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Posts Tagged ‘house and grounds’

Today Kish and I decided to tackle some deep cleaning projects:  the drawers in our dressers, and the drawers in our upstairs bathrooms.

IMG_3908The dresser drawers were bursting.  It’s easy to just shove stuff into a drawer, thinking you’ll get to it soon.  Of course, that doesn’t happen.  You end up, as we did, with dresser drawers jammed with stuff from days gone by, old birthday cards, crumpled receipts for God knows what, stray glasses cases, old laminated cards that show you how to dial into phone messaging systems that haven’t existed since the Bush Administration, and chargers for cell phones that have gone the way of the dodo.

The bathroom drawers are even worse.  Tubes of medication that expired in 2005.  Single shoelaces with no partners.  Empty Band-aid wrappers.  Combs with broken teeth.  Cotton balls embedded with hair.  Oh, yes . . . and safety pins.  Lots of safety pins.

Most of the stuff went into the garbage bag with a toss.  The safety pins — all of which came from our dry cleaner at some point– I decided to recycle.  Dozens of safety pins, joined together and jangling, to be put into the dry cleaning bag.

It’s a beautiful day outside, but sometimes cleaning up inside is a beautiful thing, too.  With our chores done and our drawers clean as a whistle, we can go out and enjoy the lovely weather with a deep sense of satisfaction.

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IMG_3718When we moved to New Albany in 1996, we planted a small pine tree in our back yard.  At that time, our neighborhood was basically a bare expanse with some houses here and there, and the little conifer was part of an effort to add some texture and definition to our neck of North of Woods.

Every year since then, without fail, the little pine tree has grown a few feet.  Now it is a little tree no longer.  I’m not sure exactly how tall it has grown — 40 feet?  50 feet? — but it is the tallest tree in the ‘hood, and towers over our back yard.  It’s hard to believe it once was little, but time has a way of having that kind of effect on things.

It works with birthdays, too — you remember the little sapling, and the next thing you know it is fully developed, mature, and holding its own in the forest of life.

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For years, we’ve had ground cover in our front beds.  It was some kind of leafy, viney plant that produced little blue flowers during the spring.  It kept the beds covered, looked reasonably good, and — most important of all — was virtually maintenance-free and imposed no significant weeding duties.

IMG_1227Several years ago, however, some grass invaded one of the beds.  It was a gradual invasion at first, and I thought it could be controlled by pulling the grass plants out of the beds.  But I was wrong.  Grass plants apparently establish some kind of intricate below-ground network of roots.  Once grass plants get established, it’s virtually impossible to pull them out one by one, because the roots remain and new blades of grass just grow out.  And it was impossible to identify all of the growing grass, because the shorter, newer blades were hidden by the ground cover.  As a result, my weeding efforts were doomed to failure, and there was no viable alternative.  We couldn’t spray the grass with some kind of powerful herbicide because the grass was mixed with the ground cover, and spraying would just kill the ground cover.

So, despite my best efforts, with each passing year the encroachment got worse and worse.  This year, the beds were totally overgrown with tall grass, making the house look like it had been abandoned.  Because there was no other choice, we finally exercised the nuclear option and decided to strip out all of the plants in the beds, grass and ground cover included.  We had it done today, and I think our neighbors were appreciative.  When I went out to look at the work tonight, our neighbor across the way gave me a thumbs-up and said “looking good!”

Pretty embarrassing.

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During the cold, dank, seemingly endless winter, forces of evil apparently attacked my yard.  Under cover of darkness and blanket of snow, terrible lawn creatures invaded and ruthlessly displaced our attractive carpet of velvety grass.

IMG_1171Spring has brought the unwelcome realization that our front yard appears to have a serious case of lawn mange.  Where tender shoots of pleasant green once grew we now find bare spots, crab grass, spreading sawtoothed dandelion leaves, and other unsightly, weedy characters.  The yard has a distinctly clumpy, uneven look to it.  And in the center of one of our lawn sections there is an angry-looking, purple-topped plant that appears to be the youthful version of the man-devouring miscreant from Little Shop of Horrors.

