Gunk

What's with the gunk in paint? I don't understand how a can of perfectly good paint can develop globs of congealed gunk in it within just a few weeks. It seems no matter how tightly it's sealed, the gunk appears. And it's a mess to remove.

Last time this happened, I purchased a paint strainer. Unfortunately, this hairnet-looking-contraption was good for only one use--and a messy use at that! So when I popped open the can today to slap a coat of paint on the desktop, I was at a loss on how to strain the goo without driving back to the hardware store and getting yet another hairnet-looking-thing. (I hate to keep buying such things that end up being disposable junk. My sister would have a field day with that.)

So, instead of doing the SMART thing, I tried to devise any way but the right way to strain the paint. I looked for a wire strainer in the kitchen. No luck--oh yeah, I remember that I ruined the kitchen strainer last time before I bought the hairnet thing. Next, I thought a piece of landscape fabric might work. I had a roll in the storage room, so I cut a piece large enough to fit over the can top. I figured if water can go through the fabric, so should paint. But I soon found out that was not the case. I got nothing but black fuzz.

My final attempt was to pierce holes with a hammer and nail in the metal top of the paint can, thus making my own sieve. After about 20 holes, I gave it a whirl. Almost immediately, the thick, oil-based paint clogged up the tiny holes. So I tried again, using a larger nail and grinding the holes as large as I could. This time, a bit more paint seemed to drip out, but it took forever to get enough to use. And alas, when I did roll it out on the desktop, there was STILL flecks of gunk in it!

Oh well, at least I can sand off the worst of it and use this side as the desktop bottom. I'm now at the end of the can of paint anyway, and I'll be buying a fresh gallon before I start painting the topside. It seems like there's always some kind of obstacle in my way when I'm doing the simplest project! You'd think rolling paint on a flat piece of wood would be easy.

On the bright side, Sherwin-Williams has the paint on sale this week :-)
Maybe I'll pick up a new strainer while I'm there.

Heavy Breathing

A recent national survey rated the top pet peeves of do-it-yourselfers. Here are the top three:

1. breathing in fumes or particles
2. getting chemicals or paint on the skin
3. getting clothes stained or dirty
4. having greasy or slippery hands

The survey was conducted by Kimberly Clark, which apparently has a professional protective apparel line.

I don't know about other DIYs, but I often don't wear the protective gear that I know I should. One reason is that I forget til I'm in the middle of the activity. But more often than not, it's because the thing that's supposed to protect me ends up preventing me from doing the job safely. For instance, safety goggles over my glasses may protect my eyes, but then I have trouble seeing. Since I'm at "that age" and often have to remove my glasses to do close work, it means removing two pairs of glasses, then putting the goggles back on. And I still can't see clearly!

When it comes to dust masks, maybe I just haven't found the right one. They're hot, they make my glasses fog up, and they seem to offer relatively little protection. But I know I'm making a mistake when I don't wear one. Sometimes, I try to protect myself by pulling the front of my shirt over my nose while the sander's going. But it inevitably keeps falling down, making me remove one hand from the sander--not a safe thing to do.

This is definitely something I need to investigate further. After all, I'm such a safety nut that I won't leave the house with the dryer or dishwasher running for fear of electrical fires. I refuse to let my kids ride their bikes without a helmet or swim without adult supervision (not my supervision; I'm a terrible swimmer). I go back up the stairs at least twice every morning to be absolutely sure that I unplugged the curling iron (even though it has an automatic shutoff). I always have my keys in my hand when I leave a store and head for the car. And I cringe every time I think of my 45-year-old husband climbing on his new 450-cc dirtbike. So I'm being rather hypocritical when I fail to take proper safety precautions in my own "workshop."

My workshop--I like the sound of that. Someday, maybe that dream will come true! In the meantime, I'd better make sure I'm alive to enjoy it when the time comes. Happy sanding.

National Hardware Show

Pooh--I just typed in this entire entry then lost it when I accidentally opened a new link. My recreation won't be nearly as good.

The National Hardware Show was just held in Vegas. I didn't even know there was one. Apparently, it's been going on for 60 years. Better late than never.

