Pimping Howard's Shed Part One, And The Kitchen Makeover Part 386

Change is good.  Sometimes.  

And these are good changes . . . .

 A week ago, our driveway looked like this in the morning:

  By late afternoon, there was a shed alongside the driveway.

Howard's shed, for the snowblower and lawnmower and all those other neat guy things.

Now far be it from me to mess about with a guy's shed.

But it looked a little, well, plain.

Surely a little masculine bling would be just the thing.

 At The Christmas Tree Shops, they had some macho wreaths that just begged

to go home with me and live on Howard's shed.

  They are metal; no frou-frou flowers or girly nonsense about these bad boys.

They are even dangerous.

Those pointy metal stars are sharp and quite painful.

 I was a little afraid Howard wouldn't like my tarting up his shed with wreaths.

In fact, I left the price tags on . . . just in case.  $2.99 each.  I spared no expense.

But to my surprise and delight, Howard pronounced them "adorable."

And believe me,  "adorable" is not a word used lightly -- or often -- by my husband.

I mentioned to him that the window is in need of a curtain, and I had a bit of lace. . . .

"Sheds don't do lace," he said.  We'll see.

 We'll see about raffia bows on the wreaths, too.  I'm just sayin' . . . .

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There is a chance that Howard's judgment was slightly clouded by paint fumes.

We finally got brave, and put brush to oak.

The kitchen cabinet paint-over, in progress:

These pictures show primer and some first coats of the Biscuit color.

There's a long way to go; I know what I'll be doing this week.

But the kitchen already looks brighter, and righter, and as if it belongs in an old house.

Ah, spot the bottles of Advil and Aleve tucked handily in a door-less wall cabinet,

and a bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter.  Purely medicinal.

 After enough of that, the kitchen looks like this:

 Ugh, I think I've revealed

more of my kitchen's guts than it is probably wise to reveal.

I promise, the next kitchen pictures will be prettier!

 And it's Monday linky time!

Susan at Between Naps On The Porch hosts Metamorphosis Monday.  Click here!

Mary at Little Red House is the hostess for Mosaic Monday.  Click here!

Cielo at The House In The Roses provides Show Off Your Cottage Monday.  Click here!

 Have a marvelous Monday, my friends.  I'm heading back into the paint in our endless kitchen rehab.
But it's only 18 days till Thanksgiving and I want the kitchen ready! -- Cass

P.S.  That Jack Daniels?  It's in the kitchen because I used it in a pork loin roast recipe and have been too lazy
to waltz it back to the dining room.   Remember, kids, don't drink and paint.
You are likely to end up with a dog of surprising colors.

Hey! Who You Calling A Tart . . . Again?

At the request of Lady Katharine of Tea Parlor fame, I'm linking this post (from Sunday 11/7) to her Tea Time Tuesday meme on 11/9.  But I just had to add a picture of a tea cup!

 And now wouldn't a bit of that Apple Tart go down a treat at this little tea party?

Aynsley china and a teapot from Windsor Castle, in our parlor last spring.

Visit Lady Katherine; link is at the end of the post.  She is the very dearest of ladies.

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(From November 5, 2009)

Here we have them -- The Gang of Four.
Four un-loved apples, rescued from the refrigerator crisper,
and looking slightly the worse for not being fresh off the tree.

Some apples are beautiful.

Some, as you see, are not.

We're going to take these round little sows' ears and turn them into lovely silk purses.

But since no one really wants to eat a silk purse,

especially one made from pig ears, we will make an Apple Tart instead.

Let's begin:

My Mom taught me to slice my raw apples directly into the pie plate, before putting in the crust,

to make sure I had enough filling because it cooks down so much.

We're not doing that today.  We'll just eyeball the quantity of apples needed.

As it turns out, we only need to execute 3 of them.  The 4th is given a reprieve by the Governor.

This is the hardest part of making an Apple Tart.  No, not hardest.  Most tedious.  Why can't apples peel and slice themselves when you want them to?  Probably for the same reasons that nice clean dishes won't hop out of the dishwasher and put themselves away.

Wouldn't that be cool?  I'd totally buy dishes that could do that, and sell all my others on Ebay.

Okay, next!

Cue the action shot and . . .

sugar the apples.  You have to taste them to see how much sugar you need.
Me, I like a tart tart.  Get it?  Tart tart?  I crack myself up.

Then pile on the cinnamon.  Again, your choice.
Less cinnamon than sugar.

Finally, a bit of flour to thicken the juices.  Use your judgment.

More flour if the apples are very juicy.

Toss in a pinch of salt, with a squeeze of fresh lemon juice if the apples are very sweet.
Take your crust -- confession: I used a refrigerated crust for this --
so it was simply a matter of patting it into place on the baking sheet.

Dump your nicely spiced and sugared apples onto the middle of the dough, and then
take the edges of the dough and pull them up over the apples,
pinching as you go to keep the dough tight around the filling.

You leave the center nekkid of crust.

Now, into a 375-degree oven.   Baking is magic.  Alchemy.
It will take about 45 - 50 minutes to get the tart nice and browned.
But watch it!  Ovens and apples vary wildly.

