susan hayward photography

Book Case Solved

So it was the week of Thanksgiving and my sister and her family came for a visit. "Hey," I said to my brother-in-law, as casually as I could, "I've got this bookcase dilemma." I went on to tell him all about the double-sided, nine-foot book case I brought home from a library sale. My brother-in-law thought for a moment. Then he said, "Let's go take a look at it." 

We went out to the garage where the beast lay waiting. I explained my plan to slice the thing in half to use as a book case in the house. "But I'm too chicken to do it," I said. My brother in law walked from one end of the case to the other, stepped back, and thought some more. 

"I could cut it for you. It'd be easy. I'd have it done in thirty minutes," he said. And I didn't doubt that he meant it. 

This is the thing about my brother-in-law. He's never laughed at my kooky ideas (well, at least my home improvement ideas). Instead, he helps me with them. Like the time when I was twelve and ripped up the carpet in my bedroom because I preferred the wood floor below. Instead of scolding me, or telling me there was no way I could make it work, he told me how to refinish it. And the floor looked great when I was done. That little experience gave me confidence in my ideas. Let me rephrase that. My brother-in-law's confidence in my ideas gave me confidence in myself. 

But I'm older now. And I've grown kind of wussy. So when my bro-in-law offered to cut the bookcase, I took him up on the offer. It took a little longer than we thought it would, and it was slightly more tricky, but by golly, he did it. And it looks great in the house--just as I had imagined it. It's been hard, but I've managed to restrain myself from telling my skeptical husband, "I told you so!" 

Thanks to my brother-in-law, we now have our own library. You rock, bro!

 
All hail the mighty brother-in-law!

Done at Last (sort of)

So the bathroom's painted. It was done by last Saturday, but I had to buy accessories to spiffy it up. I still need to add some finishing touches, like pictures of my kids against colorful backgrounds which I will then find circular frames for. (Anyone know where I can find those?)

For now, this is kind of what it looks like. At least, this is the most of it that I could shoot, considering I don't have a wide angle lens. Just use your imagination.

Great Potential

Interesting dinner conversation last night. My husband told me about a co-worker whose husband won't go out of town without her for fear that she'll start a home improvement project. I couldn't help laughing hysterically. "Can you relate?" I asked my husband. He could.

Some years ago, when my husband was out of town for Thanksgiving weekend, the kids and I set to work tearing out a brick mantle that ran across an entire wall. We had a grand time, whacking away at the ugly old brick, ripping out the board that ran across the top of it. We created a wonderful cloud of dust--which landed on just about everything in the house, ourselves included. Our arms grew sore and strong from all the work. The only thing is, we didn't manage to finish it before my husband came home. It was supposed to be a nice surprise, a "hey honey, look what we did for you" kind of thing. Turns out tearing down a wall of brick and replacing the mantle takes longer than a week. In fact, it took me a year. 

So it shouldn't have been a big surprise when I brought home this nine foot, double sided bookcase I picked up at a library surplus sale.

 

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Plus, the price was right. And everyone at the sale was buying them up left and right. Granted, most of those people were from private schools with large libraries, but hey, I have a library in my house, don't I? The way I saw it there were only two problems: it was a little big, and would need to be sawed in half lengthwise, as I didn't have a place for a two-sided bookcase. The library guy stood waiting while I stewed over this possible purchase. He tapped his fingers on the top of the bookcase while a woman stood next to me, staring at the nine foot tall bookcase spanning the wall in front of us. She glanced at the bookcase I had my eye on. That's what made me say the fateful words. "I'll take it," I told the library man. At the checkout counter I almost changed my mind. But I buy things for their potential, not necessarily their present condition. And this bookcase had great potential.

But funny thing. Once I got it home (and that was an adventure in and of itself), I chickened out. With all the other furniture projects I brought home, I could manage to move them myself. But this behemoth is beyond my strength. I've been working out, but let's face it, nine feet is nine feet. Even the library guy nearly had a coronary as he helped me load it into the rental truck. And he was a big guy--twice the size of my husband. 

So now the bookcase sits in my garage, waiting for something to happen. I've tried, I really have. One day I got the saw out, then made the mistake of looking across the expanse of wood before me and just couldn't do it. I considered making the thing into cubbies for my kids, but when my son and I tried to move it, my son gave up. "I can't move this thing," he said, rubbing his shoulder. I couldn't get it down the stairs alone, so back into the garage it went. Tired of parking in the driveway, my husband eventually pushed it to the side of the garage so his car would fit again.

