A Painful Break Up

"You getting ready to work?" My 86 year-old neighbor said clutching his newspaper.

"Yes, Harold," I said spreading black plastic on the driveway.

"This job going to be a big one?"

"Yes, Harold."

"You have all the tools you need?"

"Yes, Harold."

"Can I watch?"

"No, Harold!"

Mr. Wonderful and I were embarking on the biggest DIY job we'd ever done on The House and the last thing I wanted was an audience. If Harold had offered to help us with the work, that would have been a different matter. But I didn't know how much weight his 86 year-old arms could carry, how much stress his 86 year-old heart could take and how much white wine his 86 year-old liver could digest. Yep, on this morning my spouse and I began with a glass of Chardonnay then promptly put on our boots and went to work.

We drank before noon because we believe in pleasure before pain. And oh boy, the pain was coming. In steps.

Since our entire backyard was covered in hard surfaces--concrete, brick, titanium--we'd decided to remove some of it, specifically the concrete slab which used to be the foundation for the pool's original filter. You know, the one the Ancient Egyptians installed. 

Here was our day:

Step #1 Went to The Home Depot to rent a circular saw with diamond tips.

Step #2  Back at The House Mr. Wonderful steered the saw, cutting through the concrete. He followed the straight lines we'd made with the sidewalk chalk. We're very high tech.

Step #3 Went back to The Home Depot to return the saw and and rent a jackhammer.

Step #4 The jackhammer weighed 25 pounds but felt like 160 pounds. It broke up the concrete successfully turning the formerly flat surface into a pile of rubble.

Step #5 Mr. Wonderful went back to The Home Depot to return the 25 pound jackhammer, meanwhile-- 

Step #6 I loaded concrete rubble into a wheelbarrow and dumped it on the black plastic in the driveway, meanwhile--

Step #7 Harold looked on with excitement wishing he could participate!

Step #8 I lifted out the last of the broken up concrete chunks and underneath discovered… more intact concrete. Arrgh!

Step #9 Mr. Wonderful returned to The House, saw the extra concrete that needed to be broken up then collapsed on a lounge chair. Arrgh!

Step #10 Harold wanted to get his hands dirty but couldn't. Arrgh!

Step #11 Mr. Wonderful's stiff arms were in pain, meanwhile--

Step #12 I experienced burning back pain, meanwhile--

Step #13 Harold felt massive mental anguish at not working our job.

I crawled to the fridge, retrieved the Chardonnay and despite our sweaty clothes and dirty boots, we drank the wine because it lessened our misery. Although Harold remained sore from being 86 years old and not toiling away. I grabbed a juice glass and poured our neighbor a splash of Chardonnay. He sniffed and drank it. The beverage helped him, too.

We survived an agony-filled DIY day. But realized we'd have to get up tomorrow and do it all over again. But then, that was tomorrow. Today we'd worked well and drunk Chardonnay. Yep, the pleasure eased the pain.

Shopping Together

"It's the weekend!" I said digging into my breakfast omelet at the restaurant table.

Mr. Wonderful smiled.

"A mini vacation. We can see our friends, the beach, the moon!"

He smiled.

"We can do anything today!"

"Let's go to the home improvement store."

My heart sank. Here we were enjoying our first sunshiny day without home improvement and he wanted to drop this for hardware? What idiot ever named him Mr. Wonderful? Oh yeah, right. 

Since we bought The House, going to The Home Depot, Lowe's and any other home improvement store west of the Timbucktu had become our Saturday ritual, our Sunday ritual and a Hump day must do thingy. Today I would have preferred doing anything else like walking on glass, eating glass or poking my eyes out with glassy glass needles. After all we'd just finished redoing the front garden and already Mr. Wonderful wanted to start something new. What dingbat named him Mr. Wonderful?! Oh yeah, right.

"New" was not entirely true. Actually we were finishing up some interior painting we'd started before Christmas and Mr. Wonderful wanted to finish it now. 

"What's the rush?" 

"It's been six months," he said getting behind the steering wheel. 

"So?" I said sliding in next to him. "Who's counting?" 

"I am."

What a dilemma. Should I choose my marriage or my sanity?  

I made a proposal. I'd go to the hardware store (again) with Mr. Wonderful as long as we could: 1) Go to a different store; 2) Swim in the pool and; 3) Get smoothies. With a raised eyebrow and a bucketful of apprehension he stared at me for a full minute. What bozo named him Mr. Wonderful?! Oh yeah, right.

Finally he agreed. We ordered Jamba Juice smoothies--I got mine with extra boosts of vitamin C, patience and endurance. Then we strolled the aisles of a home improvement store we'd never been to. It was like being on vacation! They had paint but it was on the left hand side of the store not the right--Amazing! They had patio furniture but it was inside not outside--So cutting edge! And like every other store on the planet, they had concrete floors but theirs were polished to the color of fine mahogany--What a great idea!

