Sometimes you find something that the rationale part of you recognizes as hideously ugly while the do-it-yourself part of you salivates over the “potential.” Last weekend, I convinced my husband to stop by our Goodwill store. And there she was, in all her wacky 1970s glory:
As I looked at her, my husband snorted “Really?” I tried to walk away. I really did. But I loved that weird little ottoman (I’ve settled on ottoman although an equally compelling argument could be made for pet throne). However, after a few minutes of flipping cushions in search of the tag, we discovered it was missing. No problem, I thought. We’ll just lug it up to the cash register and ask them. Except without a tag, the policy is that they can’t sell it until it has been repriced that night. Sigh.
“But,” I sputtered to my husband on the way out, “what if someone else gets it first?” He reassured me that no one, NO ONE, but me would even consider buying something that ugly. Nonetheless, we were there when the store opened the next day to cart her home.
The price, you ask? $7.99 That’s right, a steal.
Some distressed black paint and new cushions, and she’ll be a beauty. Of course, when I searched for cushions that size, I quickly realized they were <cough> $50 each. Oh well. I’m sure I can make them. I mean, I did make potholders once. How hard could it really be?
While I have a few goodies to share with you all, most of last week was spent in crazy shuttle-the-kiddos around mode. All week, I looked forward to Sunday when I could upload some pictures and write some posts. I even woke up early, rolled over to get out of bed, and found myself on a tilt-a-whirl. And I loathe tilt-a-whirls.
After day two of the world spinning, I finally caved and went into the doctor. Most likely, I have a viral infection of the inner ear. The doctor wrote a prescription for Meclizine (which seems to just make me feel loopy) and told me that the vertigo should be gone in a week. His helpful advice? Try not to move your head too much.
I’m hoping by tomorrow I’ll feel up to posting some pictures. In the meantime, enjoy your nice stable world.
- Almost immediately after lugging our new dining room table in the house, I decided the rest of the kitchen/dining area was now uglier. The floors, hideous. How can I stand them? The cabinets, although white, aren’t creamy. Time to repaint. Don’t even get me started on that ridiculous make-shift pantry, which is clearly unworthy of the table’s beauty and presence.
- I don’t want my children or my husband or even my friends and neighbors to touch it. Ever. Since it is a table on which we will need to eat three meals a day, it makes things a bit awkward. Just this morning, I tried to coax my 7-year-old to eat her cereal on the couch. (After four years of harping about not eating in the living room, she shook her head mutely and looked around wild-eyed for dad.)
- No one else wants to talk about it anymore. Ever. Or gaze lovingly at it – in daylight and then again in candlelight.
The good news is that the whole table cost around $100, including paint and stain, leaving me wiggle room in the budget to pay for therapy should the need arise.
Like so many other house stories of the past decade, ours begins with a flip. Only in our case, we were not the flippers. Instead, we inherited a flipped house. When we bought it four years ago, we were pleased that it was move-in ready. Although we knew we would have the standard decorating and “someday” updates, the house was cozy and clean.
And then came the projects. No matter how simple they begin, almost all of them quickly morph into much, much bigger projects. I like to think of them as the “omg what WERE they thinking?” projects. The “they” being the flippers, of course.
We get to experience all those cost saving strategies and short cuts heralded on flipping shows – up close. There are the treasures in the walls (no, that doesn’t count as recycling), weird patches (yes, you do need to sand the patches), and missing duct work (no, that’s not what they mean by blown-in insulation).
Then there is our basement odyssey, which began like so many other projects, with a simple plan to change out one little thing. We are quickly learning that in the world of home improvement, there is no such thing as changing out one little thing!