Coffee heat rising

Fix-up Mini-Frenzy

How d’you like the flower that popped up in the backyard? Some kind of day-lily, I think. It picks up the colors in the Slave Labor cover, so I stuck it in FaM’s banner, for the nonce.

P1030527Welp, yesterday it was time to get to work with the little B&D “Mouse” sander I picked up at the Depot during the most recent spending spree. Ain’t he the cutest li’l guy?

You know, back in the Day when I was a young pup, I was surprisingly good with a sander. For a girl. 😉 I liked to refinish and, at one point, to build furniture. Plus we lived in a historic neighborhood, and the house needed shoring up all the time. Ex-DH was good at earning a living but not so clever with tools — as a practical matter, I think, he felt that the highest and best use for some of that wealth was hiring other people to do the work.

But my father was a putterer and a hobbyist handyman, and his cast of mind must have come down to me in the genes: I couldn’t stand it. So I would do a lot of the repairs and fix-up around the house.

Later, when we moved to a neighborhood more amenable to raising children, we lived in a somewhat newer house that had lent itself to fewer small repairs. Jobs that needed to be done called for master craftsmen, not for a girl with a screwdriver, a saw, and a hammer. Plus I didn’t much like the house and so rarely felt moved to launch elaborate projects. When I exited, I left most of my tools behind, including a very nice electric sander.

The “Mouse” gadget can’t hold a candle to that thing. It’s designed for small detail work. But the price was right, and so was the project.

Yes: the project. What we have here is a little Doobie Damage, occasioned when Ruby Doo realized she could eat the runners off the rockers that live on the westside deck:

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As usual, click on the image for finer detail…

Isn’t that charming? She chewed the back ends of all four runners on the two wicker chairs.

The chairs are real wicker, not that new weatherproof plastic stuff. I’ve had them for, oh…maybe 15 or 20 years. Bought them in the old house, dragged them over here, and happily placed them in the Leafy Bower that is the covered deck. They pose a couple of challenges: they have to be hauled indoors whenever it rains, and they really should be spray-painted once a year.

As a practical matter, I’ve painted them three times before this. So they were looking pretty tired.

Hmm... Shabby chic is one thing, but there may be a limit.
Hmm… Shabby chic is one thing, but there may be a limit.
Interesting...
Interesting…

I like these chairs. A lot. They’re comfortable. Wicker gives when you sit on it. That plastic stuff does not. I’ve looked at outdoor fake-wicker rockers at just about everyplace over the years: at Pier 1 (the home of these venerable and time-worn objects), at Cost Plus, at Home Depot, at Lowe’s, at Crate & Barrel. To a chair, they’re uncomfortable. And the price? Holy mackerel!

Pier 1 wants $161 apiece — $320+ to replace these two chairs — and they’re not as nice-looking, nor are they anything you’d want to sit in for more than about three minutes. Crate & Barrel is offering theirs on sale for $399 apiece, apparently having failed to extract $599 from their customer base. Home Depot wants $164 for a truly ugly swiveling thing that requires not one but two cushions for which you will pay extra, but they’re selling something that looks an awful lot like Pier 1’s for a mere $139. Lowe’s has a wider selection, but the only one that resembles these (whose style I happen to like) goes for $229 — almost $500 to replace the two of them!!!

So it makes the cost of six cans of Ace’s best cheap white enamel gloss and a little Black & Decker sander look like a bargain.

The sander worked pretty well to smooth off the worst of the gnaw marks. Also used it to knock down the worst of the peeling paint. I didn’t try to sand all the paint off or even to make it especially smooth — the rockers are made of some kind of soft wood, which likely won’t stand up to a lot of electric sanding. Plus I kind of like the rustic look…it has a sort of beach-house style about it.

Yeah, I know: shabby chic has had its day — mercifully, a short one.

Some spackling compound was laying around the paint cabinet. Bought that a while back by way of repairing the hole in the wall where the front door bashed the drywall.

Previous owners… Always, always inexplicably weird. You know, Satan (or one of his predecessors) installed door bumpers for every single one of the interior doors. Why do you suppose he didn’t put in one for the front door, which is the door that’s most likely to slam against a wall?