My husband is a patient man. And I am a creative gal, a free spirit if you will. But even I have to admit the bookcase was a mistake. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn't thinking, and that's the problem. But at least I didn't tear down the wall between the kitchen and the front room. At least not yet.  

Grandma Knows Best

This lady is my Grandma. She is exactly fifty years older than me and a hundred times wiser. When I was a kid, my mother told me that my grandmother only did one extra thing each day. So if it was laundry day, she didn't try to, say, paint a bathroom and remodel the kitchen at the same time, something that I myself attempted last week. 

I thought I could handle everything by scheduling my priorities. I took a pass on the laundry and cooking, and focused my attention on the bathroom, stopping every so often to obsess about the repairs and remodeling I wanted to do to the rest of my house. But, as happens whenever I feel sort of on top of things, everything fell apart. It reminds me of a Rubric's cube I bought as a kid. Every time I thought I had solved the puzzle on one side, I turned it to discover that all the other sides were a mess. I resorted to trying to pry off the colored stickers. When that didn't work, I tried to dismantle the whole thing. That's what my life and my house feels like right now. A dismantled disaster.

Things looked great until Friday. While making an extravagant birthday cake for my husband, I nibbled a Lindt dark chocolate bar all morning, then threw down a couple handfuls of bittersweet chocolate chips. By the afternoon, the cake was in the fridge for its requisite overnight chill and I was in bed, incapacitated by nausea. I guess that herbalist I went to a couple years ago was right when she got a vibe that I was allergic to chocolate. "Whatever," I said to myself. "Seems like a bunch of hooey to me." But she should have qualified that large amounts of chocolate would send me reeling. Now I believe her. What's worse, I can't even look at the chocolate cake that I spent two days making. 

So this is my long explanation of why my bathroom is not completely done. Yes, the walls are all one color now (and the ceiling too!). But the tub is full of painting supplies and the floor is still spattered with paint drops. The contents of my kitchen cabinets sit on my counters, waiting for me to decide where to put them. I've got one kid home sick with a cold. There's a weird smell in my house--I'm hoping it's just paint--and the laundry just growled at me. Grandma was right. One thing at a time is more than enough for one person to handle. 

happy birthday

Today is my dude's birthday. He's older than me, but not by much. He's nicer too. And way more funny (or is it funnier?). And he's way taller. I get a neck cramp when I kiss him. But it's worth it. 

Happy Birthday Babe. 

Getting It Done

I have this quote on my wall taken from the novel The Winding Ways Quilt, by Jennifer Chiaverini. 

"Many people who are capable of completing a task lack the will and perseverance to do so." 

I taped this to my office wall to remind myself to finish what I've started. The only problem is that it's been up for so long that I forgot it was there. This means that I have also forgotten to complete a number of projects that I started long ago. 

So last week when my niece came over, she noticed that I still had two yellow rectangles of paint on the bathroom wall. I tested these colors close to two years ago, fully intending on making a decision and painting the room in one weekend. But I never did. 

My niece is a generous girl. "I'll paint it for you," she offered. When I told her that I was going to do it soon, she looked skeptical. That did it. I vowed to finish this project by Saturday if it killed me. Seeing as how it's Friday, I may or may not finish. I am capable, I know that much. I've painted every room in this house twice, and that is a literal fact. But for some reason, I've not painted the bathrooms even once. Seeing as how they're the smallest rooms, I can't figure out why I've never gotten around to it. 

So, dear niece of mine. I'm completing this task this week. Really. I mean it this time! Barring swine flu or cramps, I will paint one bathroom by this weekend. 

You can stop laughing now. 

Check next week for pictures to prove it.    

A Modern House

I've been scouring the city looking for Danish Modern furniture. I think I've been missing my grandpa, who, together with my grandma, put together a spiffy house full of furniture they picked up during their travels. They must have gone to Denmark at some point and decided that's what their signature style would be. What they couldn't bring back, my grandpa made himself. If you put the European-made stuff next to the grandpa-made stuff, you couldn't tell the difference. In fact, I didn't know that Grandpa had made a large portion of their furniture until I was older. (Yes, I kick myself daily for not asking him to show me how to make furniture before he passed away.) 

