Stopped by the library this afternoon, and this vanity caught my eye when we passed by a yard sale on the way out. We ended up getting it, along with a matching four drawer bureau. (Not pictured, as it's in the garage awaiting stripping and re-finishing. The vanity will have the same future, but I had immediate need for it inside.)
Underneath that horrible paint, they're nice, solid cherry pieces from the mid-20th century.
No, not that. That strange, shiny, floor-like material underneath the rug.
Gee, I don't know. I've never seen a 'floor' before . . .
. . . and it's not nearly as interesting as my rug.
Ah, well. Emory might not be excited, but I am! The Dread House kitchen - one of the dreadest rooms of all - has a floor, albeit a temporary one.
M is very fiscally responsible and likes to do things on a cash-only basis as much as possible, so the permanent hardwood floors (along with a new heating system that has to be put in at the same time) are still on some distant horizon. And I just couldn't take it anymore: that dark, stained concrete that mocked all attempts to clean it, that rough, snaggy surface that assaulted the eyes as much as it assaulted bare feet, and worst of all, that mysterious black stain that extended four feet across the kitchen floor. So I decided I had to do something that would make it livable for me, a very visual person, until that someday comes. The answer: those oft-decried peel and stick tiles. Yes, I've replaced the black stain on the floor with a black stain on my soul. But the kitchen, at least, is now a bright, pleasant place to be.
(Apologies if the contrast/brightness is off in the pictures. My laptop died and the desktop monitor has serious display issues.)
Well, we haven't posted in a while but not for lack of incidents. Mostly it's because my day job has taken all my time and energy so the only things going on have been the things going wrong.
We've had plumbing that wouldn't drain - even after running the auger through it, and feeding it digestive microbes for a week; the oven went into overdrive, wherein the only way to stop it on it's quest to reach the surface temperature of the sun was cutting the power at the breaker.
I'm in the process of working out what to plant this year, after last year's experiments. The ollas worked well for the small areas they covered, so I'll probably be getting many more of those as I convert the patches of grass to garden.
It's been very cold this winter, so thankfully we got the first phase of the attic insulation in before the cold arrived. We still have about two thirds of the attic to cover, but while the cotton insulation is so much easier to work with than the fiberglass, it's also more expensive, so that's going to have to be done in stages.
Here we have the original insulation, as it extends under the attic "floor" (the boards around the trapdoor), I think it is as old as the house... ... that's actually one of the deeper areas. We're supposed to have R38 in this area - I'm not sure what thin, dirty fiberglass-and-mouse-dropping, insulation counts as, but that's not it.
The insulation arrives... ... there were nine of these blocks, each containing eight pieces. The trapdoor was big enough to carry two up at a time. It took a while to get them all up into the attic. There's some irony in the recycled denim, ecofriendly insulation coming in non-recyclable plastic wraps.
Several hours of lifting later, we have a pile in the attic.
Installing the new insulation wasn't bad. Removing the dirty old stuff first was a lot less fun. Almost to the point where I was seriously considering paying someone else to do it.
Those three little strips were two hours of hot, unpleasant work, in a face mask and long sleeves to keep the fiberglass dust out. Next time I do it while it's grey and cold out - the attic gets warm even in late autumn if there's any sun.
The ongoing saga of our first house, a 1950s brick ranch referred to affectionately (hah) herein as The Dread House. We still battle the ghosts of the PO daily, but we have by now mostly banished The Stench save for those occasions that the concrete gets damp. Someday we will have floors.