One of the new tools I saw that got an editor's choice award from Popular Mechanics was an automatic nailer that can be found at www.arrowfasteners.com.
It's the ET-200 Nail Master, with 14 amps of power and cushioned grip. Retail cost is only $59.95, which sounds reasonable. According to the website, it's a newer version of an older nail gun model. I wonder how heavy it is, though. I didn't see a weight mentioned on the distributor's site.

There's also a rotating electrical outlet that lets you plug in those huge plugs without each one bumping into the other. That's a pet peeve of mine.

Lynda Lyday was also at the show. She's a nationally-known do-it-yourselfer whose coming out with her own line of tools. It was supposed to be a spring debut, but I've yet to locate anything online about them other than they're supposed to come out in spring 2005. I guess they missed that mark.

A Father's Day Tribute

iet
Originally uploaded by Tif13.

It's ironic that I'm so obsessed with being handy, because my father was certainly not. He sometimes took a whole week of vacation to complete repairs around the house. I recall him spending one vacation re-stringing the Venetian blinds. What fun!

Our toolbox was a kitchen drawer that held a hammer, two sizes of small nails, one slotted and one Phillips screwdriver, a rusty wrench, and a pair of pliers. That's about it. One reason we had so little hardware was the fact that neither my father nor my mother knew how to use anything else.

My father was a wonderful man who possessed many talents, but handiness was not one of them. He had a mind that was more learned than any Ph.D. I've ever met, but he had no idea how to build a bookshelf or repair a broken window.

Yet, my dad taught me that I could be anything I wanted and learn anything I had a mind to learn. I like to think that he would be proud of my efforts now, seeing what I have built and the skills I have developed.

One of my favorite projects I ever undertook was refinishing and restoring the heavy walnut desk that belonged to my father. Over the years, time took its toll on the piece, which had become scratched and faded by the time I inherited it. I enjoyed every moment that I spent working on that restoration. I remembered him sitting at the desk paying bills, writing in his calendar, and planning the music for church on Sunday. I recalled playing hide and seek with my sister, huddling in the cubbyhole beneath the massive desktop, hoping she wouldn't see me behind the desk chair's legs. It gave me great pleasure to bring that beautiful wood back to life, and it still pleases me to see it every day in my bedroom.

Daddy, thank you for teaching me to be an independent, strong woman! I love you.

Madison Avenue Market Peeve

I needed to buy a 3/4-inch, straight router bit today, so I checked the shelves at the local Sears. That's where I bought my original set of four bits when I first bought the machine. I have been pleased with them, so I figured Sears would be the place to get the next one. (It also was my last hope, locally, anyway. Neither Lowe's nor Home Depot had the size I needed.)

Sears had what I needed, all right, but only in a seven piece set! I had most of the other bits in the set, so it made no sense whatsoever for me to buy the package. It was frustrating to have to choose between no bit and a bunch of duplicates. Considering the price differential, of course, I opted for no bit.

It also frustrated me that the bits were so packaged and hung that they were out of reach of my short arms. I couldn't even read the labels without assistance. Perhaps that's the store's way of deterring shoplifters, but if I can't even see what's on the shelf, I'm not buying. Sears isn't unique in that respect. Lowe's and Home Depot put their bits up high like that as well. The result is you have to hunt down a salesperson who rarely knows as much as you do. You'd think those bits cost $100 the way they keep them under lock and key most places.

This is the kind of misguided marketing that drives consumers to the internet, resulting in lost sales tax revenue for towns and lost income for brick and mortar stores. Locally, I had to drive to three stores--one of which was several miles away--and still got no satisfaction. Yet I can buy the bit I need online and probably get it with little or no shipping cost. I won't have to ask anyone for help or listen to some male store clerk talk down to me as if I don't know what I'm doing.

When will retailers understand that they have to change the way they market if they hope to compete against online merchants? Both internet and local retailers have a place and a purpose, but they have to tailor their services to meet the needs of their customer bases and each fill a niche that the other can't. Brick and mortar stores offer immediacy and personal assistance. If they are adequately stocked, have knowledgeable personnel, and are easy to navigate and reach, they will get my business when I need something quickly or need expert guidance. Online merchants offer the ability to stock a wider variety of merchandise, often more cheaply and sans sales tax, and the convenience of shopping 24-hours a day from the comfort of your home with front door drop-off shipping. Each has its advantages, but from my current vantage point, the local retailer is losing the battle for customers by ignoring its strengths--and the rapidly growing competition.

