Good humor makes all things possible.
-Charles Schultz-

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.
-Shakespeare-The Merchant of Venice-

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Never mind, I'll do it myself

That's the story of my life.

I will be the first one to point out that this is not a DIY site.  I do all kinds of things myself of course, but I seldom photograph them.  Why is this?  My daughter's blog is full of her DIY projects, some of which feature one of my hands, and sometimes I take pictures of her talents or outfits.

Well then; no time like the present:  here is a project I recently completed:  sewing new white liners to replace the Christmasy ones on some baskets we bought at Michaels (for 80% off!)  (In Lillian's bathroom, they sport dia de los muertos print.  Maybe she'll post those; they are very snappy.)

This one lives on my toilet tank and holds hair appliances and hairbrushes. 

Peace on Earth, especially in the bathroom.

This is another one with its new liner; it lives on my bathroom counter and holds all the crap I need to be presentable every day.  (Except for makeup.   I probably need a cuter box for that, too.  Hmmm.  Makeup lives over by the big bedroom window because good light [and the magnifying mirror] are non-negotiable.)

DIY alert: I made the ceramic swan when I was little, in the olden days when there was art in school.  You know you are young if you did not have art in school.

An upcoming project is sewing new covers for the eight large (and four small--nothing chosen for those yet) pillows that go on my couch and loveseat. Here is a peek at that fabric--a poor picture but I promise to take before-and-after shots.  I am planning on putting a zipper in each one so I can wash them; which has me a little twitchy even though I have been sewing zippers for decades several years.  I definitely don't want these to look homemade.  I found the fabric on Amazon (you know I love Amazon) for far less than anything at JoAnn, even though buying online is a kind of a pig in a poke.  The chevron is sturdy twill but  the dot print is very soft fabric like sheets, and I worry that it will crease with use.  I guess I'll find out!

DIY blogger fail:  I didn't even iron these or bother to lay them out straight.  Sheesh.

My inspiration is a large art print I bought [with Christmas money] last year at World Market--the pillows currently have dark autumn colors and aren't that bad, but I knew when I [finally after twenty five years] purchased new furniture (on close-out a couple of years ago)  that I would eventually want prettier covers.  My carpet is taupe (think chocolate milk) and really asks for lighter, brighter pillows.  My kids are all colorblind, apparently, because they insist that it's gray.  They also think my walls are beige which is completely false; they are sage green.  They are.

I will work on the photography issue--all I have is my little ATT phone camera.  Lillian can take pictures with her iPhone or camera which she will do if I ask her but it makes me feel like an old pest.  Incidentally, I mostly like not having a camera because it frees me from the guilt of not taking/saving/editing/sharing pictures of everything.  But I will never be any kind of internet DIY blogger without one, so you'll just have to get your fix from YoungHouseLove or Better After.


You know how you start to tidy up a little and next time you look up it's two hours later and your hands are  all chapped from scrubbing? Yeah, I don't either, but for some reason yesterday I went into the kitchen just to empty the dishwasher and instead washed the floor, the counters, the cabinet doors, the microwave and stove top, put away a mess of driftwad that had migrated to the counters, finally tossed the nasty old green wire basket next to the sink and replaced it with a fresh new white one (Dollar Tree!), and put out a new sponge.  And I remembered to empty the dishwasher.

I did not quite manage to clean the refrigerator; maybe next time I'm in heels.

Remember the dancing skeleton from my last post?  I'll wait while you go look.  Isn't she dear?  I printed a bigger image onto heavy paper and I'm going to put her into a great frame and hang her on my wall.  I love that skeleton.  I like to think she's me, underneath it all...

Saturday, January 14, 2012

The old gray mare just ain't what she used to be. Or is she?

Friday night the Jeepster took me to dinner to celebrate the fairly good chance that he will be offered a plum new job.  We went to my favorite local restaurant, Tapas Downtown, and it was pleasantly crowded. While we waited at the bar for a table a casual friend, whom I hadn't seen in the year or so since I quit working, came over to hug me and tell me how terrific I look and how I would definitely find a great job soon because, essentially, I'm too good to be true.

There is nothing like a compliment, or even better a thick layer of compliments, to bolster one's flagging self-confidence.  Especially praise from an attractive, charming and very successful woman; why would I argue with that?

So when the hostess came to fetch us I was feeling buoyant and adorable and naturally she seated us a scant twenty inches from a man with whom I had a serious yearlong relationship, which he terminated because I was, as I recall,  no fun.  Hold the phone, didn't a very reliable source just tell me I was fabulous?

However, this was a celebration of sorts and I have at least a modicum of class, so I kept my mouth closed and my eyes averted while Dr Fun liplocked with his date, seated a mere twelve inches to my right.  I am not making that up.  They were kissing across the table.  They were making the yummy sound.  They probably got sauce on their shirts.  I imagined spilling a diet Pepsi into his lap but my mother raised me better than that.  Also I am cuter than Fun Date. And I would never make out in a restaurant.

I like to believe I know better but I suddenly I felt faded and shabby and acutely not fun.  Of course I need to listen to actual people who prop me up and not the inner voices who chide me for growing out my gray hair; for gaining ten pounds; for failing at my job after eight years of success.  But without a doubt, it's a journey with no clear destination in sight.

Seriously though:  the yummy sound?  I give up.