Simplicity vs Frugality

This freebie makes me wish I had a Kindle. But then again, that's more "stuff," right?

Free e-book

http://www.amazon.com/Getting-Rid-Step---step-ebook/dp/B0068EMZ5K/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1327412621&sr=8-1#_

The idea of having less and enjoying it more keeps bubbling up from deep within me and, for the most part, it's one that I espouse. Yesterday I was kicking around the idea of going "discretionary spending-free" for the month of February.  When I mentioned it to Jer, he said, "But if we do that, what happens when we find a grill on sale?"

Frugality dictates that we buy "on sale" and we have been waiting to get a new grill for several seasons.  (For the last two summers we have been using a grill our neighbor threw away.  It was on its last legs when he discarded it and since then we have coaxed every bit of life out of it that was left.  That grill is seriously ready for the recycling center.)  All our neighbors are on the lookout for us and the big score is liable to hit in February.  Frugality or moratorium?  That is the dilemma!

A grocery store nearby is going out of business and tomorrow everything goes on sale for half-price.  What merchandise they have left will genuinely be bargain priced.  Do we buy enough deodorant to last four years?  An extra broom?  Toothpaste for a decade?  It's a slippery slope.  If I'm going to buy it anyway, should I buy it now?  Would that make me a smart shopper or a hoarder?

Never at a loss for reading material

It's easy to get rid of stuff that doesn't matter to you.  The real trick is culling things that you value.  Since I'm the Imelda Marcos of books, maybe I should focus on our  bookshelves.  Books around here seem to multiply faster than a proud third-grader. 

The baskets full of magazines are another possible target, too.  I have no clue where they come from!  I never buy check-out counter magazines and don't subscribe either yet, somehow, the piles grow at an alarming rate.

Maybe that Kindle isn't such a bad idea after all.

The Perfect Porch Color

Even though my house is usually a cluttery mess, I am a very picky person.  If we hang a picture a fraction of an inch off, it drives me crazy.  If we move it so it's right and it leaves a visible nail hole in the wall, that drives me crazy too.  Crazy, crazy. 
Usually when choosing paint colors, I am all over it.  I get color samples, stress over what goes with what, ask three or four artistic friends, sleep on their advice then cautiously proceed with the decision.  I buy a paint sample, paint a piece or two of poster board, hang it on the wall and see how it feels living with it.  After a couple of days, I allow myself to get a gallon of paint and take the plunge.    

This approach to paint selection was born by experience about three years ago when we had to repaint a wall.  There's this certain shade of red that's vibrant and exciting and I wanted it as an accent color in my dining room.  It falls on the orange side of the red family and it's tricky.  Tinted one shade too orange and it would be like living inside Cinderella's coach.  That's the exact color we painted onto our dining room wall - and painted over two days later.  With that mistake corrected, all the colors in the house were perfect!

We were so in love with those colors that we painted stripes of them on a yardstick and brought it with us to our newest home.  Since we already had the colors we wanted, painting this house was a breeze.  I guess that's why I let my guard down.

Last weekend while I was moving furniture all around and cleaning out closets, my husband was looking for something to do outside to avoid getting sucked into my project. He hit upon the idea to stain the porch, the deck and the stairs going up the hill.  He asked me to go help pick out the stain, but I said no, I trusted his judgment.  What was I thinking?

Jerry was gone a long time and when he came back, he was smoke-billowing-out-his-ears mad.  He had purchased a five gallon bucket of pumpkin colored stain - in your face pumpkin - and paid a premium for the privilege. This was a serious error on his part and he knew it.  That this color was never going to see the bristle end of one of our paint brushes was beyond obvious to us both.  That it was a "custom color, non-returnable" was also clearly evident to anyone who could read.

The literature that came with the stain said that it was guaranteed to last for nine years.   After reflecting upon what it would be like living in the third ring of Hell with me for nine long years, my husband wisely decided to take the stain back and throw himself on the mercy of the paint clerk.

Later, much later, he arrived home once again.  Dark tint had been added to the orange stain.  I didn't think enough tint could ever be put in there, but Jer painted a sample board to check.  By this time it was twilight so we couldn't really see the results well enough to decide.  Jerry had already prepped the porch though so we rolled the dice, took our chances and painted it.  In the morning, we climbed up our driveway to survey our paint job from afar.

A miracle had occurred!  Somehow, bumbling fools that we clearly are, we'd managed to buy the perfect porch color, in spite of ourselves.  People will marvel at our clever choice!  This porch will never look dirty because we stained it the exact color of South Carolina mud.  

Crazy, crazy.

Big messes and Gorilla Glue

My husband is a do-it-yourselfer from way back and Jerry's been working especially hard at making our newest place liveable for over a year and a half now.  These have been big projects, coming at us like a freight train.  Our place was abandoned to foreclosure, had water damage, was moldy and had been vandalized.  Drywall hung off the ceiling like skin peeling off sunburn.   We knew we were walking in to a real party.


