The Fandom Shawl

I think the term we will use is "fangirl".  I sometimes develop a fatal attraction to something and then get so totally focused on it that I will look for ways to incorporate my fascination into my daily routine.

Which is how The Perfect Storm Shawl came into being.

The name has nothing to do with the fact that the shawl is made from a stormy grey yarn.  It has to do with why I found the yarn in the first place, why I chose the color and why I chose the pattern.

First sign of impending storm:

I adore good yarn and I love experimenting with fibers that are new to me.  I was reading the Yarn Harlot's blog one day when she mentioned some fantastic yarn she had acquired from Indigodragonfly. I thought the yarn was gorgeous, so I hopped over to the website to find out more about it.  The yarn was sold out - because a lot of folks read the Yarn Harlot's blog and anytime she rhapsodizes over something, you can bet it's going to sell out in a great big hurry.  I was disappointed, but I kept poking around their website and discovered that they had developed colors based on some television shows I am very fond of.  I think I had in mind that I might get some Doctor Who inspired yarn, when I discovered that they had a grey, variegated yarn based on the Belstaff coat worn by BBC Sherlock, calling the color way Cumberbacchanal.  I could not pass that up.  I'm a huge fan of Cumberbatch and  a bigger fan of Sherlock, so it was a no-brainer.  I would get a couple of skeins of a 70% silk/30% camel yarn and make myself a Belstaff flavored shawl.  (If you are not familiar with Sherlock, here is a link to a good view of the coat.)

Second sign of impending storm:

I did not have any particular pattern in mind at the time I placed the yarn order.  (The yarn order in itself was an interesting adventure.  There were 2 skeins in stock, both of which I ordered.  When the owner was preparing shipment, he discovered that they were from different dye lots and sent me an email to find out what I intended to do with it.  When I told him, he graciously volunteered to fire up the dye baths and make a new batch  so I could be sure that my shawl would not have any chance of a color shift halfway through.  This is the kind of service that makes me love dealing with the smaller independent yarn companies.  I've already placed a second order and after working with this lovely, lovely yarn, I will most probably return in the future.)

As I reviewed my collection of shawl patterns, I was reminded of an ebook I had ordered with patterns based on and named for London Underground stations.  I decided it would be a lovely idea to pair the Sherlock inspired yarn with a central London themed pattern.  I had 7 to choose from….

Third sign of impending storm:

Also bubbling on a back burner of my mind of late is a trip that is in planning for a couple of years hence.  Little brother, sister-in-law and I are scheming to take a tour of Britain together and, as is my wont, I have been gathering materials and tour books to study so I can familiarize myself with points of interest that we need to include in our itinerary.  One of the first things to go on my notes of must-see-in-London was Westminster Abbey.

I turned out that one of the patterns in the ebook was inspired by the cathedral windows of Westminster Abbey.

The Perfect Storm Shawl was born:

After the storm:

As I was knitting the shawl, a little niggling sense of discontent kept popping up.  It is a well known fact in the Sherlock fandom that the fashion coordinators decided to make the coat a bit different from those that were available to the general public by adding red stitching around the top buttonhole.  I needed to add a touch of red to make the vision complete and I did not think it was going to work to add a touch of red to this luscious shawl.  I considered adding a red outline stitch to one of the cathedral windows, but I didn't think that would really work and might actually detract from the overall effect.

And then I realized that I had a flapper hat pattern tucked away that might actually work as a companion piece.  I WOULD NEED MORE YARN and some of it would have to be red.

So I got back on the Indigodragonfly website and looked for a compatible red yarn.  Thankfully they still had a supply of the Cumberbacchanal in the same silk/camel combination, so I ordered an additional skein and crossed my fingers as I checked for any sign of a red in their inventory.  And, lo and behold, there was a red yarn inspired by the Sons of Anarchy television series, which I thought looked like a great contrast.

My track record with hats is not great, but I am off to a good start and persevering.

And the final indication that this was a combination project meant especially for me?

I visited the Indigodragonfly website just after Christmas, wanting to see what other colors in this lovely yarn might appeal to me….only to find it completely gone from their inventory.  Further research indicates that the lace version has been discontinued, which makes me fear that the DK weight I am using for these two projects may also be discontinued.

So my "Sherlock Shawl" was re-christened "The Perfect Storm Shawl" since everything came together just right to make it happen.

Now the only thing that still remains to be solved is to figure out how to include this shawl and hat in the luggage when we go to London so I can get my photograph wearing this shawl in front of Westminster Abbey and in front of the 221B doorway on Gower Street in London.

LSW

In Need of a New Year's Resolution

The thing is - I come by my compulsive collecting habit honestly.  Both my parents set horrible examples for me in my formative years.  Both had a thing for glassware.  I inherited a closet full of assorted glassware, a good portion of which is what I'm selling in the booth I've rented at a local antiques store.  Some I can price and transport to the booth without a second thought.  Other pieces are stuck in something of a limbo stage.  We would pull out the pretty glassware at Thanksgiving and Christmas and some of the pieces evoke memories of family gatherings long ago.  The memory of those holidays in a simpler time makes it a bit more difficult to part with some items, even though I don't really like them all that much. Still others I immediately put on the "not going anywhere" shelf.  This includes china that my grandmother acquired in my behalf, the china Mother bought with the Christmas money received from the church, the punch bowl that was another Christmas present from the church, and certain pieces that have been in my peripheral vision since I was a toddler.