Having an ugly spring lawn is embarrassing, but it can have its advantages.  Dogs find our yard so appalling that they refuse to even answer the call of nature there.  Rabbits treat our property like a death zone.  And the lawn undoubtedly will increase our interaction with our neighbors, because if things don’t take a turn for the better we can expect a friendly visit from the Civic Association.

It’s time to call the lawn service and encourage them to move immediately to the nuclear option.

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IMG_3428According to the calendar, spring has technically arrived . . . but we know that spring isn’t here just yet.

Last year the bushes in our back yard became overgrown and we asked a tree service to trim them back.  They did, and then some!  Now we look out the kitchen window and see the barren shoots and branches thrusting out of the ground like skeletal fingers, and it’s a bit depressing.  Here at Webner House, spring will be declared only when we see some buds on those stark, sharp, bony bushes.

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IMG_3176The windowsill above our kitchen sink is topped with a collection of blue glass jars that we inherited from Kish’s mother.  They were hard-working, functional items that probably have been used to can countless batches of jams, jellies, fruit compotes, and other concoctions over the decades.  I imagine the blue tint to the glass had some practical application, too, such as keeping the light from interacting with the jar’s contents.

But now, graced with the patina of age and no longer used for commonplace purposes, they have acquired a distinctive, translucent beauty.  They make a fine complement to our kitchen window right above the sink, adding a bit of delicate color even on those dreary February days.

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IMG_2180Tomorrow is December 1, and our holiday lights are up.  Ho, ho, ho!

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Normally my autumn Sundays are pretty regimented.  I play golf in the morning, get home and have lunch, then watch the Browns.  By the time the Browns have lost — again — it’s just about dinner time, and the day is close to being done.

Today is different, however.  The golf course is closed for a special tournament.  The Browns have already played — and lost — so four hours that would have been spent in speechless rage and agony are now available for more pleasant pursuits.  As a result, a day that is typically heavily scheduled has no schedule at all.  The sense of liberty is exhilarating.  It’s a free day, one where I can do whatever I want.

So far this morning I’ve done some chores and caught up on various tasks that have piled up during the busy period.  Now the chores are done, the tasks are completed, and it’s time to enjoy myself.  Nothing sounds better than camping outside, enjoying the cool weather, bright sunshine, and autumn colors, sipping on a steaming cup of black coffee and digging into my book.

The patio beckons, and its allure is irresistible.

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We’ve put a lot of Russell’s artwork on display as part of our recent spruce-up efforts.  We’re proud parents, obviously, but we think his pieces are just terrific.

We used to have a nice metal mirror over our fireplace.  When Kish found this huge charcoal and ink piece that Russell did, however, we both liked it so much we wanted to put it in a prominent spot, so the mirror came down and Russell’s art went up in its place.  We think it makes our family room a lot more interesting.

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We’re having some old friends over for dinner tonight.  (Old in the sense that we’ve been friends for decades, although they admittedly are getting a bit long in the tooth, too.)

The house is all spiffed up, the rooms have been painted, and artwork has been hung on the walls.  Food is in the oven, wine is on the center island of the kitchen, and the garden has been raided for some huge and colorful blooms.  Webner House has put on her party dress for some Friday night festivity.

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We have two flowerpots on the front steps this year.  They’ve done very well — when the flowers have been properly watered, at least.  The blooms are huge, with incredibly bold colors.  It’s like a neon sign against the white pillars at the entrance to our house.

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Since retiring, my first order of business has been to spruce up things around the house.  Years of two boys and their friends and three dogs have resulted in lots of wear and tear.  Walls are marked and dented, kitchen cabinets are coming off their hinges, and sofa upholstery is paper thin and in some spots exposing cushions underneath.   So yes . . . we need to spruce things up!