So that was quite the repair job. That idiot. Anyway, it’s always nice to have a spackling compound around the house.

Used it to fill that big crack and the little fang holes that couldn’t reasonably be sanded down without sanding off the whole damn runner. Also found, interestingly, that I could use it to mold a shape for the most badly damaged runner. While it’s not exactly the same as the others, it’s good enough for government work. And certainly not something that I feel impelled to spend $500 to replace…

More spackle than wood...
More spackle than wood…

Next: spray-paint those chairs till I was blue in the face!

Literally, no doubt. I hate working with that stuff. It brings to mind an image of the inside of a pair of lungs coated with quick-dry enamel.

And it’s wasteful. Extravagantly, ridiculously wasteful. Twice as much paint floats off into the atmosphere as gets on the object you’re trying to cover. But it’s not very practical to try to paint wicker with a brush, soo…

No matter how still the day is — and yesterday was suitably still — there’s always some prevailing air flow. When you’re downwind, you kind of have to hold your breath as you spray and then step out of the drifting cloud every minute or so to draw a breath of relatively clean air. I hate that. No. I didn’t have a mask and I’ve never found them to be very effective anyway because they knock my glasses around so I can’t see what I’m doing and they don’t fit tight on your face and when it’s 100 degrees outside (as it was yesterday) you can’t bear to keep them on. The alternative strategy: just don’t breathe.

At any rate, it took six (6!) cans of Ace’s best to coat those damn chairs, what with the chewed-up runners and the manifold places where the old paint had chipped off the wicker. By about 8 or 9 p.m., they were back on the deck to dry…

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Wet paint!

The trees in the side yard shed a phenomenal amount of debris. The paloverde is still dropping spent blossoms, and the accursed willow acacia never quits dropping junk. Right now it’s pods. Billions and billions of pods. Was going to place the chairs in the garage to dry overnight. But as I was hauling one in there, toluene-laden paint fumes rising off its wicker surface to gag me, I happened to glance at the gas water heater… Uh oh!

Carry chair and its fumes back outdoors, double-time.

Of course I couldn’t leave them in the front yard, where this paint job took place — they’d be gone well before dawn. So had to haul them into the backyard and let them sit on the deck, hoping they wouldn’t be covered with tree trash by morning.

They weren’t.

And so here they are, adorned with a couple of the new Pier 1 cushions, also acquired during said spending spree:

P1030543Not bad, I’d say, for a $300 saving.

DUCK begins modeling career

duck1
Click on the image for a much better view!

M’hijito snapped this photo of DUCK with his iPhone. How could anyone not love her?

Speaking the which, her admirer, DRAKE, dropped by the day before yesterday. His magnetic presence was enough to finally lure her off the nest. They frolicked in the pool, they frolicked on the deck, then they flew off, presumably to frolic far from human gaze.

I feared she had abandoned the nest, leaving one perfect white egg behind. But no. Before long she was back.

Windy City Gal, who has some experience with poultry, tells me that even though she seems to be attached to the nest with SuperGlue, she actually is slipping out at night to forage on small insects, grass, and the like. Particularly, WCG remarks, ducks like to eat slugs.

Ah. Now we know how our backyard was selected over all other backyards to host the DUCK family. The yard is overrun with slugs. You can’t walk around out there at night without squishing the things. The wretches fall in the pool. They eat the basil. They level the lettuce. They perform a slow-motion hora around the lime tree. In a word, after dark they own the place.

Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-d DUCK! Long may she and her offspring thrive.

DUCK!

Flying_mallard_duck_-_femaleM’hijito came by this afternoon with Charley the Golden Retriever. We hiked in the mountain preserve and then came back to the Funny Farm and hung out. While he was here, Ruby and Charley got into the pool area and started frolicking around.

Straightaway, Ruby started snurfling and digging around under the cat’s claw. M’hijito went to inquire and found, lo! THE DUCK’S NEST!

She’s made a nest right next to the pool, in under the tangle of jungle vines that is the aged cat’s claw mound. There were no eggs in it, and so we figured my efforts to chase her away worked. I haven’t seen  her for a week or ten days.