He pushed the cart and I jumped on the front for some city surfing. We busted up laughing. Then I pushed him and he surfed. We laughed even more. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, we saw a friend of ours.
"What are you doing here?" I said giving Bob a hug.
"Getting supplies. Hey! Where'd you get the smoothies?" I let him try mine. "Great combination." The three of us chatted and laughed for an hour and not once did I think where we were. We hugged Bob goodbye and paid for everything at the checkout.

As the sun climbed overhead we painted; Mr. Wonderful on the ladder and I on my knees. For several hours I was bent into positions the human body was not meant to do. Ever. When we finished I spent another hour washing paint from the brushes and cleaning up. 

"How you feeling?" he asked.

"Tired."

"What about that swim in the pool?"

He'd remembered our deal. What Einstein named him Mr. Wonderful? Oh yeah, right!

Pictures of the Turf being… Murdered

Here are the photographic steps of the black plastic method I used to kill my turf:

Step 1) Mow the turf short. Grass grows from its tips so if it's short, it—and its roots—will die faster. Remember this turf murder is about effectively killing the turf’s roots so they won’t grow back, which will leave plenty of room for the gorgeous, drought tolerant plants that will be planted. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

Step 2) Buy the biggest, thickest sheet of black plastic available. At The Home Depot I found one that was 10 feet x 25 feet and bought two rolls of it. The color is important because black will A) Prevent any sunlight from getting to the roots while simultaneously B) Warming in the sun’s heat, which will slowly burn the roots to death. Hey, murder is never pretty. 

Step 3) Lay the black plastic on the grass and pin it down with heavy things like bricks, wood or your heart, because having the entire front yard covered in plastic is a happiness killer to any homeowner.

And now the very hardest step:

Step 4) Wait. For six weeks.

ARRGH!

Addiction--Home Improvement

“After work I’m going to The Home Depot,” Mr. Wonderful said as I debated which shoes to wear to work.

“Didn’t you go there yesterday?” I said.

“I need drill bits.”

“Didn’t you buy drill bits there.  Yesterday?”

“I need some for the kitchen.”

“Didn’t you buy drill bits there. Yesterday.  For the kitchen?”

“I need more!”

My fears were confirmed.  Mr. Wonderful had an addiction of Going to The Home Depot. 

Before we moved into The House; before we bought The House; before the doctor pulled him from his mother’s womb, Mr. Wonderful was going to The Home Depot.  And Lowe’s and the Do-It Center, Orchard Supply Hardware, Anawalt Lumber, Koontz Hardware and every Mom and Pop’s Super Duper Home Improvement store in town.  If the joint smelled of cut lumber and its male employees wore aprons, Mr. Wonderful was there roaming the aisles, looking at plumbing displays and examining wood grains with a microscope.

I wasn’t using the term lightly.  I knew how serious this was.  The dictionary stated: “Addiction (noun): having a practice that is habit-forming, which gives so much pleasure to the habit-former that he forgets his wife and dreams of wearing his own orange apron.”  

It was true.  Mr. Wonderful was going to the home improvement store after work, on his lunch break, on Friday nights and staying there 'til the wee hours in the morning.  In his mind why waste time going to a club, eating dinner out or watching a movie on NetFlix?  When all he wanted to do was go to the HD and weigh the value of plastic tubing over copper.

And just like that I became a proverbial home improvement widow.  Before the proverb became my reality, I had to address his addiction or lose my husband to drill bits.  I ran to my computer and typed in “Alcoholics Anonymous 12 steps”.  I adapted them to fit Mr. Wonderful’s situation, in advance I extend my apologies to AA.org.

1) Mr. Wonderful admits he is powerless going to home improvement stores and buying materials for new projects.

2) He has come to believe that his wife is right.  Again.  Like always.

3) He must follow his wife’s advice exactly as SHE WISHES HIM TO FOLLOW IT.

4) BEFORE going to any home improvement stores, he will look in his tool shed to see if he already owns 14 Phillips screwdrivers.

 

5) He will take his wife to dinner and a comedy show.

6) He will tell his wife what a great lady she is.  (I swear she’ll really like this).

7) He will humbly ask for her forgiveness by giving her jewelry.  Rings are nice but anything sparkly will get his point across and make her very happy.

8, 9, 10) Repeat Step 7. 

11) He won’t complain when she buys another pair of shoes.  (This step has nothing to do with his addiction but it would make her life much easier.)