At one point my parents decided to collect a single goblet from their various antiquing sojourns, of which collection I am now in possession.  The only goblet I am truly emotionally bound to is the single goblet that passed down in the family from my great-great grandmother Mobley, the sole survivor of a set she brought with her when the family moved from post-Civil War Georgia to McDade, Texas, in the early 1870s.  That one has a position of honor behind the glass doors of my antique bookcase.  The other goblets are a variety of patterns and colors and, while making a great display on a shelf, really don't have any sentimental value to me.  I got all of them down a couple of weeks ago and washed them and started to price them…..and hesitated.  They ended up back on the shelf in limbo status while I try to decide how I really feel about them.  The same thing happened when I started sorting out Mother's collection of toothpick holders.  I can always sell them later.  Better safe than sorry.

Because sorry is how I feel about some of the things Mother discarded when we made the major move from Smiley to Bastrop.  She had several sets of dishes, some given to her and some she acquired at various stages of married life.   She gave a complete set of Fiesta dishes to a church member that I would dearly love to reclaim.  They were nothing special to her.  Fiesta ware was what everybody her age had lived with and owned at some point and nobody knew that it was going to become collectible a few short years after she passed them along.

During the packing process (which she was doing on crutches, as she had torn a ligament in her ankle just as the move was getting into full swing), she made the decision to dispose of the various sets of dishes and keep just a plate or two or maybe a bowl from each set as a reminder/souvenir.  As I was beginning to sort out all the various glassware with an eye toward selling some of it, I ran across the stack of odd plates.  Most of it I had no qualms at all with slapping a price on and toting it out to the booth.

But there were a few dishes of one pattern that gave me pause.  There's nothing really special about them, but I just liked them and hated to let them go.  I don't remember ever eating off this set, but I seem to remember that we had a big pile of the various pieces that all carried a scene of buildings or items that fit into the Victorian England time period.  Mother had kept a cake plate with a snowy shop scene, two plates with a different view of the shop, a saucer with a teapot and a small plate with a clock.  The dishes were produced by Royal China and the pattern was called "The Old Curiosity Shop".

I finally told myself it was silly to hang onto a few odd dishes and I popped prices on them and carted them out to the booth, where they've been on display a couple of months with nary a nibble of interest.  Every time I would shuffle them around to fresh up the booth, I would have that twinge of regret.

Then yesterday I stopped briefly by an estate sale that was right on the way as I made my way to Austin for a little Christmas shopping and later some Christmas cheer at little brother's house.  The sale was held in multiple rooms of a church annex, with proceeds going toward some needed remodeling of the church.  As I walked into the second room full of odds and ends, my eyes fell on a stack of familiar green and white dishes.  There were 12 pieces wanting a new home and as I told myself repeatedly that I did NOT need to get involved, one of the folks I know who was running the sale walked up and slapped a price on the whole lot for a price I couldn't resist.  So I came home with the beginnings of a new collection and this morning I retrieved the 4 pieces I've had for sale and brought them back home.  I have this serious affinity for rescuing strays, and this is how I'm ending up with multiple sets of flatware and multiple sets of dishes.

The Old Curiosity Shop - Cake Plate with handles
I now have two

The Old Curiosity Shop - Dinner Plate
I now have three

The Old Curiosity Shop - Soup Bowls (top left with lamp picture, I now have five),
Serving Bowl (bottom left with work bench picture)
Saucer (top right with teapot - I had one and now I have two)
Bread dish (bottom right with clock)

Not a bad start and I've about made up my mind to try and assemble a whole set.  Like I don't already have enough dishes to feed a small army, but what can I say?

Well, one thing I could say is I should be a little more careful.  It turned out that the pile of dishes I bought weren't all from the same pattern.  Of the twelve pieces I bought, four of them were from a different set of dishes, also produced by Royal China.  A little research online revealed that these were  the "Colonial Homestead" pattern and mostly depict items or rooms or buildings associated with an Early American Home.  One of the smaller plates has a spinning wheel and the pie dishes (see picture below) also include a bit of a spinning wheel at the bottom edge.  I like spinning wheels.  I think I'm in big trouble. 

Colonial Homestead
Bread & Butter Dish (at top, with grandfather clock and table/bench)
Platter (at left)
Pie Dishes (at right, two of them)

Well, in my defense, I can always decide to sell them later on.  Once you become an antiques dealer, half of the fun is acquiring what you like and using it until you tire of it and then passing it along to the next person.  

I guess there are worse things you can inherit than the collecting gene.  And as vices go, antiquing isn't really all that bad.  

LSW

Springtime in November

It's been a long time since I wrote a couple of posts about the flatware that my cousin Amanda and I received from our Grandmother Wilcoxen.  The first was in 2009 and gives the beginning of the story, which you can find here.  The second post was about a year later (here) when I was successful in building my own flatware set to completion and beyond.  I mentioned along the way of my intention to try and complete Amanda's set as well.

Unfortunately, Amanda's Springtime set was a lot more popular than my own Grypsholm set and the prices were consistently higher than I was willing to spend.  I dropped the idea for the time being and stopped checking for eBay listings.

But recently, as I began clearing closets and looking for items I could sell in a booth I rented in a nearby antique mall, I stumbled across the odd lot of flatware I had received from Amanda and was reminded what a nice set it was.  I began again to idly keep an eye on what was being offered on eBay.

