Pan Handling

Okay, I just have this last project to show you, and then I promise to lay off the kitchen-improvement jag and get back to knitting.  Just one more, and then I'll quit.  Really.

My kitchen facelift consultant (Susie) pointed out that if I were to acquire a pot rack that I could reclaim one whole cabinet's worth of kitchen real estate.  And I wouldn't have to touch every pot we own each time I make an omelet (or, if you are a Smally, a "Mom-elet).  Wait; I asked, incredulous:  You mean that I could just saunter up to said rack, choose the one and only pan I need, and then walk away?  Without handling and re-stacking all its bretheren?  Whence comes this POT RACK you speak of?

Like everything, it's only easy on paper.  For starters, pot racks cost a bleeding fortune.  And if that weren't bad enough, they are ugly.  I mean truly heinous.  Like some cosmic conspiracy to punish the kitchen-challenged for not having enough storage space.  I know they are supposed to be utilitarian, but, Really?  You have a choice (assuming you have a squillion rubles) between styles which could be charitably described as "Inner City Playground" and "Rusty French Chicken"  Neither rang my bell.  But then I stumbled upon this helpful wee article, and resolved to take a whack at making my own.  What could possibly go wrong?

The woodworking part went okay, if you don't consider a pound and a half of wood putty too much to hide the, um, extra screw holes I accidentally put in.  I don't, because I knew the wee beastie would be painted (its own OCD saga of Spackle, Sand, Paint, Repeat).  Ultimately I triumphed, and felt pretty smug that my pot rack would both fit the space I have for it, and look passable doing so.

I retired to the hardware store (the real one, where they employ codgers who mostly know how to do things, and who will bail you out if you bat your eyelashes and pretend you didn't know you needed a miter saw for that).  All I needed was the right fasteners.  Campbell and I cleverly weighed the pots and pans, in addition to the newly finished rack, so as to have an answer when asked how much weight we were proposing to swing from the ceiling.

Would you believe that it's possible to spend $90 on hardware to suspend 42 pounds of cookware from your ceiling?  Me either.  We left the hardware store with a bag of weird fastening bits and our hopes high, if guarded.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, that's automotive spray paint and primer shown above, so that the hardware bits could be made to match my swell kitchen faucet, to which they will be adjacent.  These stoopid pieces of metal had to have about eight thousand individual stickers pried off of them with my fingernails.  Then each one had to be rubbed down with lighter fluid to remove the residual sticker goo.  Then all the pieces went for a relaxing soapy bath, followed by a vinegar rinse.  All so they could then be spray-painted to match my faucet, in no less than four separate steps.  At the end of that, I was ready to give any number of rubles;settle for any commercially-available eyesore; just to have the saga over with.  What overdose of idiot pills made me think that a desire to do home improvements is the same as having home improvement skills?

Have I mentioned that I don't even like the kitchen?  Cooking to me is like being punished for being hungry.  Aside from the convenient beer storage, I find kitchens to be largely overrated.  And then we ran out of beer, somewhere around the time I tried locating the ceiling joists.  For I while, I was convinced there was not a single stick of wood above my kitchen, supporting the upper story.  Stud finders, knocking, and pilot-holes all failed to devine any framing.  I have no idea how I ultimately located infrastructure, but I finally did.  And then I had to fix the mess I had made of my newly-pinted kitchen ceiling.  Spackle, Sand, Paint, Repeat.  I began to pray for the sweet release of death.

My kitchen loathing notwithstanding, I did eventually prevail.  The cookware is suspended, the cabinet reclaimed, and the pans, well and truly Handled.  The rack has been painted the color that my cabinets will ultimately wear too.  Oh, did I mention I had to case the damn window behind the rack, too?  Well I did.  Natch.

Would I recommend trying this yourself?  Not really, unless you suffer from a deplorable excess of self esteem and free time.  I will say that it's nice not having to accept what was available to buy, when I didn't like any of it.  There is a special satisfaction that accompanies getting just the thing you wanted, in spite of the fact that no one had it to offer you.  Not unlike knitting the sweater you wish for, rather than settling for the one you can buy.  Only with more swearing and climbing  on the countertops.  I think.

Non-Knitting UFOs

All right, clearly my ungainly kitchen exploits have touched a nerve.  Good thing I didn't try cooking in there!  I would like to validate everybody who asked:  

YES.  Any unfinished painting/organizing/decorating project qualifies as a legitimate UFO.  Tired of knitting?  No need to admit it publicly.  Just bust out the spackle and grind on home to the finish.  You will not believe how much that last cabinet hinge/pantry door/wrongly-hung shelf was pissing you off. 

NEWS FLASH:  You Can Get It Done.  Just bust out the spackle knife and haul ass.

