The past two days, my father and step-mother have been in town helping me tame the chaos that is our apartment. Susan is a genius at hanging pictures - what would take me measuring and re-measuring, second guessing myself, and still having multiple nail holes takes her about five minutes.
Of all the tasks I was most eager to have help/advice about, the bookshelf placement in the small "den" was the number one. I have three bookshelves that have been side by side for the past few years, and on this particular wall, they were literally an eighth of an inch too wide. Bummer. I crammed and cussed and shoved when I was setting them up, but I eventually decided to leave it be and have one bookshelf awkwardly placed on the adjoining wall. I was hoping Susan could arrive at a more elegant solution.
She took one look at the room and said "Take off part of the baseboard."
...
Say what? Take out part of the baseboard? No big deal? Stick it back later with some caulk and paint? None of these things sounded like me; however, the lure of actually being able to (a) store my books together and (b) use the den was strong. So I went to the hardware store for advice.
Before this goes further, I should state for the record that I am not a DIY kind of girl; I am most certainly a "hire someone to do it" kind of girl. Of course, my previous track record of "house repairs" has included such incidents as tree-on-roof and tree-in-closet, which seem like a fairly steep learning curve to the nascent home owner of 2.5 months. Hiring help has seemed like the best route.
It took a bit of time to convince the very nice man at customer service that I did not need (and could not, in fact, operate or store) a $100+ saw, despite the fact that it would, indeed, be the best tool for the job. I was all about second best and cheap.
Exit me, with one small hacksaw and an exacto knife, armed with good intentions.
The premise was simple: cut the baseboard, loosen the pain/caulk, and out it will pop. The reality was not quite so simple: the angle for cutting was not ideal, since the saw would really only move one direction without damaging the floor. It took some serious time and dedication.
But as the project progressed, another small problem emerged. I needed something to pry the piece of baseboard away from the wall enough to both get the saw through the remaining bit and to pop out the chunk. I had thought to use a flathead screw driver, but that proved useful only in denting the wood.
I hunted through Stan's tool kit to no avail - nothing was both thin enough and sturdy enough to give me the leverage I needed. At this point, with a fairly mangled baseboard, a blister, and some serious time committed to this project, I refused to give up. Finally I turned to the place all good handymen turn when they are in need of a specialized tool: the kitchen.
I'm fairly certain there is a picture of me on the floor, prizing apart the baseboard with great concentration, using my trusty spatula.
I'm so proud of myself, I might even try learning how to drill today!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Down in the Depths
Monday finally brought the remainder of my belongings (hello, stuff.... goodbye, month long move). As thrilled as I was to finally be reunited with my bowls and measuring spoons, I was a bit dismayed to watch the moving van leave at 5:07 p.m. In the excitement of shuffling furniture around to accommodate the missing entertainment center (storage!), I almost forgot that All Those Boxes were also going to remain, sitting exactly where I instructed them to be dumped in my eagerness to finally have two large usable pieces of storage-worthy furniture.
Tuesday was one of those, two steps forward, twenty steps back kind of days. I unpacked and unpacked, organized and reorganized, shuffled, and finally searched in vain for a tiny place I could hide from the chaos. To make matters worse, I realized by the end of Tuesday there was a box missing. A box full of wedding presents, to be exact, which I really didn't want to lose before I even had a chance to use them! Before I called the movers to complain, I had one last possibility...
The Storage Room
This is a dark, scary room in the bottom of my parking garage, which has been "subdivided" by chain link fence into tiny boxes for residents to use. I have not been to our storage unit since I blindly asked movers #1 to put a bunch of boxes down there. In short, I was scared. But needs must, so yesterday I ventured down, taking my iPhone (no reception, music only), scissors, keys, and a resigned attitude.
It was bad.
One would think that movers have a sense of logical packing, since they spend days cramming other people's belongings into trucks. Not the case, apparently. Or at least not the case when they don't actually have to deal with it at all.
Big boxes stacked on top of small boxes. Heavy boxes on top of light. Brass bed frames casually draped over everything. I had a frightening image of a Jenga tower about to topple over, and I was the one stuck on the bottom.
Like every good Jenga player (which I am not, btw. I always make the tower fall) I studied the piles and slowly began to drag the boxes out. It took some time before I found the likely box, but I didn't pause to investigate. At that point I was determined to actually organize the stupid space, since I had been experiencing that mild feeling of guilt that exists when you know you SHOULD do something but have been ignoring its very existence.
What I discovered in the basement:
- the missing box
- two boxes of every day china, now properly stored
- ten - TEN - boxes of books (this is not counting the 12 boxes of books I've already unpacked, some of which were destined for storage but they ran out of room)
- two brass twin beds, now no longer perilously draped over box piles
- two Christmas boxes, which I cheerfully added to
- a mysterious bike peddle
- all my tutoring materials (I wondered where that had gone!)
- a few friendly spiders
I was proud of myself for hauling around the boxes, making nice stacks, and generally being able to lift things of substantial weight. Then I got to the missing box, and it would. not. budge.
I tugged and I pushed and I made some unladylike noises, until I finally set aside my vanity (I can lift big things, darn it all!) and opened the box. (It was why I had brought my scissors down, after all).