The pattern pieces that come onto market are still priced a bit steeply in my opinion, but I decided to keep watching and created a search request that alerts me to new offerings.  About a week ago, a mixed lot of 16 assorted pieces in the pattern was priced at about $1 per piece in a Buy It Now offering and I snatched it up.  Less than a week later, another mixed lot of 49 pieces was offered at auction.  I had to monitor the auction for several days, but the price stayed low and I crossed my fingers, setting my alarm to be sure I was sitting poised at the keyboard in the final minutes of the bidding.  With seconds to spare, I made a last ditch bid at the highest price I felt comfortable with.  To my surprise, no one else was bidding at the last minute and I won the auction for less than $25.

So after years of thinking I should do something about completing that set of flatware, in about a week I made a huge step forward to do just that.  I went from no knives to 24 knives, 6 teaspoons to 22 teaspoons, no forks to 11 forks.  I also picked up a few serving spoons, a few salad forks, a few more soup spoons and an extra gravy ladle.   Still need forks and I hope for some iced teaspoons to wander into view, but for the most part I have accomplished my goal.

Now, what I need with another set of flatware (I had 3 full sets of stainless--everyday, better and best-- before I decided to tackle this mission), I do not know.  But it makes me feel a sense of accomplishment to complete my Grandmother's efforts towards her granddaughters' hope chests.

Of course, in my case, that turned out to be a hopeless chest.  Little did she know.

LSW

Getting in Tune, Part 2

A small coda to my previous  post:

 Music was the primary thing that Daddy and I had in common.  While there is a bit of musical ability on my maternal side, the real musical genes came down through my Grandmother Ivy.  She was the eldest in the William Henry Frankum family, which collectively was double, maybe triple, dipped in musical talent.  They could all play something - fiddle, guitar, piano - and most of them and their descendants did and continue to sing and make music at every opportunity.

The older I got, the less that Daddy and I had to talk about, but there was always music.  (And, to a lesser extent, Westerns.  We both liked reading Louis L'Amour westerns and watching John Wayne and Clint Eastwood movies.)  We just did not have a lot of common interest and he was frankly baffled at the fact that both his children ended up working with computers, something that had him completely buffaloed.

So while other folks may fondly remember playing a game of catch in the side yard with their fathers or going to ball games or rebuilding engines or what-not, the thing I remember fondly are the Sunday nights we would go over to the church early and spend an hour playing hymns together before services.  We would switch around, one of us on the piano and the other on the Hammond organ.  He could play by ear and I could only play by note, so I would start something and he would join in and we would make our way through whatever hymnal I had at hand.  I learned a lot of old songs that way, some of them wonderful songs that have sadly faded into obscurity.

I inherited other things from my father - primarily half of my ability to write and a sad inability to understand math - but the love of music and the ability to make music definitely came from him.

Buddy Wilcoxen, tickling the ivories in the 1950s

At Aunt O's house, with me already getting ideas of collaboration,
Mother holding David in the background

Aunt O (Ora Lamb), my grandmother's sister,
playing their father's fiddle, 2003

Little brother on the guitar, left, and cousin Dean Frankum on fiddle

LSW

Getting Back in Tune

One of the hobbies/activities that took a real hit during the period of time I was involved in caregiving for my mother was the piano.  When I was growing up in Smiley, from the 4th grade through 12th grade, I took piano lessons from Mrs. Bell and I spent a good portion of my free time sitting at the piano in the First Baptist Church sanctuary next door, playing and practicing, hours at a time.  I probably wore a rut in the sidewalk between the parsonage and the side entrance to the church, I made that trip so often.  

I had wanted to play piano for as long as I could remember.  Before we moved to Smiley, I can remember sitting and picking out tunes on the piano at the church annex where we lived in Victoria.  It was inevitable that I would take up lessons as soon as the opportunity (and the funds) permitted.  In 1964, the musical portion of my education commenced.

A 1971 musical program
Dress by Mother and orchid corsage by Daddy

Senior Recital, 1972
Dress again by Mother and I believe there is another orchid peeking out
courtesy of my father

I seldom went a day without spending some time at the piano.  In addition, I was drafted by the church, first as a backup and then as a regular, to play piano or organ at Sunday services and I regularly provided piano accompaniments at the annual school Christmas programs and piano marches at the 8th and 12th grade graduations.  Under protest, I also played for quite a few weddings and funerals.  

When I graduated High School and we moved to Bastrop, I continued to provide piano for church services, weddings and funerals on weekends and during holiday breaks from college.  Practicing was limited to time I could grab on those weekends and holidays and the odd occasion when I would borrow a piano practice room at the college.  We still had no piano at home and we no longer lived next door to the church, so it took more effort to get time at the keyboard, especially with so much of my time having to now be devoted to my academic studies.

When I graduated from college and began full-time employment, I resigned from my duties with the church.  There was just no energy or time available to devote to a second job, and so I lost my ready access to a piano.  It should be no surprise that the first big investment I made (after a car) was to buy myself a piano.  The first one was an antique upright that was gorgeous as a piece of furniture and lousy as a musical instrument.  Still, I had a piano with a full set of 88 keys that were not quite in tune but satisfied my need to sit down and touch base with my musical side.  A few years later, I gave up the antique in favor of a brand-new upright, which is still with me.

Unfortunately my job kept me busy and tired out and there was little time for the piano.  Then when Mother's health failed and we moved in together so that I could take care of her, it was hard to find any time to play and what time I did have available usually coincided with her sleep time, which I did not want to disturb.  For a good ten years, I barely touched the piano at all.  

It took a year or so after we lost Mother for me to regain the energy or the desire to sit down at the piano again.  I was appalled at how rusty I had become.  I could barely make it through the simplest pieces, my fingers could not seem to find the right notes any longer and my back would begin protesting in a very short period of time.  I was disgusted and frustrated.

