The blind man cometh...

While I sat on my bottom all day and designed my new business card, continuing to recover from the other day's painting frenzy, Mum put the first coat of semi-gloss on the shelves.

The vision is finally being realised.  I can't say how good it is to know we can start unpacking soon.  And how much I am looking forward to not having to shimmy around boxes any more.

The kitchen is being installed at the start of May, too.  My estimate of completion by 6 May was a little ambitious.  It will be all finished, done and dusted by end-May once the stone's installed, splash back chosen and installed and flooring issue resolved where the island bench is going in, and we don't have any spares of the existing tiles.  We've decided to fill the gap with a floating timber "bridge" to match the other timber in the room.  It's going to look just fine, and not be too costly.  Win.  Win.

Also, Brad Blinds came today and installed the replacement for our verticals.  They look perfect.  Exactly as I hoped.  And completely right.

Our double blinds.
The inner provide daytime privacy.
The outer are for nighttime.

We've now got them in the lounge (depicted), dining room, kitchen, family room, laundry, Dad's study and Mum got one upstairs too.

(Shutters for Mum's pine box are now coming at the end of May.)

Pardon?

The one thing I'm left pondering is why Mum didn't let Brad remove all the verticals.  For some reason she wants to keep them up for a while. (Huh??!!) Obviously, if it were me, if I had the say, those suckers would be off the windows and into the skip (the one which was meant to be collected on Saturday but remains in the driveway) quicker than, gosh, quicker than a quick thing on a speedy day.

I've chosen not to fight that battle, though.  I said my piece once and then for all intents and purposes I let it go. 

Even though I think my mother is certifiably INSANE.

If a picture's worth a thousand words, I wonder what three pictures, albeit of white walls and shelving, are worth.


Following the lead of yesterday, today's been all about invoking a state of exhaustion in the pursuit of beautiful, white walls and shelves.


The list today:

• finished undercoating all the shelves in the lounge  (looks no diff from yesterday, so no pic today)
• finished all the walls in my workspace (only the gloss on the shelves to go)

• sanded and refilled the walls holding up the shelves in my room (they're still a bit of a mess and need some more concerted prep) 
• painted the wall where the gas heater was removed, the new entry to Mum's study

• and repainted the shocking job the rorters did up the stairs.

the stripes are just shadows from the bannisters. 

I can't promise tomorrow's post is going to be any more exciting, although I must say it's terrifically satisfying mucking in.

And plunging into biggest bath afterwards wasn't half bad, either.

Painting 101.

Don't get me started on the mini roller.  What a useless piece of crap that is.  Big roller and decent brushes are the go.


Mum and I started the prep on the shelves.  

The "professionals" painted this first in low sheen, then again, in semi gloss.  They never felt the need to use a primer, even though we gave them a tin of it.  So the paint peeled off both times.  Also, the second time they painted they didn't think it was necessary to attend to the front of the shelves, which remained dark brown.  Such an original look.  Alas. not what we were after.

My workspace shelves are deceptively expansive.  50cm deep (top and bottom).  And high.


My arms are going to fall off, and this is just the undercoat.


AND I've got five more in my bedroom.

Workspace. Part I

Gestation comes to an end as Peter Builder gives birth to my workspace.


The shelves were being erected this morning with only a small amount of trouble but St Patrick's Day (boozing) halted progress until tomorrow.  I live in hope the aftereffects of this afternoon's celebrations don't impact negatively on tomorrow's advancements.


I suspect the next step will involve me and a paintbrush which might actually have to wait until next Tuesday when Milo's at kinder for the full day.


My Ikea Varde unit will be slotted into the cavity underneath.

And then I can finally get busy deciding how the space is going to work and how I can work in the space.


After two years at Riverside with my artistic life in boxes, all around me, but completely inaccessible, this is a heavenly thing.


So excited.

So we hijacked the painter this morning.  He arrived a little late and the tension was palpable.


With Dad for moral support, I showed the painter around the scene, pointing high and low every couple of steps.  There were audible gasps (not from us).  And when the end of the tour finally came, we were met with silence and after a moment, an enormous sigh.  


And then a promise it would all be fixed.


And by 6pm, as the father and son rinsed off their brushes, it was, in the main, all fixed.  And best of all the vibe of optimism in the house was restored.

The paint job now is by no means perfect, but it's certainly one hundred times better than what we were left with at end of day of Friday.  My feature doors are vastly improved but remain with hints of streak and drip, despite being sanded and then rolled.  Go figure.


Anyway, it's just nine days until the big move.  We kept ourselves busy by having Cozy Kitchens come to quote and getting all excited by the idea by fusion: 
glass spashbacks + tiles = glass tiles.  Sparkly, twinkly beautiful.