Right away, I discovered part of the problem - a bocce ball set (15 lbs) and a marble cutting board (35 lbs). Well no wonder. I removed the offending items, as well as a few other heavyish objects (cutting board with metal handles? surprisingly heavy metal ice bucket?) and hauled the whole mess upstairs.
I'm relieved to report that all the missing wedding gifts have appeared (and WHO packs crystal with marble cutting boards? Apparently people who want to shell out insurance money.) plus all three of my Le Creuset pots. No wonder I couldn't lift the darn box!
I'm also relieved to report that I no longer have to spend any time dreading a morning down in the depths of the parking garage. The storage room has been tamed, and I'm not going back until Christmas!
Tuesday was one of those, two steps forward, twenty steps back kind of days. I unpacked and unpacked, organized and reorganized, shuffled, and finally searched in vain for a tiny place I could hide from the chaos. To make matters worse, I realized by the end of Tuesday there was a box missing. A box full of wedding presents, to be exact, which I really didn't want to lose before I even had a chance to use them! Before I called the movers to complain, I had one last possibility...
The Storage Room
This is a dark, scary room in the bottom of my parking garage, which has been "subdivided" by chain link fence into tiny boxes for residents to use. I have not been to our storage unit since I blindly asked movers #1 to put a bunch of boxes down there. In short, I was scared. But needs must, so yesterday I ventured down, taking my iPhone (no reception, music only), scissors, keys, and a resigned attitude.
It was bad.
One would think that movers have a sense of logical packing, since they spend days cramming other people's belongings into trucks. Not the case, apparently. Or at least not the case when they don't actually have to deal with it at all.
Big boxes stacked on top of small boxes. Heavy boxes on top of light. Brass bed frames casually draped over everything. I had a frightening image of a Jenga tower about to topple over, and I was the one stuck on the bottom.
Like every good Jenga player (which I am not, btw. I always make the tower fall) I studied the piles and slowly began to drag the boxes out. It took some time before I found the likely box, but I didn't pause to investigate. At that point I was determined to actually organize the stupid space, since I had been experiencing that mild feeling of guilt that exists when you know you SHOULD do something but have been ignoring its very existence.
What I discovered in the basement:
- the missing box
- two boxes of every day china, now properly stored
- ten - TEN - boxes of books (this is not counting the 12 boxes of books I've already unpacked, some of which were destined for storage but they ran out of room)
- two brass twin beds, now no longer perilously draped over box piles
- two Christmas boxes, which I cheerfully added to
- a mysterious bike peddle
- all my tutoring materials (I wondered where that had gone!)
- a few friendly spiders
I was proud of myself for hauling around the boxes, making nice stacks, and generally being able to lift things of substantial weight. Then I got to the missing box, and it would. not. budge.
I tugged and I pushed and I made some unladylike noises, until I finally set aside my vanity (I can lift big things, darn it all!) and opened the box. (It was why I had brought my scissors down, after all).
Right away, I discovered part of the problem - a bocce ball set (15 lbs) and a marble cutting board (35 lbs). Well no wonder. I removed the offending items, as well as a few other heavyish objects (cutting board with metal handles? surprisingly heavy metal ice bucket?) and hauled the whole mess upstairs.
I'm relieved to report that all the missing wedding gifts have appeared (and WHO packs crystal with marble cutting boards? Apparently people who want to shell out insurance money.) plus all three of my Le Creuset pots. No wonder I couldn't lift the darn box!
I'm also relieved to report that I no longer have to spend any time dreading a morning down in the depths of the parking garage. The storage room has been tamed, and I'm not going back until Christmas!
Monday, August 1, 2011
Small Things
It's a small thing, going to the grocery store, but I love it.
Today I was perhaps the most annoying customer in the store... I wandered the aisles, learning what goes where and wasting brain power on another futile attempt to understand grocery store organizational logic. I was ridiculously happy to find familiar brands, bemused by the lack of products I consider indispensable, and eager to try new things as I stumbled across them.
I had the satisfaction of pushing an (overly) full cart to the checkout, knowing that my pantry is finally going to be something more than bare. I have a choice about what to cook for dinner, and can even change my mind now that my stock of staples is increasing from nothing to something. Of course, I still have to organize said pantry, but that's for another day.
I ran a multitude of smaller errands without getting lost, which was also a simple joy. All this productivity in the name of procrastination, for I neither tackled any piles, nor did I tackle any reading. Perhaps a homemade dinner will fortify me for a lack of procrastination tomorrow!
Today I was perhaps the most annoying customer in the store... I wandered the aisles, learning what goes where and wasting brain power on another futile attempt to understand grocery store organizational logic. I was ridiculously happy to find familiar brands, bemused by the lack of products I consider indispensable, and eager to try new things as I stumbled across them.
I had the satisfaction of pushing an (overly) full cart to the checkout, knowing that my pantry is finally going to be something more than bare. I have a choice about what to cook for dinner, and can even change my mind now that my stock of staples is increasing from nothing to something. Of course, I still have to organize said pantry, but that's for another day.
I ran a multitude of smaller errands without getting lost, which was also a simple joy. All this productivity in the name of procrastination, for I neither tackled any piles, nor did I tackle any reading. Perhaps a homemade dinner will fortify me for a lack of procrastination tomorrow!
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