But, I decided the only cure was to start spending some regular time every day at the piano like I did in the beginning.  I started with the old Baptist and Broadman hymnals.  I figured I had spent more time playing those old gospel songs than I had playing anything else and those would come back the easiest.  I was right.  The sense memory in my fingers would take over from time to time, adding in all those little chords and furbelows that we church pianists would tuck in to fill out the spaces between the sung notes (that "Baptist roll" as one of my uncles used to call it).  Whenever I got upset at my lack of ability to play that Beethoven sonata that featured in my Senior recital, I would spend a half hour pounding out gospel music.  Gospel music is always good for the soul.

It has taken almost a year of sitting 15-30 minutes a day at the piano, but I suddenly realized a couple of weeks ago that I was having less trouble grabbing those notes in the deep left end of the keyboard without looking.  I was having less trouble reading the notes in the upper and lower registers when the music would take off above and below the normal staff.  I was having fewer instances of suddenly forgetting what key I was playing in half-way through a song.  I was beginning to make my way through that Beethoven sonata (well, at least the first movement) slowly, without having a sudden temper fit in the middle and crashing my hands to the keyboard in frustration at the sheer volume of wrong notes coming out of my hands.

A few days ago I was watching an old Remington Steele program that ended with a lovely and simple piece of classical music.  I don't know how I knew that it was by Chopin (except I've always had a penchant for Chopin and Beethoven), but I was certain it was and I pulled out some of my classical collections to see if I could find it.  Oddly enough, I flipped right to a Chopin Prelude that turned out to be the piece in question.  I slowly made my way through it and almost made it through without messing up.  It has become my most recent practice piece that gets played over and over.

Maybe I knew what it was subliminally, but I don't think so because I had never learned to play that piece and did not have a recording of it.  I think I just recognized that it had to be by Chopin and maybe some friendly spirit or intuition led me to turn to that book and that page and find that piece like I was following a homing signal.  I took it as a sign that I was headed in the right direction as I try to rejuvenate my old love affair with the piano.

I'll never again rip off a Chopin Etude or a Beethoven sonata the way I did when I was 18, but maybe I can polish a few of the less involved favorites with this steady practice program I've taken on and maybe one of these days I can be relaxed and easy with the piano again.  It's one of my oldest friends and I am having a really good time getting reacquainted.

A quick reunion with the piano at the Christian Church in
Bastrop.  The Calvary Baptist congregation met in this building
when it first organized.  I spent many a Sunday playing in this beautiful
 Victorian era auditorium.

LSW

I'm Not a Poet and I Know It

My father wrote poetry.  He wrote a lot of poetry.  He wrote it for fun.  Just about everybody he knew would get an original poem for their birthday, their anniversary or any other date of importance.  I found it bizarre that anybody could do that.

I can't write poetry.

My mother occasionally wrote poetry.  She usually opted to write prose, but every so often she would dash off a bit of poetry.

I can write prose.  I can't write poetry.

Every time some teacher would get it in his or her head to throw out an assignment to write a poem, I would panic.  I would try to bribe one of my parents to fulfill my assignment and save me from the disgrace of having to admit that I can't write poetry.

I stink at writing poetry.

Today I was poking through a book where I keep odds and ends such as obituaries, comics clipped from the newspaper or a magazine, and the odd quotation.  I was surprised to come across a poem that I wrote while I was in college.  I think it may be the only example of poetry that I know that I wrote all by myself and that didn't make me want to apologize for doing so.

I can remember writing the poem in desperation.  I was taking a literature course and someone who had taken the course warned me that the professor was going to have us write a poem, using a particular rhyming convention.  I think I had a case of the vapors when I heard that I was going to have to write a poem, let alone a poem with a specific number of lines and a particular rhyming pattern.  I dreaded the day I would walk into the class and get that assignment.

So I decided for once in my life to try and get the task out of the way ahead of time instead of sweating it out under pressure.  I knew I would not be able to come up with a rhyme for "cat" under pressure.  I surprised myself and actually got a half-way acceptable stanza written and I breathed a sigh of relief and stopped worrying about the assignment that was going to hit me.

I can't remember now what this kind of verse is called.  What I do remember is that the professor never did give us the assignment to write a poem in this style.  All my worry was for naught.

But, I have one poem that I wrote.  And this is it.  Be kind.  I can't write poetry to save my life.  Those genes passed me by.

Fate

The weary man walked down the narrow road,

The pain was in his eyes for all to see;

Upon his back he bore the heavy load

Of all the things he once planned he would be,

In other days when youthful dreams were free.

The ways of life he doesn't understand,

The reason for his trials he cannot see.

He lives with his mistakes the best he can,

And now he finds himself an old and bitter man.

LSW
(Poem written in 1975, while attending Mary Hardin-Baylor College)

Knitting Up the Raveled Sleeve of Care

Obviously I'm not blogging much these days.  I never intended to stop blogging, since the whole thing started as a way for me to have a way to look back at the end of the year and remember the highs and lows and mundanes of the year.  For several years, I was pretty good about logging the various events in my life.  And then....

Facebook happened, for one.  It became easier to just dash off a quick note here and there about what my mood of the moment happened to be.  At first I still blogged regularly.  Then the blogging began to wane and the slapdash thoughts on my Facebook page gradually took over.

And then life got hectic.  The fire.  The remodel.  The various society (i.e., DAR, DRT, UDC) demands on my time.  I got tired, both mentally and physically.  When I get tired, I have a hard time writing.  

