip ran upstairs to see what was going on. I sensed a disturbance in the Force, but knit on, hoping for denial to take hold.

To his credit, Phillip did all he could to diagnose the washing machine's malady, and after an hour or so of alternating internet searches, user manual, and trial and error, he pronounced the washer sick/possibly dead. 

I grudgingly went upstairs to assess the situation for myself, by which time Phillip had started the dryer and retreated to parts unknown. At about the same time I realized he'd become scarce, several things began to eminate from the dryer:

1.    High-Pitched Screeching

2.    Acrid Smoke

3.    WATER

There is no description for the range of feelings you have when there is WATER pouring out of your dryer, but my first clear thought was this: My husband is trying to kill me and make it look like an accident. That has to be what is happening, because nobody in the world would put SOPPING WET laundry (washer quit before the spin cycle) directly into the dryer.

Lucky for me, our electrical panel is right in the laundry room. With a clarity of purpose brought on by adrenaline, I threw the breaker for the dryer, shutting it off. With smoke still pouring out the back of the machine, I waded into the puddle which had formed in front of the dryer.  I took a cleansing breath and opened the dryer door, at which time several things began to pour out:

1.    WATER

2.    Bad language

3.    REALLY bad language

Phillip reappeared, asking innocently what the ruckus was about. While he did admit that overloading the washing machine was probably a bad move, and washing a wool sweater was an extremely bad move, he honestly could not conceive of how filling an electric dryer with several gallons of water might be a problem. He assured me that the dryer would be fine if only I would (I swear I am not making this up) "Let it rest for a while". Right. Because everyone knows that major appliances can regenerate, if you just let them REST.

I told him the toaster was looking stressed and probably would enjoy taking a bath with him. It may not have been my finest moment. 

I am convinced that the fact that I thought to throw the breaker is the only reason I didn't get electrocuted. And I just keep imagining the story turning up in the Darwin Awards, and everybody thinking it was ME who was a laundry-impared dumbass.

Next we went to the appliance store and opened up a vein. The good news was that for the low low price of exactly all of our money, the nice man there hooked me up with an extremely sexy new top-loader, with a gigantic load capacity. And an equally sexy matching dryer. The bad news was that this was a Sunday, and they couldn't deliver the new machines (or haul off the carcasses of the old ones) until Wednesday. Which meant that in addition to having our fragile laundry "system" completely crushed, I would also have to do some work in the laundry room that I've been cleverly avoiding for nine years. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't take the opportunity to replace the torn crappy vinyl flooring in there, and paint the walls. How often do you get two whole days with no machines in the laundry room? Never. There was no getting out of it, so we moved the washer and dryer into the only nearby open space: Our Bedroom floor. Super convenient! Operation Relentless Dustbin kicked into high gear.

Since I was doing all the work (No thanks, Dear; You've done enough already), I decided it would be okay if I got a little self-indulgent. After all, I am the primary occupant of the laundry room, and I think I deserve to finally have it reflect my personal style. And for that matter, since I don't have any other room in the house to call my own, I made the paradigm shift to take charge of the space, rather than dreading going in there. I asked myself what really has been my worst problem with the laundry room, aside from the way people are always putting dirty clothes in there. That was it, really: I have never had a good way of dealing with the heaps of staged washing that four people and two dogs generate. 

With the help of Campbell (who is fantastic at imagining things that don't exist yet), I brainstormed about it, and decided that what we really needed was a way to wall-mount a bunch of baskets, next to the washer. Once that solution clicked into place, I was off and running. Here's what I did:

My Vertical Laundry Basket Dresser

Tension-mounted shelving from IKEA can be easily removed if the machines ever need to move. God help me. The new baskets from Target are labeled by color, so the dirty incoming laundry can be sorted by those who are dropping off. Ever notice how laundry bins are only ever labeled "Lights" and "Darks"? Lame. I sort the colors like this: White, Black, Blue, Tan, Red.

And speaking of color, the paint is "Charisma" from Sherwin Williams, which I love, and Phillip was smart enough not to share his opinion of. I also used up the remainder of the vinyl flooring which I used in the bathrooms. And while I was at it, I painted the cabinets, replaced the knobs and the hideous florescent light fixture with this one, installed the new and improved lost-mate-sock holding pen, and even added this little number:

Finally! A place to hang up the things that shouldn't go in the dryer (sopping wet buffalo robes notwithstanding). And because I know you'll ask, the little framed sign says this:

So even though it started with a catastrophe, I think I finally managed to land butter-side-up. And it's a good thing my sexy new machines are so much larger than the old ones.

I might need a place to hide the body.

Finished Fana

Here is what my Fana looked like last week when I took it to Sandpoint, Idaho to play with the knitters there.  The only things missing are the braid trims and the second sleeve.  That's right. This artfully arranged photo hides the fact that she's really only a one-armed bandit.

I like to make a habit of bringing finished samples to the classes they support, but this time, I just flat ran out of time.  What I didn't know was how useful it would be to show the sleeve-setting in progress.  The cut armhole openings and sleeve-top facings which cover them are routinely the most difficult for me to explain, because once the finishing is done, it's really hard to understand the parts that can no longer be seen.  This little exercise in humility turned out to be a great lesson for me: I need to make a sample which is intentionally unfinished for class. Maybe not full-sized though.

When I got home, the toilet in the master bathroom had come completely loose from its moorings.  Which I had predicted, due to a certain listing sensation we had been experiencing. What I had not anticipated (or perhaps, had tried to deny?) is that the old cracked and grubby tile floor underneath it would cry out for demolition, once I ejected the old throne.  Yep: Before I knew it, I was ankle deep in ceramic shards, swinging a sledge hammer like one possessed.  I hated that floor for almost every day of the eight years since I had (very poorly) installed it. Turns out that ceramic tile (and its removal) is just not my medium.  I've sworn off both for good. Once I had the floor out, I could finally repaint the walls to match the new towels I scored last May.  Phillip has been asking me weekly why we couldn't use the new towels without first changing the wall color.  What an amateur.  Has he not met me before?  The old wall paint was red, for pity's sake.

In the midst of the Bathroom Reboot, Phillip came down with a chest cold that I feared was pneumonia.  It wasn't, but it took a chest x-ray to convince both me and his doctor.  He's recuperating very slowly, all the while barking like a bull walrus.  Seriously, the poor man is rattling the windows.  And yesterday was Campbell's 13th birthday, which I tried my level best not to have overshadowed by the other dramas.  He assures me I did an adequate job of celebrating him, but I still worry that his bar is set artificially low.

Anyhow, the new floor, and the new loo, (and fluffy towels and cheery shower curtain) have definitely improved my attitude.  Eight years is a long time to be mocked by an unfortunate DIY project.  Oh, and I *may* have replaced the doorknobs, too, while I was at it.

With the plumbing, and the patient, and the newly-minted teenager (sort of) all under control, I returned my attention to the Fana.

View fullsize

As you can see, it now sports two sleeves, each with anatomically-mounted, functionally-buttoned cuffs.

And yes, there are four different trims on it now.  Once I get going, I just can't stop.