Remember that scene from "Poltergeist" where the little girl turns to her parents and says, "They're heeeerrre" after the creepy things come out of the tv? That was the first thing that came to mind yesterday afternoon when I saw the big box of wallpaper rolls on the front porch. (In fact, I was gonna use that clip in this post, but after I watched it I remembered how much scary movies give me the heebie-jeebies and now I'm too scared to use it.) Anyway, the wallpaper's here. Yep, already. Good thing I didn't waste $127 on three-day shipping since it took, um, three days to get here with free ground shipping. All thirteen double rolls of it. That's a lot of wallpaper. But what's about as scary as "Poltergeist" is the thought that I didn't order enough wallpaper. Never mind that I used the wallpaper calculator and didn't subtract for the three windows and three doorways, I'm still scared.
The big box of wallpaper is sitting in the middle of the dining room floor like an obelisk. Waiting. Why is the wallpaper waiting? Because one of my friends pointed out to me that it sure would be easier to paint the trim in the dining room before I put up the paper. Oh. Good idea. So I spent almost an hour at Lowe's picking out a shade of cream paint that goes with the wallpaper. Lyndhurst Estate Cream, which also goes with the color I'm painting the second parlor, and will eventually, someday, go with whatever paint or wallpaper I pick out for the entryway and the front parlor. Then I came home and washed down the trim in the dining room. (Mrs. Kelly, immaculate housekeeper that she was, would not be happy that this is only the second time I've done that since I moved in.) And now, I'm gonna go paint me some trim. Photos to follow.
A Few of my Favorite Things
This Christmas season, I thought I'd share with y'all a few of my favorite things...like this scene from "It's A Wonderful Life". And it even has a cool old house in it!
As God As My Witness
This afternoon I briefly turned into Scarlett O'Hara. When I stepped out of the hot shower and into my cold bathroom a Scarlett-ness came over me. I lost it a little bit. I pounded my fists against the bathroom wall and shouted, "As God as my witness, I'll never be cold again!" I think I scared the cats.
My bathroom is unheated. So it's cold. Really cold. Miserably cold. Cold as in, no HVAC whatsoever. Well...that's not completely true. There is a wall heater the size of a fridge which uses natural gas. I've been advised by a house inspector and an HVAC guy not to use it. The thing scares me. So I don't use it. And the bathroom is cold. Did I mention that?
It was less cold last winter. That was before I cut a cat door in the kitchen door and left the kitchen door shut all the time. Now the rest of the house is warmer, but the bathroom and the back porch are colder. And I can't take it anymore. I don't know what I'm gonna do, but "As God as my witness, I'll never be cold again!"
Missed A Spot
"Hey Momma, I think you missed a spot."
It's just the first coat of paint and it was still wet when this photo was taken, but I'm grateful the foreman inspects my work so carefully as I go along.
(Note Mean Little Marie in the lower center of the photo as well.
Is it just me or is she looking at Louis as if she wants to eat him?)
In The Meantime
So I did it. I took a deep breath and clicked the button and bought—gulp—26 rolls of wallpaper. I've never bought that much wallpaper in my life...every wallpaper order I've ever placed, combined, does not equal 26 rolls of wallpaper. But then, I've never papered a 15' by 15' room with a bay and 11' ceilings before. Buying that much of anything makes me nervous. Hang on, I have to go take a Tagamet and wash it down with a nice crisp white wine....
Okay, I feel better.
The wallpaper will take a little while to get here, since I chose free ground shipping instead of three-day shipping for $127. (Made the right decision there, huh?) In the meantime, I decided to eradicate the pee-pee carpet in the second parlor. So far I've stripped a five-foot-wide swath of the junk off the floor, ripped up the pad underneath, torn up the glued-down carpet under that, and scraped the carpet backing off the floor. I am very sorry to say that the floor in the second parlor looks black and icky like the floors in the rest of the house. This is the last room in the house that still has carpet, so the end is in sight. Only two more five-foot-wide swaths to tear up. (Every room in my house is about 15' x 15'. Those Victorians and their love of symmetry.) To motivate me to keep ripping away at the carpet, I bought paint for the second parlor. It's Valspar's Praline Cake, and if you've ever eaten a praline (the candy, I didn't even know it could be cake) it's exactly that color. My idea is to make the second parlor sort of manly. I have photos of my Uncle Walter from World War I and my dad from World War II, a shadow box of the ribbons and insignia from my dad's Army uniform, and a couple of reproduction maps and posters that I think will all go together nicely. I also have a little desk and some bookshelves to put in there. Now all I need are a couple of big, overstuffed chairs, like the ones they have at Barnes & Noble, and a chunky table to go between 'em. Better hit the Salvation Army for those. Someday. In the meantime, I'll be right here ripping up carpet and painting and waiting on the gigantic wallpaper order to get here.
Okay, I feel better.
The wallpaper will take a little while to get here, since I chose free ground shipping instead of three-day shipping for $127. (Made the right decision there, huh?) In the meantime, I decided to eradicate the pee-pee carpet in the second parlor. So far I've stripped a five-foot-wide swath of the junk off the floor, ripped up the pad underneath, torn up the glued-down carpet under that, and scraped the carpet backing off the floor. I am very sorry to say that the floor in the second parlor looks black and icky like the floors in the rest of the house. This is the last room in the house that still has carpet, so the end is in sight. Only two more five-foot-wide swaths to tear up. (Every room in my house is about 15' x 15'. Those Victorians and their love of symmetry.) To motivate me to keep ripping away at the carpet, I bought paint for the second parlor. It's Valspar's Praline Cake, and if you've ever eaten a praline (the candy, I didn't even know it could be cake) it's exactly that color. My idea is to make the second parlor sort of manly. I have photos of my Uncle Walter from World War I and my dad from World War II, a shadow box of the ribbons and insignia from my dad's Army uniform, and a couple of reproduction maps and posters that I think will all go together nicely. I also have a little desk and some bookshelves to put in there. Now all I need are a couple of big, overstuffed chairs, like the ones they have at Barnes & Noble, and a chunky table to go between 'em. Better hit the Salvation Army for those. Someday. In the meantime, I'll be right here ripping up carpet and painting and waiting on the gigantic wallpaper order to get here.