And when I get really, really tired, I have a hard time focusing enough to do anything.  Reading was the next thing to go by the wayside. The very idea of working on my dollhouses made the fatigue go into overdrive.  I fell into wasting my time on Facebook games and watching endless TV.  I felt guilty for wasting time, but so lacking in interest that I could not seem to fight my way out.

I desperately cast about for some more productive way of spending my time and the answer turned out to be a hobby that had been sitting in the background for years, just waiting for the right time to catch my attention.

Knitting.  

Knitting is a great soother of ragged nerves.  I first learned to knit in 8th grade when a Home Economics teacher taught us the basic knit and purl stitches.  From there I was self taught, just as I've self taught myself other activities over the years - sitting with a manual and bull-dozing my way through the material until I understand it.  I got fairly proficient at basic knitting and made numerous afghans and a few sweaters (none of which ever really saw the light of day, but they did get made).  

My love affair with knitting ebbed and flowed over the decades.  My love affair with fine yarn never faded.  I amassed a large stash of good yarn (and a larger stash of bad yarn) and had the idea that someday I will use up this yarn.  Yeah, right.  I would get out the stash once a year, coo and admire the good stuff, and wrinkle my nose at the bad stuff and wonder why on earth I had acquired it.  Not much got made with any of it for a very long period of time, but I did enjoy my periodic visits with that good stuff.  I love the feel and smell and look of a quality yarn.

When the fire hit Bastrop County in September 2011, a local yarn store ran a campaign to ask area knitters to donate unwanted yarn to be distributed to knitters who had lost their yarn supplies.  I decided to go through my stash and donate all the yarn that I no longer wanted to the local thrift store.  I devised a way to keep track of the yarn I really loved so I would not forget I had it and could, in fact, see it daily and think about the lovely things that could be made with that yarn.

And at Christmas 2011, inspiration hit.  It started with a kit that was available at Hill Country Weavers in Austin.  I asked for that kit for a Christmas present and made myself a promise that if I received that kit for a present, I would make it immediately.  And, furthermore, I would set myself the goal to make at least one thing every month of 2012 and use up some of that lovely yarn I had on hand.  I had stumbled upon the thing I had been looking for to pull myself out of the dumps.

By the end of January, I had the Paintbrush Cowl kit completed and was on my way.

January's Paintbrush Cowl

The year's projects were heavy on the scarf angle.  I was rusty and needed to brush up on my knitting skills, and I figured that I should keep my monthly goals reasonable.  In the background I started the first shawl, hoping that I could finish a scarf quickly and get my month's goal out of the way and use the remainder of the month to work on the shawl.  As the weeks passed, I increased speed and sharpened my knitting skills and began to make more than one thing some months while some projects drifted along in the background for two or more months.

I actually lost track of what got completed in what month, but at the end of the year I had 12 completed knitting projects.

February's Flounce Scarf

March's Big Cowl

April's Long Beach Scarf

May's Kid Silk Ruffle Scarf

June's Fiesta Scarf

I even took a brief detour about mid-year to re-teach myself some crocheting techniques.

July's Queen Mochi Scarf (Crochet)

August's Shibui Shawl

September's Suede Oakley Shawl

October's Marble Capelet

November's Color Affection Shawl

December's Angora Citron Shawlette

By the end of the year, I was back up to knitting speed and was able to start and finish a shawl within the one month goal time frame.  I fell back into love with knitting.  I learned several new techniques that are of recent invention by truly gifted knitters.  I found a lovely online knitting community called Ravelry which has been a wonderful source of inspiration.  I used up some of my yarn stash that had been sitting there waiting for years for me to get my act together.  I bought more yarn - which wasn't the idea, but who can resist all the lovely yarns that are available now?  In addition to all those completed projects for 2012, I started 2013 with a half-dozen projects in various stages of progress and continue to knit happily in my leisure time.

Knitting pulled me through a rough year.  It helped me begin to re-focus my energy, although there is a long way to go yet.  Writing is still difficult and the genealogy research is still on the back burner, but I feel the embers beginning to glow brighter.

And I don't know if I would have made it through the massive remodel without the knitting to keep my hands busy with something other than strangling the odd painter or tile man.  There is great peace to be had in the rhythm of knit and purl and knit and purl and knit and purl....

LSW

What Happens in the Bathroom

I actually made it into the office a couple of days ago.  I had been confined to the home front for about 2 and 1/2 weeks running while I waited for various gangs of construction folks to do their thing.  All that time I have been monitoring the bathroom phase of the remodel.  On a day to day basis there was the total demolition of the master bath, the moving of drains (involving a jackhammer), the ungodly stink from the installation of the fiberglass shower pan, the partial demolition of the powder room, the addition of frames for pocket doors in both bathrooms (no doors just yet, only holes in the wall), the installation of sheet rock and copious amounts of plastic sheeting draped around during the spraying of texture on the walls, and massive amounts of dust filling the air.  My job was herding cats and dogs in the background and dosing myself with the odd amaretto and milk to keep my nerves settled.

Last week began the new tile work in the master bath.  I've enjoyed working with the boss of the tile crew.  He really knows his business.  Unfortunately, the day the setting of the tile began, he was leaving that afternoon for an extended trip out of the country, but we discussed the design before he left and I was confident that his crew knew what I wanted.  I wasn't able to check on the progress as they worked, because of the tiny space and poor lighting, but they had done such a spectacular job in the kitchen that I stayed out of their way and felt sure all would be well.