I use a stoneware baking sheet to crisp up the dough:

It's no great beauty, but it will be warm and juicy and delicious.

See?

Okay, one piece gone.  Who is next?

Now, I think I'll see what I can do with a couple of past-their-prime pears. . . . -- Cass

P.S.  Mr. Dion DiPoochy appreciates all the nice comments he has gotten from people who tell him he is cute; he is basking in the attention.  He insisted on being a part of this post.  He thinks this means he will also get a piece of Apple Tart.   He is mistaken in this.  But that's all right; he will just go back to sleep on his Wally Bed, next to my desk and right next to the steam radiator.  Doggy heaven.

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And we are back in 2010!

I honestly don't know if I'll get a chance to make an apple tart today; we are in the midst of actually painting the kitchen cupboards.  It took all my nerve to put that first stroke of primer on that oak!  But I think -- hope -- know -- I'm going to love those cabinets in all their painted glory.

Please visit the blog parties, below, and if you come back tomorrow our new shed will be sporting its bling.
Or what passes for bling when you are a shed.

It's kind of like Pimp My Shed.  Only not.

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I am linking this post to 3 blog parties.

Join Lady Katherine for Tea Time Tuesday.  Click here!

Chari at Happy To Design hosts Sunday Favorites every, well, Sunday.  Click here to visit or join!

And it's Seasonal Sundays with The Tablescaper.  Click here to visit or join.

Thanks to both bloggers for their Sunday memes.

Celebrating The Scars

Nothing's perfect.

And certainly in a house that dates back to the year

that President Andrew Jackson handily won
re-election, stomping Henry Clay in the November ballotting,

there are more than a few imperfections.

It's a good thing I'm not a perfectionist.

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When Alida was born, Howard and I lived in a big 3rd floor railroad flat in New York City.  I  still remember every inch of that apartment, as I also remember all the nooks and crannies of our last house, a 90-year old Craftsman.  Both of these homes are part of me, woven into my stored  memories, my heart pictures, and I think it's because we painted them.

In painting, you touch and transform every square inch of a room's surfaces.  You don't just see the imperfections, you experience the room in a physical and tactile way, and you become connected.

Or, is that just me?

When we bought That Old House, every room needed painting.  We hired painters who did most of it.
The kitchen and sunroom we left for ourselves.  We are finally tackling that now.

It's a slow process, because Life keeps rearing its ugly head and interfering, but I am getting to know my kitchen in a new way, and I'm seeing its past reflected in its rather battered present.

Some pictures, below.  These are of primed and not yet painted woodwork in our kitchen,

which is in the newer rear part of the house -- probably 1880s.

These are the ghosts of hardware past,

paint jobs past, dings & dents & boo-boos past:

 That's the wallpaper we're putting up in the kitchen, and the woodwork is just clad in primer.

Doesn't everyone have switches that connect to nothing, that have so many

coats of paint on them they are permanently glued to the wall?

We have more than one; this one is near the refrigerator:

Huh!  I just noticed a missing screw on our mystery switch.

 I can't ignore the loose rimlock on the powder room door anymore.

 I've primed around it, and peeked down into its heart.

I think that is bare wood under there, meaning that this rimlock has been on this door for . . .

well, for one heck of a long time, and about 8 coats of paint.

 Note to self: Lose the shiny screws, and if the lock is truly shot,

my Dad says he has a few like it out in the shed at the beach house. 

The corners and details of the old painted woodwork are no longer sharp.

They are worn round by generations of paint, thickly applied.

 In a corner of the butler's pantry, there's a bit of cracked plaster.  

Cracked, but not loose.  Kind of like me.   I'll live with that.

 At the foot of the back stairs into the kitchen, more softly rounded woodwork.

A good painter would strip this woodwork, fill the holes, sand it smooth, make it crisp once more.

I am not a good painter.  I'm an amateur who loves those scars of the past.

I like living with the ghosts of real life, in our old house.

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Remember the asparagus ferns that swayed in the breezes on our front porch all summer?

We're getting frosty nights, so the ferns have toddled in and taken refuge in the front hall.  All four of them.

 They are like kids home from college, taking up way too much room.

Love the hair-do on this one:

Not sure where they'll winter.  They are rather large.

 Well, it's Friday and I've set myself a goal for kitchen painting today, so I'd better hop to it.

Have a lovely November weekend!

I bought some bling for our new shed, and I can't wait to see Howard's reaction.

Stay tuned.  -- Cass

Linking to three blog parties . . .

Cindy at My Romantic Home hosts Show & Tell Friday.  Click here!
It's Feathered Nest Friday at French Country Cottage.  Click here!
And at Tootsie Time, it's Fertilizer Friday.  Click here!

Camera Found, Kitchen Stalled, Time Lost, A Mistake Corrected, And A Blogger Introduced

Whew!

If that seems like a laundry list of a blog post title,

that's because it is. Lots to cover.

 My camera, missing for a few days, has come home to Mama, and Mama is happy.

And you know how it is in any home:

If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

So welcome to That Old House, on a gray and dreary Thursday.