12) Having had a spiritual awakening because of these steps, he will carry this 12-Step message to others similarly afflicted.  And he will thank his wife for being such a great gal.

That night while organizing my shoe closet I broached his home improvement addiction and how he had to stop spending money on these House projects. 

“My addiction isn’t any worse than your shoe shopping.”

“I wear all of my shoes.”

“And I use all of my tools.”

“When did you last use that Channellock Crescent Swing Wrench thingy?”

He grabbed a shoe from my closet.  “When did you last wear this pair of hot pink pumps?”

“Three years ago with that pink dress I have with the—”  He raised his hands.

“Okay,” he said scratching his head.  “I’ll stop going to home improvement stores and buying stuff if you stop buying shoes.”

I raised my hands, scratched my head and had a spiritual awakening in the form of my own 12^th Step:

12) I liked both our addictions just as they were.  And I’ll say “Thanks” to Mr. Wonderful for being such a great guy!  

Kitchen Remodel: Handle Photos

The next step in our kitchen remodel was to update the cabinets by giving them a modern, ergonomic handle and matching hinges.

Here's a close up view of the old copper kitchen handles and hinges.  They were too small to put our fat 21^st century hands through.  Plus, the handles were so thin and sharp if I grabbed them the wrong way I gave myself metal “paper" cuts.  

For inspiration on what new handles to install, I let my own kitchen tell me what would work hardware-wise.  My Electrolux oven and its sturdy handle was just the look I wanted.   

At the home improvement store I found the perfect handle.  

I painted the kitchen cabinets with the turquoise-colored paint.  Mr. Wonderful installed the handles on them. Our friend, Grun, painted the "Coffee Cup" painting, which matches the cabinets perfectly!

And Voila!  Our kitchen remodel is one step closer to completion!

Next up:  To build an island… or Not?

Kitchen Redo—Step 2 Some Kind of Blue

“After work I’m going to The Home Depot,” Mr. Wonderful said putting his empty coffee cup and saucer in the dishwasher.

“Great,” I said returning the milk to the refrigerator.

“So I can pick up whatever blue paint you want for the kitchen,” he added.

“First I need samples: in light blue, dark blue and every shade in between.”

“You don’t know what blue you want?” he said closing the dishwasher.

“I know exactly I want,” I smiled.  “Just as soon as I see it.”

In the long-term, fixer-upper project that was “The House”, Mr. Wonderful and I had decided that he was the man of tools and I was the woman of design, comfort and color.  If we’d been on the Titanic that fateful night he would have been trying to repair the hole caused by the iceberg while I would have been serving drinks to passengers, color coordinating deck chair pillows and dancing to the band as it played its final set.

Admittedly his tool skills were more valuable in solving problems than mine.  Which isn’t to say he was ignorant about color.  On the contrary as a director he made dozens—maybe hundreds—of technical and creative decisions every day so at home he was more than happy to let me decide what went with what. 

Besides, he knew color was my forte.

Speaking of, I had a skill set too, which just so happened to include decorating, designing and putting colors with… other colors.  Some people may call me and my talents frivolous; and I say: go ahead.  Frivilous c’est moi!

After work I drove to Lowe’s and the Do-It Center where I collected a select number of paint sample cards—oh, like 300.  I grabbed a little this, a bit of that, and a boatload of those.  I was like that picky, piggy person at the salad bar who loads her plate with the freshest romaine lettuce, darkest spinach, deepest ruby red tomatoes and crispiest cucumbers that still smell of the organic Central California Valley farm soil they were grown in.  I noticed the soggy Chinese fried noodles and the dried out black Mediterranean olives and steered clear.  That’s how color is for me.  Names don't matter.  I have to see it to know if I like it. 

Which isn’t to say I was clueless about what type of blue I wanted.  As part of our kitchen remodel, we’d bought and had installed a steel Electrolux oven.  The model we got was called “Gorgeous with Four Gas Burners”.  To complement this functional beauty of a piece de resistance I wanted a blue paint with some silver or gray undertones.  I snapped up the color samples named: Blue Steel, Steely Blue and Blue-Gray Steel. 

Some companies’ color labels are more descriptive than creative.  And I admire that. 

When we moved into our house there weren’t any appliances, so we brought our white refrigerator with us and plugged it in.  It still worked and looked great so we felt it was silly (read: “fiscally irresponsible”, his words not mine) to buy another.  So as far as colors went, I also wanted a blue paint that complemented white appliances.  I snatched up card samples of paints called: 0647, S-H-570 and 123456789. 

Some companies’ color labels are precise in their utter lack of creativity.  And I don’t dislike precision.