So, when they told me last Friday evening that the shower was completed and they would be back to grout on Monday, I bounced into the bathroom eager to see the reality of my mind's eye.  It took about 15 seconds for me to realize that we had a problem.

I had decided to add a stripe of art tiles in the shower.  Thanks to that little 4-inch blip in the line of the tiles, when they added the borders, they ended up staggering the grout lines at different points from the interior tile.  While I could understand why they did what they did, I also knew that my obsessive compulsion for order was not going to be able to live with the result.  I like clean, straight, geometric lines.  I knew that if I allowed this to stand, I was going to be angry every time I stepped into the shower.  

I hate confrontation, but I pointed out what I wasn't liking to the crew before they left that night.  They didn't really get the problem.  I gave up, sent them on their way, and called my builder.  I figured if he didn't understand the issue, then maybe I was being too persnickety.  Fortunately, he saw it the same way I did, got in touch with the boss in South America (aren't cell phones great?) and on Monday the crew arrived with extra tile and set about to make the client happy.

At the end of the day, I had straight lines, my stomach settled down, and I could really step back and enjoy the progress on my future shower.

I love the tile I chose.  We used the larger version to tile the floor of the bathroom and the dressing area just outside. 

I continue to be pleasantly surprised at how much I love the choices I made in such a whirlwind of a morning studying the options.  Everyone who comes in admires the backsplash in the kitchen and the few folks who have ventured upstairs and seen the new tile in the guest bath have been very complimentary.  I've had no regrets, but rather I stand around admiring the effect.

When I was in the office Wednesday, I got a startled look from someone when I mentioned that my builder had used the "F" word.  I laughed and said I had been tempted to use a particular "F" word myself at frequent intervals during this process, but that I preferred his "F" word:  FINISH.

It looks like we are really approaching the end of this remodeling tunnel.  The pocket doors and trim are to be addressed on Sunday, the painters are coming back on Monday or Tuesday, then it will be a parade of  plumbers to install the new bathroom fixtures, counter folks to install the vanity tops in both bathrooms and electricians to install the pile of fixtures I've acquired since they were last here.  (And I got a call this week that my new blinds are in and ready to be installed as soon as the painters get the remaining windows painted.)  All that will remain is the fine work of installing mirrors, towel rods, and door knobs/hinges.  (I am on a mission to de-brass this house, switching to the oil-rubbed bronze look.)

I may survive this remodel after all.  Of course, in the back of my mind is the fact that I will need to do something soon about the hideous carpet.  Being a homeowner is a never-ending series of upgrades.  There's always something else that needs to be done.  But, I'm close to having an entirely new environment and I can't wait to get there - maybe by Christmas.  This has to be the biggest Christmas gift I've ever given myself.

LSW

Regrouping

Something odd has been taking place over the course of the last few days.  I'm not quite sure what to make of it.

I find myself suddenly laughing out loud as I read, or listen to a song, or stumble across a bit of humor on a website, or watch television or while playing the piano.  Sometimes I'm not even sure why I'm laughing.  Apparently I just feel like it.

Odd indeed.

On the surface of things, I should be feeling stressed.

I have huge portions of my house in complete turmoil.  I'm dealing with strangers wandering all over the place and I don't like strangers in my house.  If and when the work crews actually show up when they say they will, which they never do.

My back is giving me fits.  I've messed something up with all the packing and unpacking and furniture shoving around and my schedule is so up in the air I've not been able to indulge in my usual semi-monthly massage.

I'm trying to get a handle on the financial records of an organization I belong to and for which in a moment of insanity I agreed to take the office of treasurer.  (Today involved a trip to the bank to get that ironed out.)  I'm also treasurer for another organization and currently using my debt collection skills to pull in dues and then mailing out materials to the long distance members who have already paid.  I am secretary for yet another organization that doesn't call for quite so much work, but still creates pockets of activity when I least need it.  (Word to the wise:  Never, ever agree to hold an office in more than one organization at a time.)

I'm feeling a bit home bound these days (see above where the workers never show up when they say they will).  But, that isn't so bad, actually.  The animals are all thrilled that I'm spending so much time with them and I'm thrilled that I'm not having to spend so much time on the road commuting while the remodel drags on.

So why all the sudden fits of giggles?  I have no idea.  Sometimes I even stop and ask myself "what's so funny?"

I've been trying to figure out where it's coming from.

Maybe it's because I'm operating on a different time schedule these days, staying up a little later, sleeping a little later, eating on a different schedule.

Maybe it's because I spent the last couple of weeks re-breaking my sugar addiction and getting back on a lower carb diet.  I don't think I'm losing any weight - yet - but I can sense my body is recalibrating and I have energy again.

Outside work hours, I'm reading when I want to read, knitting when I want to knit, playing the piano when I want to play piano.  Trying to let myself go in whatever direction my mood takes me and not forcing myself to get anything in particular accomplished.

Today I watched a hummingbird flitting around the yard and took a break to fill the hummingbird feeder and put it outside the window where I'm working.  It's given me great delight to watch him come and go all afternoon.  I spent most of the day in silence - no TV, no radio - and have worked on the laptop at the dining table so I can watch my hummingbird, with the pine trees swaying in the breeze behind him.

Peace.

There was a time not so long ago when I tried to remember the last time I was truly happy.  It's not that I've been unhappy, but it's been a long spell that there's been too much on my plate and no time to stop and just enjoy the moment.