A month ago, I decided to surprise Jerry by having a professional lay the hardwood flooring in our bedroom.  Even though Jer is perfectly capable of doing this himself, our neighbor Charlie does it for a living and so we were delighted to give him our business.  The thought of no longer walking over carpets covered with evidence of a lifestyle that we do not embrace lifted our spirits.  Of course everything from the bedroom needed to be removed and the carpet disposed of before this process could begin.  This all was accomplished while I was in Michigan and the floor was finally laid on Friday.  We could not be happier with it.


The floor is gorgeous and, of course, we decided to rearrange the furniture as we brought it back in.  By "we" I mean me.  Jerry wasn't really onboard and he kind of grumbled when he realized that this would involve a lot of heavy lifting.  He moved the bedroom set from the basement to the master bedroom on the first floor and took the master furniture to the basement. The bedroom ended up looking noticeably improved with less stuff in it.   We left the excess in the living room. 


Jerry'd already invested a lot of time and energy carrying heavy things up and down staircases but I was on a roll!  Inspired by our success, I decided to exchange the loveseat upstairs with the one in the living room downstairs and had him take two overstuffed chairs upstairs in its place.  While Jer was moving furniture, I took everything out of the bedroom closets to clean them out and I put the all of the junk on our bed to sort through.


Meanwhile, Jerry felt the loveseat in the living room wasn't the right color to show off the new paint on our walls and, while I lobbied for re-painting, he fought for a new sofa.  (It didn't occur to either of us to just take the loveseat back upstairs and bring the two chairs back down.)  We ended up going to Ikea where we found the perfect color loveseat for $775 and bought a couple of throw pillows instead. 


When we got home, it was evening already and time to go to a farewell party for a friend, followed by a sunset after-glow event. We wound up leaving our house a giant mess and returned too late to do anything but fall into bed.  We couldn't sleep in our bed though because all the stuff was stilled piled on it, so we ended up sleeping in our guest room.


Today our house looks like we've just moved in.  Stuff is piled randomly everywhere. I find this kind of situation extremely stressful and early on Jerry bailed to start a new project - outside - where he can keep out of my way.    


It will not surprise my family and friends when I tell you that I decided to clean out my basement bedroom.  We recently bought a beautiful round oriental rug and it fits nicely under the bed we brought downstairs yesterday.  It's an ornate antique bed, the kind with a headboard that comes nearly to the ceiling and all kinds of carving.  During the move a piece of the ornamental work that belonged on the side rail fell off.  Jerry mentioned that he needed to borrow a clamp from Mary Ann but that didn't really register with me.  I decided that this was a little job and I could handle it alone.  By this time Jerry was pulling out of the driveway on his own little quest to purchase stain for our porch and deck.  (Wives will recognize this for what it is - an attempt to "get out of Dodge" while the getting is good.)


I stepped into the garage to get the Gorilla glue.  That stuff is great and I love using it.  It was on the third shelf, so I had to stand on tiptoe on top of the cooler which was conveniently located in front of the workbench.  I know better than to do this balancing act, but I'm under five feet tall so this scenario presents itself pretty often and laziness sometimes wins out.  When I secured the Gorilla bottle and got back into the bedroom, I realized that the tip was glued shut so I took off the cap to pour a tiny bit onto the wood piece.  Way too much gushed out so I ran to the bathroom, carrying the whole drippy mess in my hand.  On the way a blob dripped onto the new carpet.  I grabbed it with my index finger, continued my journey to the john, set the bottle down on the vanity, cleaned my hands, the bottle, the sink and then went back to clean the carpet.  I saw a drop on the sheets on the bed and cleaned that first.  By the time I started looking for the spot on the carpet, it had vanished.


I could not find the glue drip!  I looked.  I ran my hand across the carpet.  I got down on all fours and looked some more.  I laid down on the floor and peered at the rug's surface.  I stood up and ran my bare foot over it.  I looked some more.  I took off my glasses and looked.  I put my glasses back on and looked some more.  I tried feeling for it with my hand again.  I was tumbling into the insanity zone where I do the same thing over and over and expect different results. I was still looking when I heard the car pulling into our driveway.


Are there fairies or elves that follow me around and clean up glue drips from my carpet?  If so, could I exchange a couple of them for fairies, elves or even gnomes of the clutter-removing kind?  On second thought, I'm gonna need more than just a couple.  This mess is bigger than usual.

Books!

My current relationship with books (2010)

Our household goods haven't even been shipped yet. We just brought the bare bones basics - table, chairs, bed. Yet somehow (even though my bookshelves back in Ohio are overflowing) books have crept into my living space and are stacked on closet shelves, by the bed, on the table and in windowsills.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.