Biking Area - Getting there

Project Two - Biking Area

Intense weekend project - enclose storage shelf with cabinet doors and wainscoting.

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Project One - Biking Area

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Intense weekend project.  Enclose storage with cabinet doors and wainscoting.

Project 1

First paint the steps

Paint a wall

Turn old bifold doors into barn doors (they're upside down)

Hang a picture of Cal's next biking goal. Going to the Sun in Montana.
(This wall will be a painted a dark gray later.)

The Woman Has Tools

Many years ago, as we started out on the bike tour across United States, I gleefully announced, "the woman has maps." I suppose that meant that I was powerful and could navigate myself around the United States. And maybe a little adventurous.... who knew where I might want to take myself next?

 Well, today I have a new announcement to make.  The woman has tools.

This is nothing new. We've had a basement full of nice tools ever since we moved to our Beaverdale Brick in Des Moines and found out that we weren't as handy as we thought we were.  But we did try. As least, Cal did.

The basement is not a pleasant place. It is 80 years old, and water oozes through its pores, poor dear. I have never had any hope for it to be other than it was, but I knew it could be BETTER. A little better.

 You CAN stand up in it although because of its mazes of the pipes and vents and 80 years of wiring. it will never have a ceiling. There IS good storage down there, with a little help from a dehumidifier. Cal bikes in the winter time down there. The washer and dryer are down there.  And all those lovely, lovely tools.

So I decided to take the basement under my wing and turn it into something a little bit more user-friendly, and that means that I have to learn to use the tools - pretty much. Cal has no interest in my little project so I am on my own. Yesterday I mastered the table saw. When I say "mastered"' I merely mean that I was able to use it with the desired outcome and not kill myself. So far I have "mastered" the miter saw, scroll saw, electric drill, the sander, and I am up to a nail gun. I also am becoming well-versed in the properties of different kinds of paint.

The learning curve is huge. HUG. That means that I spend days and days in the basement, only coming up for fresh air when my lungs have their full capacity of old saw dust, mold, and and other chemicals that will shorten my life.

But you know,

I have a growing affection for the old basement, and for all my tools. Yes, they are MY tools now. I am starting to develop my own private stock pile of wood.  And screws, all kinds of screws, a myriad of rainy day screws that I laughed at my father for keeping when we cleaned his basement. (I promise you I will throw them out before I die.)

 And so the woman has tools. I guess that means that I am more powerful, more self-sufficient and and maybe even a little… dangerous.

Autographs

After pouring through my mom's photograph album from 1936 through her years at Calvin College, looking for interesting pictures to paint, I went up into the attic and pulled her autograph books from junior high out of my keepsake trunk.

Merry Christmas to Sadie from Genevieve December 25, 1931
Dear Sadie,
When you get old and drink black tea, burn your tongue and think of me.
your sister, Genevieve B

December 29, 1931
Dear Sadie,
When the golden sun is sinking and your heart from cares be free,
while o're a thousand things you are thinking,
will you sometimes think of me.
Your Aunt Hatty

January 13, 1932
Dearest Sadie,
When you are standing on the stump,
 think of me before you jump.
Your loving cousin, Clarissa

January 6, 1932
Dear Sadie,
Some write for honor, some write for fame, but I'll just write to sign my name.
Your cousin,
Jennet B
Never be the color of this page  (blue)


  Autograph books are so much fun, I wish they'd come back into style.

Dear Sadie,
"May I print a kiss on your lips?" he asked.
She nodded her sweet permission.
They went to press, and I rather guess,
They printed a large edition.
Always your friend,
Ann

March 28, 1933
Dear Sadie,
When you grow old and ugly as most old people do,
Remember you have a friend
that's old and ugly too.
Your friend,
Ruth

Feb 25, 1936
Dear Saie,
If days were always perfect,
And skies were ever blue.
If friends were always clever,
And every joke was new.
If everything we wanted,
Had prices we could afford,
Life would be almost perfect,
But wouldn't we be bored.
Your friend,
Beatrice

Of course there are the ones who choose special pages to make their mark.
In the back of the books...

March 29, 1933 
Way back here
Way out of sight,
I scribble my name with all my might.
Your schoolmate,
Gloria

on the last page...

July 3.1933
By hook
by crook,
I'm the last one to write
in this book.

(I wonder what young Sadie would think if she knew that exactly 23 years later-to that date, her 4th daughter would be born.)

On a green page, in green ink....

This ink is green
And so is the page
Don't forget me,
in your old age.
Russell

Written upside down...

Jan29,1939
Remember the girl in the city,
Remember the girl in the town,
Remember the girl who spoiled your book,
by writing in it upside down.
Your friend,
Eleanor

Adults and Teachers wishing her the very best with good advise.

Dear Sadie,
I've just found out,
perhaps you knew it,
That work's just play
when you love to do it.
Miss Allen

Dear little Friend,
I am hoping you will be as noble a woman as you are a little girl.
Prayerfully,
Mary Brown

Dear Sadie:
The one who workes hard, tries hard and does his very best is the one who is the happiest.
Sinderely
E. Gierke

Simple little verses with the classmates name, that's all. No pressure, no wondering what to say, just funny little rhymes.  Some, strangely touching when you realize that probably everyone who wrote their name in this little books is gone.

August 22, 1936
Dear Sadie,
When the golden sun is setting,
When your path no more be trod,
My your name in gold be written,
In the autograph of God,
Your cousin, 
Bernadine

Best Grandma in the World (Color Enhanced)

Painting Photographs

This has been the most beautiful winter ever. The cold, the snow, just the perfect amount of each. And now it is February. The icicles are dripping like rain. If you didn't know they were icicles you would think it was raining outside the window. I am wondering, I am hoping, I am dreaming of an early spring. But unlike last winter, I don't feel bone weary of winter. I can handle another month or two.

Today I spent some time with my mother's photograph album. I was delighted with the pictures of her past life. I wish my mother was here to tell me about them. I would write everything down. There are pictures of the farm my mother lived on when she was growing up. There are pictures of her away at college, pictures of her friends, pictures of her mother and father, pictures of her sister, Genevieve and her children, and of her cousins. They are all pictures before my mother met my father. I carefully lifted each one trying to find some information on the back of the photos. There was little to help me, just the occasional date. Perhaps my sisters remember more than I do.

Earlier this week I spent some time painting a picture of my mother when she was about five or six years old. If I remember correctly she was the youngest person chosen to be in the school program because the teachers could trust her to remember her lines. She always was a good little scholar. It seems like she told me that the bloomers she is wearing are made out of dotted Swiss. Why do I remember that? I don't even know if it's true. Maybe I am making this all up.

Anyway, here's the picture. It was very enjoyable. I think I would like to paint some more photographs.