I have closet envy

Despite the fact that I'm a fairly techie person, I still greatly prefer paper and pen for my to-do lists. My very favorite is the back of an envelope. My purse is full of crumpled, discolored sticky notes that say things like "paint trim!" and "harissa?" They are like tiny time capsules of what I was cooking and what I was working on in the house at that moment in time.

Last winter, when I was so burned out on home repair, my to-do list said only "One Tree Hill" and "cookies." It was glorious.

I recently found one of my to-do lists from that first summer in the house. On that list was "paint front hall closet." I never did get around to that and I figure I should do it before the boy moves in (he actually owns things like raincoats and umbrellas). I painted it a crisp white because it's a dark closet and white would look good, right?

Then I saw what Sara over at Russet Street Reno did with her closet:

HOT DAMN. I went white swan when I should have gone black. And now I sort of want to paint the closet again. How beautiful is that?

Because I'm a sucker . . .

Because I lack sense, I'm painting the bedroom. Again. For curtains that I may or may not even sew at this point.

I'm totally over painting at this point. Except that I sort of really want to paint the hallway--but it would be easy! No furniture to move, a half gallon of paint, and a couple of hours of work. And then I'd really for reals be done with painting. Except for the basement staircase. Then I'd be done. And maybe the entryway. 

I can't stop; send booze.

And in the days of yore they would retire to the parlour and fight.

Remember this painting?

 

It really wanted to be in the newly painted living room. It also wanted a better photograph, but you win some, you lose some.

Please don't anthropomorphize the paintings; they hate that.

I think it looks so much better against the olive green wall.  A while back the boy asked me about picture rail hangers and I wondered why I hadn't thought to use them before. Picture rail hooks hang from your ceiling molding, which means no holes in your plaster for nails or hardware. And they make it a snap to move artwork around. I found House of Antique Hardware online and ordered these sweet little hooks for about $2 apiece.

They arrived this Saturday so Greg and I spent part of the evening fussing with them. He's an engineer so he was doing things like figuring out the hypotenuse and I've been around paint fumes too much so I was doing things like getting super annoyed that he wouldn't just let me hang the thing freestyle, making small adjustments to lengths and placements a thousand times. That wall isn't going to gouge itself, you know.

I am super bad at letting people help me with home improvement, unless it is the brute strength kind of help. It didn't go very well.

But eventually some combination of math and stubbornness prevailed and we got both the huge rooftop painting (two hooks) and my Battlestar Galactica prints (one hook each) hung from the molding.

Again, this is a terrible photo but they look great in person. I'll post better pictures once the living room is finished.

On head injuries and birdhouses

This last Saturday I helped some friends who were laying tile in their family room.  And by "helped" I mean I demanded that they invite me over so I could learn how to do it, incessantly peppering their contractor-father with annoying questions.

 

Guys, aside from not yet seeing the finished project, working on someone else's house is so much fun. You don't have to feed anyone, or clean up afterward, or even be particularly useful.  You can just whack your head on a granite countertop while vacuuming and hope no one notices.

I actually did that. I'm clumsy! Really, really clumsy. I often run into things or accidentally slam my hands into passing objects, but I just keep walking in the hope that no one notices. I forgot I'd even hit my head until later, when I got a really bad headache. I spent most of Sunday in bed while Greg, like a saint, ran to the store to get me saltines and Advil. I think I actually gave myself a bit of a concussion this time (fun fact: you're not supposed to take ibuprofen if you have a concussion!).

I went to work the next day and I was really fatigued and my head really hurt and my coworker was like, "Why are you so dumb? Go home." I took a monster nap and slept a full eight hours that night and the next day I felt like a new woman. I was so well rested! I was in love with the world!

And I wanted birdhouses.

I'm very much like a magpie--I see something shiny and I become totally focused on it. Because of this, I don't let myself buy something on a whim. I have to go home, think about it, and make sure I really want it. And nine times out of ten, something new and shiny pops up to distract me. But I've been thinking about this photo that a friend LeAnn Locher took:

Yanked with permission from Flickr.

It's been in my inspiration file for a while now. If you haven't seen her blog before and want some serious garden inspiration, head over here. How great is that? The idea of putting just one birdhouse in my yard seems so lame now. I think some sort of structure over here would look great.