Sacred Space

My next venture must be to learn how to build a security system . . . my mother's house was burglarized today while she was at a funeral, no less. It's a sad commentary on our society when someone steals from a kind, gentle 82-year-old woman who lives frugally in the tiny home she has owned for 50 years. It's an even sadder commentary when you realize that the burglar will probably never be caught.

My sister talks about the importance of living simply. That, my mother has always done--not just simply but also generously, giving what little she has to others. The things that were stolen are replaceable--credit cards, checking information, etc. What's not replaceable is the sense of security. To know someone's been in your house like that is a violation of your sacred space. And in today's world, the ominous threat of identity theft is always in the back of our minds, too.

My mother is strong; she will come through this ok. But I will worry about her every moment.

The Company Responds

I got a quick email response from Lowe's to my correspondence of yesterday. It's not a final response--but it says they're passing it along to the advertising department. The only contact email I could find online was the webmaster, so I sent it there and requested that they forward it to the appropriate party. We'll see what kind of final response, if any, I get.

Lowe's Image Faux-Pas

I was disappointed to see in today's Father's Day ad insert for Lowe's that once again, we are limited to stereotypical images of the sexes. Alongside the dad working in his tool shop is . . .guess who? His son. Not his daughter, not both son and daughter, but the son only. The father is obviously showing his son how to build something.

This is typical hardware store advertising, coming on the heels of the Mother's Day cooking appliance promos. Give me a break! Don't confine females to the kitchen, home decorating, and flower gardening pages of your circulars while you portray the boys and men "toughing it out" on the grill, in the garage, and behind the power tools.

Show some balance here, Lowe's. You don't have to make everything female--just show us that girls and boys have the potential for these types of skills and interests.

Divide and Conquer

Purple coneflower-closeup
Originally uploaded by Tif13.

One of my many hobbies is gardening. Like woodworking, sometimes I have success with it and sometimes not. More often than not, I "get by" with a middling array of vegetables and flowers. Even though I'm not always guaranteed success, I do enjoy it. There's something about working in the dirt, raising your own food (even if it is just a handful of beans), and getting close to nature that nourishes the soul.

This afternoon, I did what I am guilty of far too often with all my hobbies--I got distracted from my goal and ended up worn out with little accomplished. It all started when I went into the garden to water my vegetables. As I walked by the tomato plants, I remembered that I had several more tomato seedlings that needed setting out. Unfortunately, there was no unoccupied spot in the vegetable garden for them to go. So I mentally moved plants around in my head to find a place. Okay, I could move the rosemary to the bed outside the garden fence, freeing up room for at least one tomato plant. But then the tomato would be next to the green beans--a "no-no," according to the vegetable gardening experts I read online. (I guess it's something like having a neighbor who has loud parties. You'd just as soon they never open the door.)

Well, then, I thought, maybe I should plant the tomato seedlings in the "holding bed." Now, the holding bed is just as it sounds. I often put plants there on a temporary basis--keeping them in the ground but always intending to move them to a permanent "home" when it's ready and I have the time. The current occupants of the holding bed are several daylilies and a somewhat ragged azalea. I plan to move the daylilies from the holding bed to another bed in the front yard, but I have to add more soil amendments to that bed first. I haven't had time to do that before today, and I certainly didn't have time to do it now. So, the holding bed was out.

My next thought was to plant the tomato seedlings outside the fence in a vacant bed. This bed started out to be a border to keep the grass out of the vegetable garden. We removed the grass and placed steel edging between the yard and the bed. But although we tried to plant some shrubs there once (also transplanted from a "temporary home" elsewhere), they never survived. Too much water, too much abuse, and an unprepared bed. So, for the last year or so, the bed has been clay dirt topped with pine mulch to minimize the mud.

If I moved the tomato plants there, I rationalized, they would have plenty of room. But it would take lots and lots of compost and soil amendments, and again, I certainly didn't have enough of those on hand or the time to do it today.

