Bathroom considerations

You haven't seen much of this room, and there's a reason for it.

It is bad.

Real bad.

But all that is changing. It needs new everything: tub, hardware, sink, toilet, tile, lights, plus concealed storage and shelves that aren't slabs of MDF rested atop rusty L-brackets. 

So here's what I'm thinking, in a few shots:

Colors/balance-wise, something like this above. Dark stone (or stone-look) tile floors, subway tile walls in white. I'm dreaming of finding a perfect antique dresser or sideboard in a dark finish that I could repurpose as a vanity, possibly with a vessel sink. Someday soon I will be undertaking a road trip through all my favorite local antiques stores to search for such a piece. 

I'm not sure what color I'll end up going with above the subway tile-- I really like the contrast here, but don't want to make anything too dark. Fortunately, paint will be one of the last, and cheapest, steps, so I can wait to decide.

Since I'm pretty adamantly anti-Venetian blind, I'm planning on frosting the window (as long as Patrick doesn't have any objections to that) and DIYing a faux-roman shade like this one. Lately I've been really into Marimekko-ish minimalistic fabrics, so we'll see what I end up with.

Other than all this stuff, we're going to bump out the wall behind the toilet to conceal the ugliness behind it, and maybe do recessed shelves there. 

Over the weekend we'll be "moving out" of our upstairs bathroom and into our downstairs one (which fortunately also has a shower!) and making a big-time shopping trip for new fixtures, etc. It's going to be a long process, but one we'll be enjoying a long time.

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Too stool for school.

Bare with me here. I admit, this is no feast for the eyes. But she's very old, and she was free, and she has been sitting in our back bedroom gathering great dust since we moved in. Since the very weekend we moved in, to be exact. 

And furthermore, now she looks like this.

This is officially my first project of the new year. I mean, This is officially my first project of the new year! A good way to start in on my winter to-do list, which hangs on my desk right here. Reupholster tufted chair, paint blanket chest, paint clearstory (that awkward space above the stairs that probably hasn't been painted since 1962), tile inside fireplace, copper leaf coffee table... yeah, I've got a good long list. 

The project ended up being free, and damn, I love it when that happens. I kept the weird straw cushion (whatever), and covered over it with a layer of cotton batting. The fabric and braid I had in The Stash-- it was truly one of those times when it rocks to be borderline-hoarder. I even reused the damn tacks I'd pried out. Hey, c'mon, it was snowing out and all our tools live in the garage and I was rocking pajama pants and fuzzy slippers. You'd reuse the tacks, too. You would.

I'm not sure where its permanent home will be. The fabric looks terrific next to our dining room walls, but doesn't match the yellow accents going on in the rest of the room. For now, it serves.

Anyway, one might think that a list of fiddly painting and finishing projects might be enough to round out a winter that will also include plenty of sewing and seed-dreaming and writing. But we're planning on tackling our upstairs bathroom this winter, too, which will be major. We have Patrick's dad on board to help us through it (new floor, new tub, tile, new toilet, built-in shelving, new sink, new lighting...) thank goodness, but it will still be messy, and chaotic, and an adventure. I need to round up some inspiration photos for you all, then I'll post about what we've got in mind. It was one of the worst rooms in the house when we bought it, just cheap and ugly, and it's nice to know that soon it'll be fresh and bright and purty. 

Snowlight.

If you are the sort to believe in Snow Gods, you would feel that absolutely every one is listening to kids' and skiers' wishes for more. We got eight or nine inches on the 26th, and then this past Saturday it snowed all day. Most thrillingly, the forecasted inches kept creeping up as the day progressed-- from 2-4, to 3-5, to 5-7.

Patrick and I made a valiant attempt to get to the state park, but failed in a haze of smoking tires and slush-skid. We came home. We put on our snowshoes anyway, and headed out into our great expanse of unofficial backyard-- a universe of farm fields, fencerows, swamp, and a pretty knoll crowned by white pines.

We've been out there a few times, though it seems there's always more to explore than last time.

I brought my camera, of course, and was so thrilled to be able to take pictures of falling snow. So many years I've wanted to do that.

We found a tree-squashed Kharmann Ghia, of all things, down in a swale where Patrick busied himself for several minutes where I fiddled with my zoom.