This corner has been challenging; it has TWO trees that previous owners tried to cut down, only to have them sucker back to life. It's badly in need of evergreen elements. It lacks anything with height, except when I forget to trim the mystery willow (one of the trees they tried to kill) and it grows a bouffant.

Wouldn't it look better with a pine there? Or maybe a wax myrtle, like the rep from the Audubon Society suggested? And ten birdhouses? Putting a bird on it is so over, guys. Put a BIRDHOUSE on it.

How I learned to embrace the early ranch.

On some design blog or another I found mention of a book called "America's Favorite Homes: Mail-order Catalogues as a Guide to Popular Early 20th-century Houses" by Robert Schweitzer. They recommend it for homeowners who don't know the style of their home. Hey, that's me!

My house was advertised as a bungalow but that didn't seem quite right. According to the book, a bungalow (small b) is a generic term for any small home, so I guess my house qualifies. In contrast, a Bungalow (large B) must meet the following criteria:

1. One- to one-and-a-half stories high. Two-story houses should be referred to by their Stickley name: Craftsman.
2. No basement.
3. Roof sweeping over verandas (that's a fancy name for a porch, I believe).
4. Interpenetration of inner and outer spaces (Any guesses to what this is? Keep it clean!).

They quote the architectural academic Marcus Whiffen as saying,

"The true bungalow is a small, single-story house; the attic space may be made usable by a solitary dormer or by windows in the gables, but anything approaching a full second story disqualifies the building for the title of bungalow in the sense that was recognized by the builders and owners of this type of dwelling. The adjective Bungaloid is applicable also to the numerous houses that do their best to look like bungalows while having a second story--houses "built along bungalow lines" as they were called." [Schweitzer, p. 151]

Whiffen sounds like he'd be a hoot at a party.

So my house isn't a bungalow. And it's not even a bungaloid because I don't have two stories. So I flipped, flipped, flipped and ran into this picture.

 

Holy shit, guys, THAT'S MY HOUSE.

The roof lines, the placement of the chimney, the abbreviated front stoop (which they call "clever"), the wraparound windows . . . that's my house! The picture comes from a 1945 Sterling catalog and the style is a postwar or early Ranch. The house pictured above was called "The Marleen" and it was described thusly:

The Marleen Home is charming and modern--both inside as well as outside. At a first glance, it seems impossible to build so beautiful a home for so little money.  But Sterling Engineering skill, plus Sterling efficiency methods have achieved in this modern streamlined house, a distinct triumph of which we are justly proud. Also note the charming front door entrance with the clever seat arrangement. The door is of the flush plank design.  For the exterior side walls 3/4" x 10" wide siding is furnished.

The floor plan is everything that could be desired. It provides for a large pleasant living room with the modern treatment of the windows. A nice size dining room is included as well as a kitchen nicely located. Floor Plan "A" provides for two good sized bedrooms with a connecting hall to the bathroom and each with plenty of closet space as well as a linen closet conveniently placed. Floor Plan "B" is identical to that of Plan "A" except that it provides for a well arranged third bedroom. And note the modern treatment of the windows in the bedrooms.

Truly a home you will always be proud of.

 Nice sized dining room with a kitchen nicely located? Check.

Two good sized bedrooms with a connecting hall to the bathroom and each with plenty of closet space as well as a linen closet conveniently placed? CHECK.

I like how frequently they admonish you to "note the modern treatment of the windows." Upon realizing my house is not, in fact, a bungalow, I felt like I had just found out I was adopted. But then I realized Sterling was right. My house is, indeed, truly a house to be proud of.

Now my house was built in 1938, seven years prior to The Marleen. So clearly Sterling is a bunch of copycatters.

Spring fever!

I've been so starved for action in the garden that I've been running into the backyard when I get home from work and scanning the ground for emerging bulbs.  Since it was only January I was always disappointed.

But!  Yesterday things were happening!

Simple minds = simple pleasures, you guys. February 3rd, I'm gonna kiss you on the mouth.

I'm slowly making progress

The living room is starting to look less like a construction site.

The rug is Sakura from West Elm.  Window coverings as vexing me more than I should let them.  More on that later. 

Do we like?  The white fireplace looks alright, ya?