I have one friend who finds decorating her home the ultimate in enjoyment. She sometimes uses commercial breaks on TV to do a quick room rearranging.  Alas, I find it nothing but angst-producing.  I know I don’t have OCD, but when it comes to making decisions such as these, I somehow feel I just might after all . . . .

Let’s start with paint colors.   I’m going with neutrals, nothing fancy.  But there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of shades of beige, white and grays (my “color theme”) at Benjamin Moore.  They all look ever-so-similar to me, yet I am advised by my decorator friend and the helpful Benjamin Moore gentleman that they differ greatly!  How did I miss that!?  Some have shades of blue, some a dollop of gray, others undertones of pink.  Pick the wrong one and I might have an unseemly battle of undertones/overtones going on in my very own living room.

So, I pull the color wheel out and break into a cold sweat.  I lean it against the wall, the carpeting, the sofa, the napping dogs.  It doesn’t matter:  the colors all look the same to me.

The only reasonable solution, of course,  is to rely on names.  What’s in a name?   For me, at the moment, everything.

But that brings on a whole new layer of angst.  I think I’ve found a good shade of gray, but the name is Bleecker Beige!  So, I leave Bleecker Beige in the dust to look for other color names.  Boothbay Gray — as you know, I love Maine, so that’s good, right?  Coastal Fog — I love what that evokes, but really not sure about the color itself.  Edgecomb Gray — what is Edgecomb?  I certainly need to know before I pick it.  Gunpowder Gray — I like it, but that’s way too NRA/political for me.  Creamy white — that sounds boring beyond belief, even for my neutral tastes.  Who comes up with these names?   I want to apply for that job.

And then, I’m told, there’s the “light.”  You have to look at the paint colors during different times of day to see what they’re doing.  I found myself waking up in the middle of the night and walking downstairs to see how Coastal Fog looks at 3 a.m.  (It looked beige.)

Argh!  These are decisions I will live with for years.  I know these problems aren’t so enormous that I should ask you to put me on your prayer chain or anything, but my head is about to explode right now.

After all is said and done, I know the outcome …. I will pick bland, boring choices.  I will love that heavily patterned sofa fabric but be terrified that once I see it on my own sofa, it will look like a bad ’70s nightmare.  Our house will look fine, perhaps lovely even, and my mind can move on to societal things that are far more important.  And, as even Martha Stewart might agree, “that’s a good thing.”

A former colleague once told me that home ownership, in all its variations, is the craft project that never ends.  That’s true, but I really am looking forward to this chapter, at least, drawing to a close.

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During our most recent trip to the Pine Tree State, Kish decided to bring a little bit of Maine back home with her.

Actually, she decided to bring a lot of Maine back home with her.  She stopped at a store in Stonington that had an entire outside wall display of these colorful buoys, which are used to mark the location of lobster traps.  After taking a closer look she came out grinning ear to ear, with an armful of the buoys ready to ship back home.  Now we have them on the steps leading down to our patio and hanging from doors and shelves in our kitchen.

I like the bright colors of the buoys — and besides, I think everyone could use a bit more Maine in their lives.

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This year I planted multiple varieties of zinnias in our back beds.  One was called “State Fair Zinnias.”  Who could resist “State Fair Zinnias”?  But who would believe that State Fair Zinnias would turn out to be monstrously sized mutants that tower over our other flowers and sport enormous, block out the sun leaves and huge blooms?  These awesome beasts of the flower bed can easily exceed two feet in height before I trim them back.

I expected decent growth when I used potting soil with Scott’s Miracle-Gro in planting these flowers, but I never expected this.

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It’s a beautiful evening in New Albany tonight.  Time to make a light dinner from what’s available in the refrigerator — olives and cheese sound pretty good, too — crack open a cold wheat beer, and enjoy the slanting rays of the setting sun as the dogs nose around in the yard.

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