Eventually, cold toes compelled us towards home. I couldn't resist taking a picture of the greenhouse under its mantle of white before we went inside to dry off and drink hot liquids.

I love winter.

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New camera

WOW. Patrick knew I wanted a new camera for Christmas, and I'm not exactly a subtle hinter. My old Canon Powershot from 2008 was hanging in there, but showing more black than silver through on its housing, and suffering some weird image disintegration issues. What I wanted, what I thought it was practical to want, was a new Powershot. A sturdy workhorse replacement, no bells and whistles but perfectly serviceable.

What I got is a Nikon D3200, SLR. What the pros use. I am thrilled and seriously intimidated at the same time.

I haven't taken it out of automatic (point & shoot) mode yet, and I've been walking around taking pictures of random things. The hexagons I'm working on by the fire, for example.

And the little village church. When I posted about my snow village, weeks ago, the pictures were so godawful I almost didn't post them-- but what could I do? With the flash on things would've looked worse, any sort of artificial light made everything look fake, and the subtle daylight that room gets would just wash things out. Now I can do it justice.

This is our front door screen, festooned with snowflakes the night after Christmas.

The scene outside, that night.

Our neighbors' house in the blizzard.

Breakfast.

And dinner too. 

I still need to properly figure out how to use the thing, but for now I'm just loving the thrill of making gorgeous photos again. That depth-of-field business-- the way everything in the background becomes a dreamy blur-- is especially exciting. 

I am thirty. I have a new camera and a bunch of other fun new things (wheelbarrow! shiny Anthropologie knobs! amber earrings! floor jack!) and a whole white, white, white winter to look forward to. Right now I am feeling acutely stitchy, and plan to spend the whole day doing just that. With breaks to eat leftover stuffing for lunch, of course. 

I hope your holidays were peaceful and lovely! And btw, whatever comment issue was tripping things up last week has been fixed. :)

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On thirty

I'm turning thirty on Sunday. I don't feel ready. I've been trying all month psych myself up for it, to remind myself of everything my twenties stand for-- good and especially bad-- and how glad I should be to move forward, how much I have to look forward to. 

And though I'm trying, it still feels like a tremendous hoodwink. Like, wait, WHAT? My twenties are ending? Usually on the eve (or pre-eve) of my birthday, I sigh and look around in a satisfied fashion, ready to embrace the responsibility of being whatever new age I'm about to turn. Not this time. There is such a tremendous divide between being a twentysomething and being thirty. The divide between footloose and fancy free, and, well, motherhood. I want both at the same time, in equal measures.

Partly, leaving my twenties is a grand relief. It's like I'm being granted permission to never think about ex-boyfriends again: that chapter has been written in ink, and now we get to turn the page. I feel that way about a lot of my twenties, actually: ridiculous crushes, bad living situations, rocky periods in friendships that have since ended or recovered. I feel jelled, now. I have worked hard, I've made bad decisions, but all that is behind me. It's snowing like crazy outside; the lawn is turning from green-brown to white, a blank slate to cover everything that came before.

But on the other hand... on the other hand I am digging in my heels. I adventured in my twenties. It's more than most people get to do, I would say, especially people with such a strong proclivity towards home as I have. I ate haggis and got drunk on New Years Eve, in Scotland, in 2001. I woke up to mourning doves outside my window in Puerto Rico, spring break, 2003. And I spent almost a whole month in Greece with Alexis, exploring desolate ruins and beachcombing and learning to drink ouzo with a straight face. I made up my mind that I wanted to marry Patrick on the plane home. 

That was a good chapter-- the adventuring. I'm not so keen on closing that book, but I'm not sure there are blank pages left to write in. I don't know. Thirty, you know? Isn't this the time when I stay home and tend my garden and my house and... shouldn't there be babies somewhere?

I don't always feel as restless as I sound. Actually, just now, standing and watching this glorious snow, I was chest-burstingly HAPPY-- this snow, this house, this beautiful town, Christmastime! I thought I was going to spend years searching for this sort of stability-- this kind of marriage, this kind of house, this kind of community. My "pre-baby" bucket list used to be a mile long. Now it's pretty short: redo a bathroom, redo a kitchen, sell our old house in Binghamton. It still feels like a mile. It feels too close and too far away at the same time.