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What with my Dad having been sick, and one thing or another, I've lost almost 2-weeks' worth of kitchen painting days, so today after tossing up this post I'll be tossing more paint on the walls, and fiddling with a last bits of wallpaper.

On my own.  

If you hear a soft muffled desperate cry for Help later today, that will be me,

buried under a pile of damp gluey toile paper. 

Dion seems worried.

The latest kitchen pictures, taken today:

 The Biscuit color paint is on the half wall beneath the dado molding, and the wallpaper is up in the kitchen and in the little coat landing at the top of the cellar stairs.  The almost-white trim color is not yet on the door arches, and the landing isn't painted yet. 

So where did the stuff from the big old cupboard go?  Some of it is here!

We're getting there.  I've told our expected Thanksgiving guests that if the kitchen is not

finished by November 25th . . . they are just to avert their eyes, and not look.

This is my table-scape for today.  Not really linky party worthy, is it?  :-P

But I've linked to Gina's Transformation Thursday at The Shabby Chic Cottage.  Visit here!

This transformation isn't complete, but it's well on its way.

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Now, a boo-boo in a past post, pointed out to me by both of my daughters . . . 
We can always rely on our children to catch our mistakes.  Helpful little buggers, aren't they?

On Halloween, I posted a picture of Annie at 4 years old,

in a Princess costume.  I was wrong.

She was 3 years old, and wearing a Maid Marion costume.  Anne was a big Maid Marion fan,

and since I made all the girls' costumes, they got to design their own each year.

Alida was 4 that year, chose to be Peter Pan, and was highly incensed that people mistook her for Robin Hood. 

She still can't understand the mistaken identity thing.

Even though the costumes for Disney Peter Pan and Disney Robin Hood are pretty much interchangeable,

and she was with Maid Marion, after all. 

Maid Marion of course could not fathom why her sister wanted to be a boy for Halloween.

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And speaking of relatives . . . .

My niece Emily, who lives with her husband Mike in Virginia, has a blog.

I was in my 20s and single when Emily was born, and therefore I worshiped her

and thought she was absolutely perfect.  Well, she still pretty much is.

Emily has put together a lovely blog, and she's a good writer.

It chronicles their adventures renovating an old Craftsman house, including the removal of some amazingly awful and

scarifying old wallpaper, and their tending of some acres of neglected land.

I love this house; it reminds me of our last home, which was also a Craftsman.

Emily's Monday post is about Halloween.
(Scroll down one post).

She used the house and the yard -- creative and spooky and fun.

Black & white, rather Edward Gorey-ish.

Emily is an accomplished artist; she did so much with dollar store stuff and talent.

And she sent me off on a Google search for Mrs. Riddell's ghost stories,

which I have never read.

If you visit Emily at her A Small House And A Large Garden blog, please say Hi from Aunt Cassy!

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If you are in North Jersey today, don't forget an umbrella. 

I never use one because I'm convinced an umbrella is a lethal weapon,

and I will poke someone's eye out with it,

but if you are willing to carry that dangerous tool of eye-poking-out-ness,

do so, because it is raining like Whoa!

Stay dry!  -- Cass

Okay, My Excuse is . . . it's Monday

There are a few things wrong with this blog post.

1.  It is really late.   

2.  I am having weird computer problems; things simply don't work.

3.  I can't find my camera.  Used my phone.  Oy. Just Oy.

4. It's not very interesting.  Except maybe to Howard and my Dad.

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Check out Show Off Your Cottage Monday,

at Cielo's The House In The Roses.  Click here!

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Now, on this Monday evening, I have two Before-and-Afters to Show Off.

This is Before, in our yard, along the driveway.  Back in March '10.

In July '10.

 That is Howard, with Joanne, Dion's breeder,

back in July when she came for a small family reunion.  The dogs all are related to Dion.

In September '10, another Before shot; the land we're looking at is next to Howard's Jeep.

And sitting to the left in this picture, is my other Before -- my 90-year old Dad.

Before he got as sick as he got last week.

 Those are assorted siblings of mine, and their spouses, doing our field work.

We made jam . . . click here to see our first attempt!

Now for the After.

We don't have a garage at That Old House.  No outside storage.

We need a place for snowblower, lawn mower, garden tools, hidden Snickers bars . . .  and now we have one.

Here is our shed, or what my Dad calls "Howard's shack," in progress earlier today:

 Doesn't it look as if the scarecrow is going to help?  Or maybe is running away.

(taken with my cell phone, inside because it was cold today and I'm still stubbornly in Summer Mode.)

Here is the shed, finished, taken late this afternoon also with my cell phone:

Now that is a satisfying After.

As for my other Before-and-After . . . my Dad scared the living daylights

out of us and his doctor last week,

but like the Bionic Great Grand Dad, he is now right as rain.

He even came to That Old House today,
to check on the Shack-in-progress, and approved.

This was after he had a hamburger, french fries and an enormous milkshake

for lunch with my sister and her husband.

Click here to visit The House In The Roses!

And have a lovely week!  Many thanks for the prayers and positive thoughts for my Dad.

It was a bad week, but thankfully he has recovered and is doing beautifully.

Blessings to you and yours on this All Saints Day!  -- Cass