The yellow dream kitchen that was partially responsible for inspiring me included a painting in the kitchen. Whether it was an oil created by Van Gogh or a piece of lined paper scribbled on by my niece in a kindergarten class, hanging original art in the home appealed to me.  One painting that I definitely wanted to use in our kitchen was of a huge turquoise coffee cup.  A dear friend of ours, Grun, had painted it for Mr. Wonderful when my husband came home after a long directing gig of an animated feature, which had kept him too busy for Grun—and out of town—for a year longer than the production schedule had initially planned.  Our friend is that kind of gift giver.  Grun knew I loved flowers so one year for my birthday he gave me a painting of a bouquet of flowers.  I still have it and after several years, I’ve never had to freshen its water. 

Having friends who give gift paintings is a perk to having artistic friends.  Having Art Center graduate friends who work in the Art Departments of Hollywood studios on blockbuster movies who give self-made paintings is a fabulous perk of having awesomely talented artistic friends.  I wanted a blue paint to go with this coffee cup painting.

So I needed a blue to complement stainless steal, white and turquoise, which would hide the dirt and that I wouldn’t tire of looking at for the next 10 years.  Easy task, right?

So easy. 

The next day as the sun shone into the kitchen I spread out all 750 paint samples on the table much to Mr. Wonderful’s chagrin.  Then I let my eyes flit over each one briefly.  Within five minutes I narrowed my choice down to… one blue.  I held the sample card up to my oven, my refrigerator and the coffee cup painting.  Bingo. 

“This is what I want,” I said waving the card sample at Mr. Wonderful. 

“What about all the others—?”

“I know what I want: and that’s you.  And this blue.  In my kitchen.”  Then I danced across the floor twirling the paint card in front of him.   

I didn’t fix any problems; I didn’t cure cancer; but I made him comfortable enough to laugh.  Sometimes complementary colors are as important as complementary partners.  And I respect that.

Kitchen Redo--Step 1 Ride the Wave

“I love these wooden cabinets,” I said.

“They’re solid,” Mr. Wonderful said pounding on the old cabinets in our pre-redone kitchen.

“I love how they go all the way up the ceiling.”

“They’re big.”

“I want to keep them for our new kitchen.”

Mr. Wonderful smiled, “I like it when you say practical things like that.”

“But… can we change them?”

We were discussing what to keep, what to toss and how much money we needed to steal to pay for our kitchen remodel.  I truly loved the wooden cabinets but I disliked their country-kitchen, wiggley-wave bottom line because it didn’t make me think of an elegant epicurean epicenter, (which I hoped our kitchen would become) but rather a cookies-tossing, vomit-inducing roller coaster ride at Six Flags.

So I wanted to change it.  Or more honestly, I wanted Mr. Wonderful to change it.  If he could change it successfully, then I was game to keep the cabinets but if he couldn’t, we’d have to spend more money and buy all new cabinets.  The question boiled down to: Could he remove the wave without hurting the cabinets?

Well folks, he’s not called “Mr. Wonderful” for nothing. 

Here’s something else I know: you cannot force “wonders” or a man.  So I left him alone and watched from afar.

First, he thought about it.  At the kitchen table he started sitting in a chair facing the wavy cabinets.  While sipping his coffee, while eating his pasta, while reading the paper he would suddenly pause and stare at the cabinets. 

Second, he took his time.  We discussed removing the cabinet wave on Tuesday.  On Wednesday I did not ask him about it nor did he tell me about it.  That Thursday, Friday, and Saturday followed the same pattern where we discussed work, the vegetable garden, Jackson’s toenails, literally everything except the wave.  

Third, he went shopping.

“I’m going to the store,” he announced.  I chased after him and together we drove to The Home Depot.  He marched to the lumber department and I trailed after him at a polite distance like a court jester following his king.  He picked out several pieces of wood 12 feet long.  He picked up saw blades, wood fill, wood glue, a box of nails, six energy-saving light bulbs and 20 pounds of organic potting soil.  I may be an idiot in how to remove a cabinet’s wavy line but I was pretty confident he wouldn’t use all those items to do it.

Or maybe he would?

Back at the House I left him alone to his work only silently popping my head into the kitchen when it sounded like an LAPD chopper was landing or taking off in our kitchen. 

He sawed into the bottom of the cabinet to cut out the wave and replaced it with the straight wood he had bought. He measured everything.  The fit was perfect!  He swapped the wave for a straight line from the rest of the cabinets.  By the end of the afternoon he’d changed the cabinets while keeping them in tact. 

I gave him a glass of lemonade.  He sat down at the kitchen table and looked at the cabinets.  He didn’t saying anything but he didn’t have to because it was my turn to speak and to tell him how wonderful he truly was.

With our lemonades I toasted to him; to our new/old cabinets; to saving money; and to him, again, because he’s full of wonders.