Operation Primer!

It was a really good weekend.

I mean, a really good weekend. How could it not be? We closed. We'd been dreaming that particular event since May, and it was so good to finally live it.

The idea of what we're doing, and the desire, has been with us since the start of our relationship. This long, deep, sustaining dream-- a place in the country, land for a garden, just us, making it our own-- that has been something we've looked towards together pretty much since the day we met. And now, we are here. And wow.

We've been dreaming this for so long, and this weekend we finally got to begin living it.

Writing it that way sounds so nice and idyllic. The reality was, the previous renters had a rather obnoxious sense of color, and we were charged with the heady task of priming four orange-green-mustard-yellow rooms.

The crazy colors were only in the upstairs, fortunately. The story is, the upstairs was converted into a separate apartment, (and we're converting it back just as soon as we can!), the tenants adopted a child from Asia and wanted to make it feel welcome, hence the tropical color scheme.

And, I'm sorry, it's really none of my business, but what part of this seemed like a good idea to those people?! They nailed bamboo to the walls. They used army green and pumpkin orange in the same room! They painted windows and doors to simulate bamboo, committing some pretty blatant crimes against the character of this old farmhouse.

It was wonderful to spread snowy white primer over the walls and ceilings, erasing all traces of the colorful Jungle Book exorcism.

We primed four rooms. That's sixteen walls, three ceilings, seven windows, five doors, and twenty-seven yards of baseboard molding.

Applying the first creamy dollop. Inaugurating the long road of house projects, the journey, the process.

This room, incidentally, is my future craft room/office. It gets terrific afternoon sunlight. Especially in November, with the leaves off the trees and the frosty fields slanting away in the distance.

We drove to Morris (eight miles away) for pizza. It's important, you know, to test out local pizzas. This one got points for fresh mushrooms, but the crust was a little on the rubbery side. Not bad, though, for a podunk upstate NY town.

This was our eating-and-relaxing room upstairs, the one that was already painted when we bought the house. Apparently, the same tenants who'd painted the greens and oranges in the other bedrooms had painted a mural in here so offensive the seller had it covered up before we even saw the place. Sheesh.

Then it was back to painting. We spent Saturday evening at the local bar, drinking Butternuts beer and getting to know our neighbors. It's a friendly town.

We slept on an air mattress with three sleeping bags and a space heater for warmth. Sunday morning, back to painting.

We took our first thrilling steps, and made a dent in the work. Heading back to Binghamton Sunday evening, my head was swimming with projects and ideas, already scheming up the next job to tackle. I'm sore everywhere, and there's paint under all ten fingernails, but I can't wait for what's next. It's begun, it's finally finally begun!

A quiet evening

Twas the night before closing, and all through the house...

Kristina sat and savored the tranquility of an un-chaotic, put-together living room. She sat and drank tea and read Bon Appetit and watched the fire. She talked to Pete, curled sublimely on his afghan. And she thought about the encroaching closing. The ready-set-go of all the work and repairs and putting-together that's all still ahead. It's exciting, oh is it ever.

It's also a little like teetering on the brink of unspeakable chaos. Well, it is teetering on the brink of unspeakable chaos, I think.

I'm going to do my best to savor the calm, relaxed moments of the coming months. I'm pretty sure they will be rare.

I can't wait to show you all some progress on the new house. I can't wait to make some progress on the new house! We have been waiting so long! I have some colors picked out in my mind, some idyllic visions of how things will be that are probably a long way off, still.

Someone, tell me a good story of moving-day chaos. A good tale of home improvement gone awry. Soon, I think, I'll have good stories of my own to keep them company.

Halloween, and happy news

This was my costume: vintage dress, vintage apron, high heels and pantyhose. I had a rolling pin, too, but that didn't make it into the picture. I was the Ideal 1950s Housewife.

Truth be told, I think I would've loved being a 1950s housewife. Okay, the whole "oppressed woman" thing would have to go, the whole "be obedient to your husband" thing would have to go, but, you know, the cookie baking could stay.

I did the Happy Housewife thing for a few years, before I started working, and it was quite lovely, really. I was more the Sweatpants Housewife, though, than the Pantyhose Housewife. And that may have made the difference. Thank goodness hardly anyone wears pantyhose anymore, the stuff is vile.

And hey, check out the bathroom taking shape behind me! Look at that nice new (WORKING!) bathtub! Check out the awesome, temporary, jerry-rigged shower curtain rod my father-in-law rigged out of plastic tubing and drywall screws! I love these people.

This week involves: a lot more tiling in the new bathroom, and the hopeful re-installation of some key appliances (TOILET!); the season's first pot of lentil soup; the making of Thanksgiving pie filling (to be frozen); the closing on our Gilbertsville house.

Let me just say that again. It is too impossibly good to say just once. The closing on our Gilbertsville house.

Next Saturday night (post-closing) will involve two very relieved people, one of whom writes this blog, a dog, an air mattress, a space heater, a bucket of paint, and a very nice bottle of wine.

I'll give you all just a minute for that visual to sink in.

This is a week of rallying, of summoning. Calling up and focusing all energies for the long months of banging, scraping, yelling, discovering, enjoying, celebrating, painting, tearing, coughing, creating ahead. We have waited so long.

Bring it on.