Odd.  I dreaded getting started on the remodel, but I think it has had a lot of good effect.  I'm tired from the noise and dust and constant in and out of the workers, but I'm not frazzled from fighting traffic 2 hours a day.  I'm frustrated at times, but staying out of the way of the work crews gives me an excuse to sit on the couch, have a cup of tea and knit a few rows instead of arguing with myself about doing housework.  In the morning, instead of running around getting trash out to the curb, ironing work outfits, getting my briefcase packed, etc., I get to spend 30 minutes playing the piano before I sit down at the computer to work.

All this spontaneous laughter must mean that whatever I'm doing has been good for me.  I think I needed some "me time".

Or maybe I'm just going crazy.

Whatever.  I'm having a good time.

LSW

Living in a Jumbled World

Looking back at my calendar, it looks like the big remodel began on July 10th with the delivery of the new doors.  Today, September 18th, we stand about 75% complete by my best guess.

So far completed:
Exterior doors installed (front door, back door, two patio doors)
Gutters replaced all around
Decks repaired and stained
New porch lights and garage security light installed
New granite counter tops installed in the kitchen and utility room
New tile surround installed in the upstairs bath
New vanity top, sink, shower head and tub faucets installed in the upstairs bath
New light and exhaust fan installed in the upstairs bath
New ceiling fans installed in the guest room and hobby room
New upstairs hall light and stairwell sconce installed
New chandelier installed in formal dining room
Utility room, kitchen, office, formal dining room, living room, hall, stairwell, guest room, hobby room and upstairs bath repainted
Doors and trim painted

In progress:
Powder room wallpaper removed, vanity top and sink removed, door removed and pocket door framing completed
Master bath completely gutted, plumbing moved to new locations, pocket door framing completed, fiberglass shower base installed
Kitchen backsplash tile installed (waiting on grout to be complete)
Order placed for new window blinds

Still to come:
Master bath to be rebuilt, installation of shower, new toilet and sink, new tile floor and shower surround to be installed, new lighting, new exhaust fan, new counter top for vanity in dressing area
New ceiling fans in bedroom, office and living area
New hall lights, utility room light, kitchen dining area light
Removal of wallpaper and painting of master bedroom suite
Installation of new bathroom mirrors and hardware  (still desperately seeking one mirror)
Restaining of kitchen counters, stair railings, mantle and bathroom vanities

And, one of these days when my nerves and checkbook are somewhat recovered, I'll tackle new flooring in the master bedroom and living room.

Is it any wonder that I say I am hanging by a raw nerve at this point?  Boxes are still piled behind the couch and in the office (someday to be unpacked), all the furniture in the master bedroom is pulled to the center of the room to facilitate the materials to be carted in and out, the clothes I find necessary to have at hand are piled around the guest bedroom (because the closet is full of stuff that had to be moved out of the way for the painters), new lights and mirrors and bathroom hardware still to be installed are piled here and there and there is an inch thick layer of dust on everything.  I've tried a bit of cleaning here and there, but the dust is back before I can turn around good, so what's the point?

Then there are the animals.  I've moved the cat litter boxes almost daily, depending on where I can secure the cats out of the way for the day's work.  The dogs are happy as long as they can be with me (although the morning of jack-hammering had them thinking about packing their Milk Bones and heading for Uncle David's & Aunt Karen's house).  The cats are being extraordinarily good about the disruption.  I think they may even be enjoying the whole thing.  Every evening when I let them out of their daily incarceration, they roam the house sniffing and checking for what may have changed.  It took about a week before they all gave up and accepted the temporary move to the guest room, but now they all head upstairs about 9 o'clock, miaowing and barking for me to "come on".

The good news:
Everything that has been accomplished looks great and I can begin to see a teeny, tiny light at the end of the tunnel.
I should be on Lowe's Christmas card list this year.
I've learned how to make quick decisions and live with them (discard all the choices you absolutely hate and then choose from the 2 or 3 left).

The bad news:
There really isn't any, except I'm really, really tired.  But in a good way.

Really strange that I've lived in the house for 10 years and it's only now that it is beginning to feel like MY house.

LSW

Reality Check

About 20 years ago, Mother embarked on a total remodel of the kitchen at the house on Walnut Street.  I can remember weeks of walking around the stacked boxes of pots, pans and cooking utensils in the dining room as the kitchen was torn out and rebuilt.  At the same time, the floor in the master bath was threatening to give way, so the second big project was to take the bathroom down to the studs and rebuild it.

Deja vu.

At least I had a fair idea what I was getting myself into when I decided that the time had come to get some needed repairs and updates done.  I did not panic when the exterior doors were replaced and several hours went by when there were gaping holes in the house.  I did not obsess over how long it was going to take to get the pile of old doors removed from the side yard.

I just gulped once when I saw the open wall in the upstairs bath that had to wait for the plumber to install new fittings before the new wall and tile could be installed.  I just shut the door to keep the cats from doing any additional destruction.  (I could picture shredded insulation blanketing the room.)

I cringed a few times as I listened to the old kitchen counter tops being ripped off.  I knew they knew what they were doing, but it sounded like the cabinets under the counter tops were splintering into a million pieces.

But, on the whole, having troops of strange men wandering in and out of the house wielding crowbars, hammers, saws and nail guns has not really bothered me that much.  I kept wondering why I was tolerating this interruption in my environment with relative unconcern.  Even the pets have been taking it all in stride, retreating to the safety of the bedroom during the day and inspecting the changes with great interest as soon as the workers depart in the evening.