We also went to Ikea to look at their kitchens and bought more flatpack:  a four by four Expedit for the family room:

I'm undertaking a minor Ikea hack, too, by putting the unit on casters, even though the instructions explicitly state it's not a good idea.  I figure I can get away with it since I'm not going to be rolling the thing around, I just want the bottom shelf off the floor so it doesn't get as dusty and I can clean underneath.


We also went to Dulux and bought more gloss paint for the timber trims, 


We had the very lovely Danny from Melbourne Pet Doors come and perform a double cat-flap installation.  It's logistically difficult to have a functioning pet door in a security door and an adjacent timber door, don't you know.  But he did it like a genius.  And now a small great dane could make its way in and out of the house without any humans having to rouse themselves to help.


I am also incredibly proud to say that I erected the Expedit without even a hint of Ikea rage.  A first.  Not even when the stupid last screw just wouldn't go in did I lose my nut.  Extraordinary.


I think it helped that Dad had Milo at Riverside, so I was labouring without the accompaniment of incessant chatter.  Now however, as I sit in my room, I am overcome by the overpowering fumes of deodorant.  This has all the hallmarks of Milo tampering with Mummy's stuff.  And this is price I pay for a few hours of separation.

Bull twang.

I think I was in grade five when harp lessons first appeared on the extra curricula activities list at St Catherines School. A glamorous pursuit inspiring images of  serene, long-haired ladies with heads tilted, enchanting audiences of distinguished admirers.  Not to mention angels.  I thought about bringing a little bit of that into my own realm:  growing my hair, hanging around in drawing rooms, wearing long frocks and corsets or halos, you know.  I even ventured a plink or two on the school instrument with the colour coded strings.  


I don't know what ultimately put me off.  It might've been the size of the thing, and how distinctly encumbering it would be. (I had an unhappy history with the cello the year before).  


Anyway, I ultimately took up the far more compact and sensible flute, and resolved that I would never harp.  That said, far be it from me to do so now.  I'll just let these images say it all.

My inspired feature doors are a disaster.
The paint has been blamed.  I don't think so.

Ah yes, and the paint smothered itself all over the fittings too.
I know its ugly, but this doorknob hasn't actually been put back on properly either.

The orange door, also streaky.

Drips I could've done myself.
Didn't need to pay a painting hack to do it for me.

An example of the finish around the light switches.

The blue painter's tape wasn't enough of a beacon to remind the painters
that this bit of wall needs more than a two minute lick by Milo.

The freshly painted shelves for the bookcase.
Stacked up before they were dry and the paint peeling off anyway.
Since it was the wrong paint, I guess it's doing me a favour.

And not to be left out, the fixed shelf on the bookcase erupted
with a blemish BANG! in the middle.

No need to paint along the edge of the steps, I mean
you'd only notice it IF YOU LOOKED.

Avert your gaze.  An allegedly completed brick wall.

This is the panel as you go up the stairs.
Even in low light, the strip of virgin plaster is visible.

Are you sure you didn't ask for a pinstrip wall, Ma?

Shabby chic, or just shabby?

Mental note: ladder applied with force to newly painted wall
does not result in happy client.

If he tries to tell me again that his brush wouldn't fit into the gaps,
I'm going to demonstrate just where a brush can fit.

Why would a person want the shelf painted?
When in doubt, claim to finish, walk out and hope no-one notices.

Blurring the lines between plaster and timber.

Dazzled by my own image, I didn't notice the shoddy cutting
around the giant mirror.
Oh, yes i did.

 Note: I have been restrained including only 18 examples.

A wee pothole

The inevitable ferrying of things has begun.  Today I delivered two carloads.  The first was more satisfying than the second as the car was filled to the brim, the sun was shining, "Stoneage Romeos" was perfect on the CD player and Milo was off having a play-date with Jane and Gene, so I was free, Free, FREE!


The second trip was after Milo had gone to bed and the sun was going down.  A precious picture got broken in transit and the rollercoaster hills on the way there and back were a little scary in the half light.  Although I was unencumbered by small child the distance, darkness and the forthcoming interaction with the painter boss on Monday weighs a little heavily.


We're not happy with the job.  We're not happy with the finish.  And we're not happy that they haven't fulfilled the brief, and when it was brought to their attention, we were dismissed like we didn't know what we were asking for.  Not good.


Gene and I went through the house today and made a list of the problems. I think it ran to five pages.  Admittedly I left a line between dot points, but still, you get the idea.