Frustrated by my lack of progress, I decided to walk around the yard to search for a more suitable place for the homeless seedlings. As I passed the flower beds at the foot of the deck, I was overcome with shock. My purple coneflowers, which had been a nice, full, and lush spread of plants last season, were truly a life-threatening tumble of massed stems and leaves. The mutant plants had so multiplied in one year that they had already consumed my poor gardenia behind them and were threatening the salvia. Something had to be done. And, of course, it had to be done RIGHT NOW.

Still dressed in my good capris and sandals, I headed for the garage and a shovel. Within minutes, my sandals were covered with dirt as I thrust the tool into ground, stabbing at the roots that bound the plants together. Shovel by shovel, I carried the separated bundles to . . . where? Where could I put them? The only place was--the clay bed. Now, I realized I had to work fast. I pushed the pine mulch back and attacked the hard-packed soil. It was a nightmare. No wonder those shrubs died. As soon as I had dug up one section, I trekked to my compost pile with the shovel. (Why I didn't get the wheelbarrow and fill it up all at once, I don't know. I think in my mind, I was still just moving a couple of tomato seedlings. Why did I need a wheelbarrow?)

About 20 shovels of compost and 1 1/2 hours later, I finally had six purple coneflower plants transplanted. And the tomatoes were still where they were. If my husband hadn't arrived home just then, I'd probably still be out there in the dark, trying to find a place for them--or responding to some other needy plant that grabbed my attention at the moment.

Hopefully, both the vagabond tomato seedlings and the transplanted coneflowers will still be alive tomorrow morning. And when the sun comes up, I will be happy that at least ONE task has been completed--that is, until I look at the huge hole in the old coneflower bed that now must be filled. Shovel, anyone?

Somewhere . . .

rainbow3
Originally uploaded by Tif13.

As Tropical storm Arlene moved onto the U.S. Gulf Coast, it brought this beautiful rainbow to Tennessee.

Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly . . .

How poetic--Amelia's birdhouse was built for bluebirds!

Chip off the ol' block?

Amelia birdhouse 05
Originally uploaded by Tif13.

It's always nice when your children show an interest in something you're doing. There's a sense of parental pride in teaching them a skill or sharing an interest in a hobby that you've enjoyed.

I remember my father sitting alongside me when I was young as he patiently taught me about philately--the fancy word for stamp collecting. He had collected stamps for years and had amassed quite a nice assortment. Though he rarely had free time to engage in the hobby as an adult, he relished those rare occasions when he could rustle through the boxes of unfiled stamps, searching for just the right one to complete a page in his stamp book.

He was successful, for a while, at piquing my interest. He bought me my own U.S. stamp book and gave me a nice pile of stamps to sort and file. But by the time I had filled about half of the book, I lost interest in the hobby. I was a teenager and had much more important things to do.

I wonder today if my waning interest disappointed him. I certainly didn't mean to. What I enjoyed most about the experience, I think, was not the stamp collecting but the special time spent with him. My sister cared nothing about the hobby nor did my mother. It was something only he and I shared. Still, as my interests expanded, sitting at a table hunting through a box of stamps just didn't have a hold on me anymore--even if it was with my father.

I say all this because I experienced something similar this week when my 10-year-old got her first experience at carpentry. Although I wasn't the one who taught her, I still got a bit of a thrill when she came home from middle school camp on Tuesday and excitedly told me that each student was going to build a wooden bird house. That would never have happened when I was in school. We girls were resigned to taking home economics while only the boys got to take "shop." I always wanted to be in shop. My mother had already taught us how to sew and cook, so home ec wasn't appealing to me at all.

So when I found out that Amelia was going to build something, I was just as excited as she was. I quizzed her all about the project. What kind of wood are you using? Are you going to cut it or will it already be cut? Do you get to nail it? Will it be painted? How big will it be? Of course, she knew none of the answers, but it didn't stem either her interest or mine.

I secretly hoped that some of my laborious woodworking in the garage had paid off--that somewhere in her subconscious she had noticed what I was doing and wanted to learn more. That was my silent hope, anyway, even though I don't think it was reality.

On Thursday, she came home with scratches on her knee and proudly announced that the teacher had noticed blood running down her leg that morning, unbeknownst to her. The wound, she proclaimed, must have occurred while she was working on her birdhouse. But she was so engrossed in the task that she didn't even notice when the rough wood apparently scraped against her knee. I know the feeling.