Fortunately, I have a few pieces Grandpa made, a dresser and a desk that he built for grandma to use in her sewing room. He made the dresser with a middle section just the right size for patterns, and the desk he designed to fit a portable sewing machine. I have had these pieces for a few years now. My oldest uses the desk, but the dresser remains in storage, waiting to be stripped and refinished. I like to pretend that I'm a woodworker, just like my grandpa. Only, I hardly ever get around to actually working with the wood. I just think about it. But I think about Grandpa more. 

This is a picture I took at my grandparent's home. I don't know which of these pieces of furniture Grandpa made. But I wouldn't be surprised if he made them all. 

Sperry Family Photo Session

self portrait

I knew my thighs were getting bigger. This just proves it. 

Autumn Light 2: Maple

Just a picture today. The colors are almost gone!

Autumn Light

The leaves on the tree outside my window turn a brilliant yellow come fall, illuminating my room with a lovely warm light. I couldn't help but clip the last of our roses to take their picture in the glow. The leaves are gone now, taking their light with them. 

 

 

Kitty Scissorhands

I was thinking about my cat the other night, probably because she had just flopped down on my face to settle in for a nap. Then she attempted to give me a cat hug, which always involves lacerations of my neck and hasty rearrangement of my pajamas to cover the spot where she insists on patting her claws.  I have actually considered wearing a turtle neck or a scarf to bed for protection. But my husband tells me that I need to be the Alpha Girl and show her who's boss. "Shove her off the bed," he says.

"Yeah, but then she won't come back," I point out. 

"And your point is?" 

Well, that's just the difference between me, a cat lover, and him, a cat tolerator. I need some cat cuddle time; my husband couldn't care less. But cats are finicky and my cat is no exception. In the summer, my cat won't come near me, and I can't say that I blame her. It's too hot to cozy up to a blazing human when you're wearing a fur coat during a heat wave. But come October, she curls up next to me and purrs all night long. I can't say the same for my husband. 

 

I figure my cat's motives are all good. I refuse to believe that she is trying to puncture my neck when she palpitates my skin. She's just remembering the joy of being a kitten snuggling up to her mother. This is not to say I consider myself her mother, though giving birth to a kitten must be easier than squeezing a human out. And this is not to say I would allow her to nurse, and thank heaven she's never tried. I'm just saying that the cuddle factor is what it's all about with pets, in my opinion. That's why I can never be satisfied with a fish or a snake, or a tarantula. Those things just don't cut it when it comes to showing affection. Sure, you can say a boa constrictor will hug you. But I can assure you it's not out of love. Rather, you look like a tasty snack, especially if you were a little more floppy and smaller--you know, easier to swallow.  

I think that my cat must feel like Edward Scissorhands, the character in that Tim Burton movie about the guy who has scissors for hands instead of, well, hands. It's inconvenient for Edward at first, what with everything he touches ending up in shreds. Likewise, it must be hard for my cat to have claws instead of fingers. I wonder if there are times when she'd like to grip things without punching holes in them. I wonder if she'd like to read a book, but can't because every time she tries to turn the page, it rips. 

You could argue that her claws are retractable, that she can control herself. But I'm not so sure about that. After all, my mind isn't completely in charge of me all the time. Why, just the other day someone left some candy corn on my doorstep and before I knew it, my hand reached out, grabbed a handful, and threw it in my mouth, all without my permission. "How'd that happen?" I asked myself. 

Likewise, my cat has limited control over her claws. I think she must leap to my bed every night, take one look at my naked neck and think, "I just adore my human." That's when she lunges at me, her purr like an idling motorcycle, her paws kneading my chest with fierce determination. Eventually, she tires of this strange kitty ritual and collapses, curling her body around my neck like a fur stole. Within seconds she drifts into kitty nirvana, purring even louder, her paws palpitating my neck, the air, my pajamas. It's like she's drunk. Come to think of it, she could be hopped up on cat nip. But stoned or not, I'll take what I can get.

So, rather than banishing my cat from my bed, I'm shopping for scarves this weekend. I'd like to find one that's fuzzy like cat fur, but solid enough to protect me from kitty scissorhands. I guess I'll never be the Alpha Girl in this pet relationship. But when it comes to cats, is any human in charge?