Ever have a friend rip back a mistake for you and hand it over at just the point where you loused it up the first time?  Well, I may not be able to find you to do that (this time), but on behalf of all the dumbass projects that have left you unfulfilled, here's my knitterly call to arms: 

YOU CANNOT KNIT ANYTHING PROPERLY IF YOUR TOWEL BAR FELL OFF THE WALL.  It will forever be bugging you, interrupting your knitting time with its insistence that it is a REAL project; a LEGITIMATE use of your time.  And when you get out of the shower, every stinking day, you are being reminded that the towel bar is there to be resolved.  I'm here to tell you that not only can you reclaim your morning shower; you can now explore the vagaries of modular knitting (or whatever) with the certain knowledge that there are no more projects more pressing than the one in your lap.

Take it from me:  There is no satisfaction like the satisfaction of having completed that home-improvement project that you abandoned last summer when it made you mad.  True, that bookcase is no quiviut, but you will not believe the spiritual calm which descends upon you once you vanquish the beast of the crooked soffit.  And if you need a tool to get the job done?  NEWS FLASH:  It's almost Father's Day, and all tools everywhere are on sale now.  Buy the stupid tile saw, or ball-peen hammer, or x-ray vision stud-finder you have been telling yourself that you needed to finish the deed.  Get over it and get on down the road, so you can knit in peace, for pity's sake.

Label the damn spice jars.  Line the stinking lingerie chest drawers.  Change the light fixture in the laundry room.  For crap sakes, it's not hard.  It's not like it's KNITTING, after all!  You only abandoned it because you were too tired to find the solution that time.  Tomorrow, take the electrical tape by the tail and tackle that non-knitting UFO (Not before you've had your coffee, of course.  We're not savages, after all).  

Then send me a picture.  Or a story.  You can do this, by damn.  Remember:  It's not like somebody asked you to make dinner!
 

Pardon My Dust

Evidently I sneezed, because while my eyes were closed, three days passed me by.  See, I was so jazzed by the completion of my sassy (at long last) Loo, that I thought I'd better exploit the momentum I'd created. 

I painted the kitchen. 

Turns out that while I academically understood what was involved (dismount a kajillion shelves, de-grease years of buildup (GAG), case yet more unfinished openings), I have never actually painted a kitchen (and its ceiling) before. 

How, you may ask, did I arrive at this stage in life without ever having de-gunked the dregs of kitchen ceilings and walls before?  No clue.  I'd chalk it up to Clean Living, but I think we all know better than that.  Let's go with Dumb Luck.  Think you're having a crappy day?  Bastards got you down?  Could be worse (turns out)!  You could be SCRUBBING A KITCHEN CEILING WITH TOXIC CHEMICALS!  And darned if the toxic chemicals don't get the job done!  (Sidebar:  I got "Phosphate-Free" T.S.P. {Tri-Sodium-Phosphate}: Doesn't that make it just T.S.?  Discuss.) 

For the Record:  Phillip totally bought into the ceiling business.  Worked his ass off, with nary a complaint.  Dude must really be tired of sleeping in the garage.  We'll See.

So the ceiling was painted a gorgeous blue that lives somewhere between an actual robins' egg and a gift box from Tiffany .  Maybe it's because I live in the Pacific Northwest (where it rains 300 days a year), but I have to tell you:  When it's gray outside, your ceiling can mimic a cloudless day:

This is the (yet unpainted - I had to knit) new casing for the opening between my kitchen and dining rooms.  Note the wall color:  Papaya.  Many thanks to those who liked the Marigold Loo.  Papaya is its somewhat less outgoing, but still scintillating cousin.  I'll show you more when the kitchen cabinets are redone.  Somebody Please Kill Me.  Cabinets?  Really?  This Old House  assures me that it can be done, but there are something like 27 simple steps involved.  I assure you that this is a desperate measure.  I hate my kitchen cabinets with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns.  There is nothing I could do to them that wouldn't be an improvement.  Stay Tuned. 

From time to time as a knitwear designer, I find myself in this awkward position:  I'm dying to tell you what I'm working on, but it's a secret.  You know how it is:  Certain profit-seeking entities *cough-Vogue Knitting-cough* would really prefer if I kept my otherwise flappy lips pursed till they are ready to share the next big thing.  So while I am totally in love with what I knitted this week, I don't get to show you.  Yet. 

Instead, I will show you that I spun something:

Here are two swell bobbins of "Mood Ring" from our good friends at Abstract Fiber .  I loved it so much when I got it all done that I wanted to make more of it.  Ashland Bay  to the rescue.  How killer are these two things together?  It's like  your favorite jeans and some strappy sandals when you just got a pedicure.  I'm looking at you, four-ply. 

I was so pleased with myself for finishing the kitchen (cabinets notwithstanding).  So naturally, that's when it happened:

The new wallpaper for the dining room arrived.

Clearly, my work here is not done.

Promise to visit me in the hospital if things go badly?