It occurred to me that not only did it help to have had the previous experience of living through Mother's remodel, but my reactions also have to do with all the stress of the past year relating to the fires.  I realized that for a week I had lived with the very real prospect of going back to a burned out shell of a home and that having a home in any shape is a thing to be thankful for.  Who cares if there are stacks and piles everywhere while I wait for the next stage to be completed?  I have a roof over my head and areas in the house where I can relax and forget about the mess in the next room.  One of these days everything will be done and life will go back to normal.  All is well.

My nerves are in fair shape, but I am suffering a bit of cabin fever.  I refuse to have work done unless I'm home to keep an eye on the furry kids, so I've been rooted to the home front for the greater part of the last month.

Yesterday I decided to make a quick run into Austin to pick up a present for a wedding shower I'm attending in the near future.  With the way things are going, I had no idea if I would get another chance before the event.  I hate malls and I hate Saturday traffic, but I gritted my teeth, left the house bright and early and headed straight for Barton Creek Mall, intending to pick up the gift and make a bee-line back home.

On the way in, I kept thinking of other stops that I should make as long as I was in town:  a stop at the main Half-Price Book store to check for titles in a new series I've recently discovered and a stop by Central Market to pick up some prepared meals to see me through the weekend until the plumber returns on Monday to reconnect my kitchen sink and dishwasher.  (I had great success at both stops, picking up 5 hardbound books in the Mary Russell mystery series and 2 bags of soups, salads and assorted breakfast goodies.)

I was pleasantly surprised to discover I had beat the Saturday crowd to the mall and I had my wedding shower business taken care of quickly.  Feeling good to have that out of the way, I allowed myself to be distracted by a sales girl from one of the mall kiosks as I was making my way back to the exit.  I'm not exactly sure what she was selling, but it had something to do with skin care.  She was pleasant and chatty and I was enjoying watching her maneuver me toward a sales pitch, since I have no problem whatsoever in saying "no".

At one point before I beat a hasty retreat, she asked if she could guess my age.  I said sure.  She asked if she could be honest.  I said sure.  I have no problem with telling anybody my real age, all the time hoping she didn't push me into my 60s.  That would have been a tough pill to swallow.  She studied me carefully and I mentally crossed my fingers.

"Well," she said, "from your nose down I would guess....54."  I breathed a sign of relief that at least she had hit a few years on the younger side.  "And," she continued, "from your nose up...."  I braced myself.  "...58."  I laughed and told her she had hit it exactly.  She looked genuinely surprised, whether at her accuracy or the fact that I was not offended, I'm not sure.  She began to launch into her spiel, I guess with the idea of selling me something that would bring my eyes back to 54 to match my nose and mouth.  I made a quick feint and headed for the car.

So, my reality check for the day was finding out I look exactly my age.  I guess, all things considered, that's not so bad.

LSW

Entry Points

About 2 years ago, I began to notice that my exterior doors were starting to deteriorate.  The worst of the bunch was the patio door in the family room.  It began with small spots of rust that spread to huge spots of rust and finally to chunks of the door crumbling into dust.  I went into denial and attempted to make a temporary repair with Bondo.  That stopped the crumbling, but it was only a Band-aid on a problem that I knew was not going away.  Eventually, the utility room door began to follow suit.  I knew it was only a matter of time before the patio doors in the master bedroom got into the act.

The next problem was the front door.  It was not framed correctly from the beginning and the locks did not work exactly right. Gradually the gap between door and frame began to widen, allowing hordes of mosquitoes to make their way inside, where they hovered under my desk and waited for my bare legs to move into range.  My attempt to add weatherstripping was not successful. (A handy gal I am not.)

Finally I could ignore the problem no longer.  I needed new doors.  I also needed to redo the master bath.  I called on a builder friend to come advise me on repairs and remodeling and braced myself to start spending money.

The door problem was rooted in an insufficient gutter arrangement which allowed water to spill over and splash against the doors even in the lightest of rainfall.  We decided to replace all the gutters and replace all the doors.   Today the new doors were installed as the first step in the overall face lift we are giving to the house this summer. 

Before - the family room patio doors. 

After (painting to come later) - brand, spanking new doors

with embedded blinds.  No more tacky curtains hanging from

magnetic curtain rods.

Before - the master bedroom patio doors.

After - another set of doors with blinds.  I love that I can let
in the light or ensure my privacy with a slight flick of a switch.

Before - the utility room door

After - this new door also has the embedded blinds.

I neglected to get a before photo of the front door, but it was a blah expanse of greyish-beige.  I am enormously pleased with the new door that has a semi-circle of glass at the top to not only add a touch of class, but allow some much needed light to come into my dark entry way.

The new door is tight (take that, skeeters!) and the locks fit into place snugly.  I love this new front door.  I'm going to like it even better when I get it painted - if I can ever decide what color I want it to be.

Out with the old!  The pile of hated doors lies waiting
for pickup and hauling off.

It feels good to get one portion of the remodeling project out of the way.  The cats spent the day shut in the upstairs bedroom and the dogs spent the day huddled up against me and shivering when the saw or the nail gun was used.  I tolerated having huge gaping holes in the house much better than I thought I would.  We are all making periodic turns around the house to admire the new arrivals.  Well, I'm admiring.  The cats are sniffing at the new thresholds and the dogs are just thankful the noise has stopped.


Maybe I'll make it through this remodeling phase after all.  I need to just trust the folks that know what they are doing to get it done, make my job keeping the cats and dogs calm, and enjoy the end results.  I am SO glad those nasty old doors are gone.  Ready to tackle the next thing on the list!


LSW