Ten things

1. These are berries on the same tree I photographed for my header.

2. They're a really good almanac for the progress of fall.

3. Our bathroom has plumbing again, but no tile yet. That is quickly changing.

4. This is the laziest Halloween in history. I'm planning on wearing a vintage dress (a very vintage dress) and makeup. That is all.

5. Last night for dinner I layered three toasted tortillas with refried beans, salsa, and cheese and let it melt in a frying pan for a few minutes. And it was GOOD. And EASY.

6. I really don't like the bank right now.

7. Absinthe is fast becoming my drink of choice. Auditioning for a spot in Impressionist-era France, perhaps?

8. Last night I drew my future Gilbertsville Garden Complex on a sheet of graph paper. I made sure to include four raised beds, arugula, brick paths in a herringbone pattern, sunchokes, and room for 25 asparagus crowns. It was deeply satisfying.

9. Tonight Patrick is going to make mushroom barley soup for dinner, and I am going to sit on the couch and embroider.

10. I'm really happy with the homemade chai piece I wrote for Grow and Make last week.

Of tile board and floor-leveling cement dust, and the realities of life without a shower.

You've never seen pictures of our upstairs bathroom, and there's a reason. It is the armpit of the house, small, with peeling linoleum and no less than four doors opening into it. But all that (except the doors) is changing.

On Friday, the antique claw-foot tub was ousted. Five layers of flooring were torn up, and floor-leveling cement was poured. Saturday, the window was removed, old sheetrock came down, and more cement was poured. It wasn't so bad, really. Actually, it was pretty nice. I stood in the kitchen, singing along to Gillian Welch, listening to the whine of the saw and the wrenching of old nails. I canned applesauce. I made cauliflower soup. I made a beer run, and ushered the guys downstairs for soup, bread, and more beer. This is the beauty of belonging in a family of DIY-ers. "The guys" are my husband and my sainted father-in-law, and they are a formidable home-improvement duo. I love them.

Overhauling the bathroom is another step closer to Gilbertsville. I can't wait to see it done, in its spic-and-span shiny-tiled splendor. I can't wait to clean it for the first time, post-redo, and have it really be clean. You know? With peeling linoleum involved, it was hard to make it really feel clean.

Sunday, the new tub was carried through the kitchen and set into place. *Tingle.*

Afterward, there was the dusting of hands on knees, the satisfaction of a project strongly begun, and the realization that the rest of Sunday was ours for the taking. For the going. So, we went. We went to Cooperstown, to the Farmers' Museum. We bought a bag of molasses peppermint drops, beers at our favorite downtown bar, and a lavish dinner at Alex and Ika.

It was wonderful.

The reality of the redo is, we have no shower right now. It was a weekend of sink-washed hair and intimacy with washcloths. Showering at my inlaws' house this morning, after three days without, was a religious experience. Who knew I could get passionate about a hot shower?

The journey to self-discovery, and a beautiful new bathroom, continues...

What we're thinking

I love our hikes. We talk about stuff. We take Diesel, or not, and spend time walking around in the woods participating in marriage. And botany.

Lately, this line has been showing up near-daily in our conversations.

Me: You know what I can't wait for?

Patrick: What?

Me: Loading up the truck with paint cans and heading to Gilbertsville.

Patrick: Hmmm.

Me: You know? Aren't you excited too? I just can't wait.

Patrick: Yes, dear.

We're getting closer. I'm not sure if we've set some sort of record here, but closing is taking a long time. We signed the contract in June. We had the inspection in August. Now it's two weeks shy of November, and the bank has just been dragging, dragging, dragging. But. You know? Once we close, it's going to be two-mortgage-payments-per-month until we sell our house in Binghamton. Who in their right mind would be looking forward to two mortgage payments?

Uh, me, I guess.

Soooon. I've been leafing through old Country Living and Country Home, flagging pages. I've been sending Design*Sponge pictures to my "Stuff I Like" folder with a little more urgency. Rooms are taking shape in my mind. All sixteen of them.

My annual post-Christmas seed catalog perusal will take on a life of its own, as I order asparagus crowns, and plot the 50 x 50 expanse where I plan to grow my garden.

I can't wait to start making it my own. That time will come. And me, I know that as wonderful as it will be to start making progress, in some ways this time is better than that time. More abstract. More fantasy. More perfect.

I need to keep reminding myself of that, as we get ever-closer.

It approaches.

An addendum to last week's Preparations: series should've been Preparations: Thanksgiving. I'd been bopping along mindlessly through October, only to realize, with sudden shock, that Frog Pond closes next week and I don't have any idea what to cook for Thanksgiving.

Make that didn't. While Patrick made dinner yesterday evening the cookbooks and magazines came out, along with my meal planning notebook, and I drew up a list.

Dried Currant and Orange Stuffed Squash.

Brussels sprout slaw with mustard-maple dressing.

Scalloped potatoes and fennel.

Brown sugar Pecan Cupcakes.

Are you coming?

What are the favorite dishes in your family's Thanksgiving? Do you stick to a rotation of tried-and-true classics, or change it up every year? At my family's table, it was mostly tried-and-true classics, until I took over. If you want to be eating Brussels sprout slaw at Thanksgiving, hire a foodie to cook the meal.