• There's paint spatter all over the place on floors, skirts, beams.
• Many bits have been forgotten.  I think only two or three rooms are finished.
• The feature doors are streaky and appalling - hence no photos - although I will take some snaps tomorrow to show you just how bad the bad is.
• All the timber is supposed to be in Aquanamel Gloss.  Instead its been done in low sheen and looks chalky and white washed, rather than shiny and lush.
• Two of the three "completed" white brick walls have really poor coverage and need a really good going over with a small brush to get into the holes they didn't fill before they started. 
• Up until three minutes ago was sure they should've been finished in gloss, but after reading about various painted brick finishes, I'm not so sure.  Apparently brick with a gloss finish looks like plastic, and that's definitely not a look I'm after.  So painters get one point.

On Friday the painters left with the belief that the job was finished, except for the brick in Dad's study.  


We will see about that on Monday when boss comes to drop off his son to finish the wall.  We plan to ambush him with our scary list and hope he agrees that rushing off to the next job just isn't the right path to take.


My faith in human nature (in this regard) hangs by a thread...

The last time I ever pay rent...

...is a cause for great celebration, really.  Did you hear the happy hoot emanating from the Riverside this morning?  The transaction was done at 6.53am.  


Now, finally, in the book about housing, the renting chapter is over / finished / kaput / complete.  It has been brought to a close.


Woo hoo.


But herein lies the ethical dilemma.


Back in December we were notified that our rent was being increased by $19.62 a week, commencing 12 February 2011.  This is 12 days into the beginning of the rental period and 13 days before the end date.  When I asked the agent (a man of kindly disposition but few braincells) about the final adjusted rent payment, he gave me a figure which I quickly realised did not take into consideration the increase that applied for 13 days.  That is the figure he provided is $36.43 less than it should've been.


And I didn't say anything.  And I don't even care.  


I rationalise my thievery in the knowledge I forked out $40 for a stupid alarm battery to stop the stupid alarm beeping (it has a penchant for deciding it needs to be reset in the middle of the night) and that was a waste of money since the stupid thing still beeps.  And I'm paying $450 to have the house cleaned and steamed after we leave.  


So bugger it on this happy day.


Woo hoo.


Also, the painting quote came in.  We were a little alarmed.  It was in the vicinity of a third what we had been expecting (and included the cost of the paint - except for the coloured doors' paint which I hope to pick up today). 


Rather than doubt this company's skill and ability, we've chosen to believe instead that we had no clue when we plucked our estimated figure from our...um...hats.


Painting starts on Friday.


Woo hoo.


Two days to settlement.

I am woman, hear me hammer: My DIY Manifesto.

So it appears, after conversations with Ma yesterday, that I'm going to be painting the doors myself.  Truth told I'm a little intimidated by the whole spectre of removing them from their frames and getting them hanging again.  So I've been googling door painting instructions with door on and door off, and I'm hoping I've got it sorted - at least in my head.  

Success will surely follow under these conditions:

• Milo's nowhere around
• I'm not rushed [and I don't need to pee] 
• I have the right tools

I come from a family which is all at once incredibly creative, but in no way handy:  we make music and art and food.  We communicate lyrically at times.  We embrace the original, the unusual, the obscure.  And we make wonderful things out of the little or the plenty we have access to.  

However, when it comes to mending the letterbox, or changing a washer, there is something that comes over us.  A paralysis of sorts.  A heavy doubt.  A cloud of uncertainty.   And it is at these times that everything stops.  Dead.  Until mum organises a man to come and fix it.

Now I choose to stand in the face of trepidation and challenge.  As a home owner, an independent woman and a person of logic (not to mention limited resources) I believe that the successful completion of simple DIY activities cannot possibly be as ominous as my consternation would have me believe.

I am not going to be daunted by the prospect of failure.  I am going to research, mentally rehearse, create the right environment for success, jump in, be patient and persevere until the desired outcome is achieved.  And I will remember to live in the moment and enjoy the process.

This is a new age.

15 days to settlement.

Milo and the birthday present
from Jane and Gene:  seemingly benign, but
in actuality, loaded with cruel mocking.

Toying with colour.

I'm putting together a brief for the painter.

We're going to maintain the vintage (1970s) character of the lounge area leaving untouched the brick and the timber and the glass (removing vertical blinds) and painting the walls and the ginormous bookcase next to the fireplace in Dulux "White on White".


The rest of the house doesn't demand making the same statement and could really benefit from some funking up.  We're going to paint out some of the timber, and a bit of the exposed brick but I'm wondering if it would be crazy to also inject a little bit of block colour.  


Feature walls just aren't my style, so I'm thinking of keeping the walls a blank canvas, but injecting some pops of colour into the doors at the back of the house.


I am an enormous fan of the work of Matte Stephens and am thinking of using his colour palette for the task:

Milo told me he would like his bedroom door to be red.  
The corridor door could be orange.

I think I would like my door to be green 

And the toilet door could be blue.

Is this idea playful.  Or just stupid?


Update 22/01/2011

Just found this magazine.  I like these colours even more.