Patrick and I are watching Ken Burns' The Civil War on Netflix right now. I have parts of it memorized, from childhood rainy afternoons when my dad would suggest, "Let's watch Gettysburg!" We'd recorded the entire series off PBS. Anyway. There was a general, forget which one, who found himself surrounded by enemy troops and told his men to charge both ways. I think that's what I need. I can't exactly charge forward into motherhood, (it takes two to tango, plus nine months!) so I'll charge the other way first. An adventure. Two round-trip tickets to New Mexico, maybe. Or Costa Rica.

That might be the best thing about having a big birthday-- you get to put your foot down, if that is your style, and do something a little bit grand.

Getting old is not the problem. Vanity is not the problem. Those "What I'm Wearing" posts tell a pretty story, but the truth is, on summer days I work outside in paint-splattered Adidas shorts and a shirt emblazoned with Have a Pheasant Plucking Day. On winter days I work inside in a pair of completely threadbare and equally paint-splattered corduroys, and my old Ithaca College sweatshirt. Twice a week I get to thumb through my "pretty clothes" and wear shoes whose primary purpose is form not function, and earrings, but other than that I don't really think about my face. I do flex sometimes (especially in June, month of solid biceps), in the mirror, and tell myself damn, but I can still be doing that when I'm sixty. (My mother-in-law is 63, and I envy her guns.)

I know most of you have already passed thirty, so tell me-- how did it go? What did you do? Tell me what made it easier, and don't say babies! I'm going to spend the next 36 hours thinking about New Mexico and Costa Rica, and Julia Child, and how knock-down drag-out amazing my garden is going to be in twenty years, and how babies will be worth it, when they come, but for now it's nice to have quiet in the house.

That's the best I can do on my own; on the actual day-of I know I'll have my sweetie to share a bottle with at a very tony place, and my friends' holiday party to enjoy. Christmas isn't really a bad time to have a birthday. The whole world gets itself gussied up, and snow blankets the yard, and thirty or not you can pretend that it's all for you.

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A revamped lamp and other stories

I've lived with this lamp for almost a year and finally got around to finding a shade that fits, covering said shade, and putting the whole mess together for the final result of a finished (!) lamp in the corner of the dining room. 

The lamp is most definitely 50s, and though I think I'm pretty much alone here-- I love it. Patrick frowns and pictures pink feather trees, mom scowls and remembers some dusty corner of her great-aunt's post war ranch house, but I like it. It's real maple wood and ceramic, and it was a good bargain. 

Over the summer I found a shade for it, I thought, and covered it in something wretched. Actually, I did a wretched job covering the shade in something wretched-- lampshades can be SUCH a difficult project. That was take one. Now I've found a new shade, a better size, and covered it in something I love. I used a different technique to cover it, too. Instead of trying to cut the fabric to fit perfectly on the shade, I glued and cut the fabric as I went around, first securing the fabric around the bottom (larger) rim of the shade with binder clips and Elmer's glue, then working on the top rim the same way, cutting deep slits in the fabric at intervals, so I could pull it taut and get rid of wrinkles. You can see a progress photo in this post. Of course, this means the pattern on the fabric gets altered a little here and there, which I don't mind. With a busier print in a smaller format, it'd be even less noticeable. 

I think this guy looks pretty dapper keeping company with his shiny new Christmas tree friend, an early birthday present from my mother-in-law.

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Hints and whispers

I worked Saturday evening and all through a long gray Sunday afternoon. It was delightful.

This Christmas, I've been able to rekindle my cozy crafty fires, and it feels so good. I haven't shared much of what I've been making, because, well. Surprises are important. But today I can share these things that are in-progress, or for people who don't see my blog. I have to share something. I'm having too much fun with glitter bottles and paper hexagons and paper mache.

And a funny little pinecone lion I've been fiddling with.

And this, in the works.

And a bulletin board I made from leftover tile from our downstairs bathroom. I cut hexagons from adhesive-backed cork tile, put painters tape over them, grouted them in place and peeled the tape off. Worked like the charm. The idea is the tiles can be used for dry-erase messages and the cork tiles can be used to pin notes up. I covered plain brass tacks with colored buttons, and sewed up a pouch to hold markers and an eraser.

Anyway, those are just a few of my favorites this year. What sort of wondrous things are happening in your studio/craft room/kitchen this season?

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