Frustration

I'm giving myself a timeout.  I woke up this morning, made a cup of coffee in the Keurig (thank the gods of java for that little sucker!) and poured a generous dollop of ceiling paint into the roller tray.  I was on a mission to finish my bedroom.  I got it primed yesterday, covering over the 1980's hyacinth blue and purple with a sleek swipe of white.  I wondered a little about the woman who used to live here.  I think she was about 10 years older then me, and had two teenage sons at the time they lived here.  Her husband passed away, and from what I hear she decided to "let the house go" because it was too much house for her after her children moved away.   I don't know much beyond that, and the fact that her husband loved her enough to build little projects to make her life easier, everywhere.  He didn't own a level as far as I can tell, but boy-oh-boy did that man love to build little crooked projects.  Two wooden trays, a couple of L brackets, and a cut in half dowel became beside tables.  A thousand pieces of bits of scrap lumber became the pantry shelves, one stacked larger then the next with bars of wood screwed to hold them towering together.  I'm also assuming he was the one who put in the parquet floor with it's 2 inch thick adhesive and random screws to hold it tight.  I wondered what she thought when she opened her eyes each morning to the purple blue hyacinth and it's floral border, with the crookedly hung ceiling fan threatening life and limb as it teetered overhead.  Did she love this house and it's nooks and crannies the way I've come to love it?  Was she happy to finally walk away from the little annoying quirks  that come with living in a century old house?  I wonder if she drives by sometimes, stopping across the street and seeing us through the windows, painting over the choices she made, and starting our life anew.
I had hoped to sleep in the bedroom last night.  I had hoped we would drive out to the storage unit, pick up the king sized bed, and sleep "for real" in our room, on a bed.  I had to drive to the other house to pick up kids and drag another load of misc. stuff back with me, and planned to paint the ceiling as soon as I got back yesterday afternoon.  Apparently, Jeremy had other plans because when I got back, pieces of the ceiling were pulled off and laying around the floor, scattered like some tornadic  activity had possessed the room and spewed out my ceiling.  That led immediately to my own feelings of possession as I asked Jeremy what the heck (hell) he was doing.  Apparently, the spot on the ceiling had been bothering him, so rather then just using spackle to cover it (as I had planned because I HAVE learned my lesson about old houses and opening cans of worms) he decided to pick at it.  Then pick some more, then peel back a 4x3 foot section of  multiple layers of old wall paper and paint, all in varying degrees of depth.  Fortunately, he stopped before the lathe and plaster because I think that would have involved pulling off the entire ceiling sheet rocking.  So this morning, coffee cup in hand, I climbed the rickety ladder and sanded off the plaster we'd tried to fix the ceiling with, and started painting, again.  I am so sick of painting ceilings.   So, for now, I am waiting for the paint to dry and my frustration to simmer down.  Maybe I will spend some time working on the house genealogy/history....do I know how to have a good time or what?

The Hard Way

I have a terrible habit of thinking that I can do everything.  I have proven to myself again and again over the course of the last month that this is true, and also proven that it is only true to a certain degree, like the degree where you are laying on the freshly sanded 5 times over hardwood floors, groaning, certain that your life will end looking at that very ceiling.  With dogs licking your feet.  Everything around here seems to involve dogs licking your feet.  Ew.
So, I have learned some valuable lessons in the last month.
    Lesson 1- Rent the expensive, multi-rotational pad sander, not the cheap drum sander.  If you think you need it for 1 day, rent it for 2.
    Lesson 2-  Perfection is something for weak minded people who can't handle knowing an old house had a history that didn't involve them.  Embrace the scars, they mean someone else once loved it before you, and probably wondered about you as much as you wonder about them.
    Lesson 3- Do not (ever) call your husband when it is 100 degrees outside and you are driving an old 5 speed pick up with no air conditioning down the interstate with 2 mattresses and box springs bouncing around in the back, just waiting to fly out and kill some innocent little old lady driving to bingo.  Just go and buy the damn bungee's you want and don't ask for advice.
    Lesson 4- You will not have time to blog about working on the house when you are working on the house.  Get over it.
So, with about a month left to go in my hope to move in time frame, we still have absolutely no kitchen.  We have almost completed the dining room- and even got the chandelier up.

We've finished sanding the main level floors, and they look pretty darn good for how much they would have cost had we paid someone else to do it!

We installed a larger, and hopefully more centered over the sink, kitchen window, and that project was one interesting mess!