Where We Need To Be
In a small town, everybody knows everybody. But there are all different kinds of knowing. I knew Frankie because we went to high school together and occasionally he did my hair. But my bestie Sharon, she really knew Frankie. They called each other almost every day, shared bad times and good times together, went out for breakfast after the bars closed, and had a thousand inside jokes from twenty-some years of friendship. So when Sharon told me last Sunday that Frankie had had a major stroke and was not expected to live, I hurt more for Sharon than for myself. I remember all too well what it's like to lose your best guy friend. We went out to supper Sunday night and ate nachos together teary-eyed while I said the only thing I could think to say: "Girl, I know just how you feel." Frankie lingered between life and death for a couple of days while our hopes raised and fell and we felt increasingly helpless. I ought to do something, I thought, something to make her feel better. On the way to Taco Night Tuesday evening I suddenly turned my car around and called Sharon.
"Let's go over to the Catholic Church and light a candle for Frankie," I said.
"We're not Catholic, though," she said, "but Frankie is. Let's go."
So I picked her up and us two Protestants tiptoed into the Catholic Church. I had this idea that we'd go in there, light a candle for him, say a quick prayer, and be gone. But God and Father Hansen had other plans for us. We didn't notice until we were in the door that the priest was sitting alone in the back of the church.
"Um, hi," I said. "We have a friend who is, um, dying and we thought we might light a candle for him. Is that okay? We're not Catholic and I don't really know what the rules are."
He smiled kindly. "There are no 'rules' against a Protestant lighting a candle for a friend. Come down to the front of the church and I'll help you." His long black robes made a soft shushing sound as he walked us to the front of the church. "Is there truly no hope?" he asked. Sharon explained sadly that there was not, and then he said the Prayer of Saint Joseph for us, explaining that Joseph is the saint of a happy death. As we repeated "Pray for him" after each of the Father's intonations, I saw some of the worry and fear go out of Sharon's face. "Thank you very much for that, Father," she said. On the way out of the church, Father Hansen paused us at the door. "Do you know what the Last Rites are?" he asked. We did not. He beckoned us back into the Church and explained them to us, reading a part of them as he did so. Again, Sharon and I thanked him. He assured us we could come again whenever we wanted to pray with him.
We walked out to my car and, out of habit, checked our cell phones. Both of us had the same text message from a friend: "Frankie passed at 6:36 p.m. tonight," it read. Our eyes met. At 6:36 p.m. we were saying the Prayer of St. Joseph with the priest. Sharon said softly, "God puts us where we need to be." That He does, indeed.
"Let's go over to the Catholic Church and light a candle for Frankie," I said.
"We're not Catholic, though," she said, "but Frankie is. Let's go."
So I picked her up and us two Protestants tiptoed into the Catholic Church. I had this idea that we'd go in there, light a candle for him, say a quick prayer, and be gone. But God and Father Hansen had other plans for us. We didn't notice until we were in the door that the priest was sitting alone in the back of the church.
"Um, hi," I said. "We have a friend who is, um, dying and we thought we might light a candle for him. Is that okay? We're not Catholic and I don't really know what the rules are."
He smiled kindly. "There are no 'rules' against a Protestant lighting a candle for a friend. Come down to the front of the church and I'll help you." His long black robes made a soft shushing sound as he walked us to the front of the church. "Is there truly no hope?" he asked. Sharon explained sadly that there was not, and then he said the Prayer of Saint Joseph for us, explaining that Joseph is the saint of a happy death. As we repeated "Pray for him" after each of the Father's intonations, I saw some of the worry and fear go out of Sharon's face. "Thank you very much for that, Father," she said. On the way out of the church, Father Hansen paused us at the door. "Do you know what the Last Rites are?" he asked. We did not. He beckoned us back into the Church and explained them to us, reading a part of them as he did so. Again, Sharon and I thanked him. He assured us we could come again whenever we wanted to pray with him.
We walked out to my car and, out of habit, checked our cell phones. Both of us had the same text message from a friend: "Frankie passed at 6:36 p.m. tonight," it read. Our eyes met. At 6:36 p.m. we were saying the Prayer of St. Joseph with the priest. Sharon said softly, "God puts us where we need to be." That He does, indeed.
Dining Room Decision
After a year of scouring the internet for the perfect (and affordable) wallpaper for my dining room, I've finally found it. This is the color:
And this is a photo of the overall pattern:
I like it. A lot. The dining room is about 15'x15' with 11-foot ceilings, so I think it can handle that large overall pattern. And because it's tone-on-tone, I don't think I'll get tired of it. That's a major consideration because, due to the cost and the high PITA factor of wallpapering, I won't be doing it again anytime soon. Now I just have to pack up the hundred or so knick-knacks in my china cabinet so I can pull it out from the wall, finish tearing off the shards of wallpaper left behind the china cabinet and the buffet, and order the wallpaper. Oh yeah, and work up the courage to tackle this project...
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