The birdhouse came home today with Amelia, and she was so proud. So was her mother. Amelia showed me how the door opened and closed, and she said that she was going to paint the words, "Home Tweet Home" on it when she got home.

I don't know if any birds will ever live in it, but I know that it already holds something more valuable: a mother's dream that her daughters will grow up with opportunities that she never had. I want my girls to have opportunities to try new things, to fail and try again, to succeed and feel the flush of accomplishment that comes from hard work well done. I want my girls to be strong, skilled, and independent. And maybe I even want them to follow in their mother's footsteps, if only a little bit. Just without so much blood.

Right desk 6-4-05

Left desk cabinets 6-4-05

Mission, accomplished

Although my body feels like I did much more today than I really did, I am happy to say that I met my goal of installing the left desk cabinets today. Here's the picture of the installed cabinets on the left, plus the "finished" desk on the right--lacking trim and messy as heck, but as finished as it's going to be til the left side is done!

The baseboard turned out to be a bigger pain than it was on the other side, but I pried it off at last. Of course, there never are any studs to be found where you need them. And neither of the stud finders I have works accurately. Too bad. I guess I need one of those laser ones. In the meantime, I just tried hit and miss. At least the cabinets are now attached to the walls, level (yeah!), and secure.

The next step is making the desktop, which I may purchase tomorrow--or not. I don't want to exhaust myself this weekend! I already spent the morning working in the garden, which is a chore in this humid, hot summer. (My hubby got me a truckload of gravel for the garden paths--desperately needed and long desired!) I don't want to wait too long to finish the desktop, though. It's hard to use the desk without one! I also need to buy new hinges to match the other desk before I attach the cabinet doors. Maybe I'll do the hinges tomorrow and the desktop next weekend.

My new project (ha!) is to figure out how to wire a phone jack in my youngest daughter's bedroom. I've never done it before, but the instructions online seem pretty straightforward. The problem is, the closest phone jack I can tap into is on the opposite side of the adjoining room. If I do that, I'll have a LONG run of cable against the baseboard, which I don't want. And I don't know if I can run it through the attic, over, and back down into her wall. I may try it, but I might need to get some help on that one.

I'm sure every newly built home today has a phone jack in every room, including the bathroom. Even though people are going to cell phones in vast numbers, you still need those jacks for certain things. In our case, the daughter is pining for a pink, fuzzy phone for her birthday. It's cute, I'll admit, but nothing I'd want. And, of course, it's a corded phone. I suggested getting one of those phones with multiple handsets to avoid the jack problem, but she doesn't want one. In fact, when I mentioned it, she said she thought she'd rather save up her money to have the phone company come out and put in a jack.

She's sharp, that girl. Always saving up her money for something she really wants. Right now, she's got more than $300 saved up toward a laptop computer. She's been saving birthday and Christmas money, plus part of her allowance, for about a year. She'll get that laptop, I'm sure of it.

When I was young, my sister and I saved up for a long time to get a used bike that we SHARED. It cost about $27. Times surely have changed!

Memorial Day 2005

Good advice

Here it is, a week since my last posting. Time has a way of getting away from you.

I made an effort this weekend to finish the sanding and painting (accomplished!) but also to spend some relaxing time with my family. My daughters had friends over to spend the night, and the family took a Memorial Day afternoon drive to a nearby Civil War battlefield site. It was good to kick back and not feel rushed, for a change.

The fact that I usually feel so compelled to always be "doing" something is perplexing to me. On the one hand, I crave time to relax and do "fun" things. Yet, I feel that pressure to complete my "to do" list at the same time. If I don't accomplish much on my list, my relaxation time is filled with worry, self-recrimination, and frustration. In short--I don't relax! And I certainly don't enjoy it.

There's something to be said for balance. A friend sent me one of those email "thoughts of the day" last week that hit home--it said, "If God didn't finish everything in one day, what makes me think I can?"

So, I will be satisfied that I have completed the cabinet painting and plan to get them installed next weekend. That's it. Nothing more this week. If I can just find satisfaction in the small goals achieved, I will be a much happier person.