Well.

No. Just now I went out there to pick up some of the junk that’s blown into the pool, and what should I see all snuggled under the foliage but DUCK!

Yup. There she is.

She’s so cute and pretty and sweet on her nest. The wind is howling around, junk is flying through the air and crashing into the pool. And I can not bring myself to scare her off or sic the pup on her.

So I guess we have a tame duck out there. Before long, we’ll have about half-a-dozen ducklings, no doubt.

Wonder if there’s some sort of covering I could cut to fit and lay over the KoolDeck alongside her new home, so she doesn’t wreck that porous stuff? It would have to be heavy enough to stay put and not slippery under foot, because I have to go back and forth along that narrow ledge to care for the pool. I probably can secure it with rocks and bricks. Hm.

She’s a very beautiful little bird. And weirdly, she doesn’t seem to be even faintly afraid of humans, even after I’ve squirted her with water and tossed a beach ball at her.

Pet duck. Just what I’ve always needed. 🙄

Handyman Pays for Himself…and Doesn’t Even Charge!!

Zowie! Yesterday Larry Goldstein of Preferred Handyman Services, who came highly recommended on Angie’s List, dropped by to peruse the growing list of honey-do’s that need some skilled attention. He looks at the half-a-page of chores and projects, advises me on where to take the ones he doesn’t want to do (apparently painting the outside of houses in 110-degree heat is not among his preferred services), writes down what’s needed for the projects he will do, and says he’ll e-mail me with an estimate.

While he’s inspecting, I mention that the patio table jiggles so violently it threatens to collapse. It has these little cap-shaped bolt things that appear to hold it together, but I can’t tighten them with my fingers and if there’s a tool for them, I have NO idea what it might be.

He explains that the cap-shaped bolt things ARE caps, and flips off a couple to illustrate. Underneath is a round bolt thing that has to be turned with an Allen wrench. He tightens a couple of them and then proceeds on his inspection tour.

P1030493I think…hmmm….  I have a whole package of Allen wrenches out there in the garage somewhere. Bookmark that thought.

Meanwhile, on his way out the door he repairs the laundry faucet and shows me how to turn off the water to that sink in the absence (yes!) (no…don’t ask) of a shut-off valve.

As he’s headed for his truck I say, “Let me pay you for your trip over here.” He says, “Oh, no. That’s not a problem.” I think oooookkkaaayyyy… I was prepared to shell out $60 plus parts just to have him schlep over here and do the most urgent repair — which was that faucet.

Well, I have yet to hear back from him. I hope he resurfaces, because I think he may be God.

This morning, of course, the table still jiggled under my breakfast plate, because once he realized I knew what an Allen wrench is and that I had a lifetime supply of the things, he also realized this was a job I could do. So I grabbed a slot screwdriver, flipped off the li’l caps, found the right size Allen wrench, and voilà!

It was amazingly easy.  And now the table is rock-solid.

Remember the time Ruby ate the lamp cord? I took it over to Hinckley’s, the nearest lamp repair joint I know. They charged $50 to rewire the damn lamp. Within two weeks after I put it back on the table, she chewed the cord off again! That was after I’d sprayed it liberally with Bitter Apple. Well, I could not afford another fifty bucks for another eight feet of puppy fodder, so replaced my favorite living-room lamp with an old clunker from a back room and taped the cord down with clear cellophane shipping tape.

P1030494
Nice decorator touch, eh?

So I asked Larry if he would rewire the lamp while he was puttering with some of the other chores. He says, “Well, they’ll do it for you at French’s.”

I say, “Seriously? I wondered if they would but was afraid to ask. Thought they might be insulted, since…that’s not what they do.” French’s is probably the premier electric supply house in the city — it caters largely to the trade.

“Sure,” he says. “Mike will do it, and if he won’t, John* will.” So he gets on the phone and calls these guys up and asks if they’ll rewire a lamp. Mike says sure, he’ll do it.

How much?

“Ten bucks.”

Holy mackerel.

“Remember to remind them that I sent you.” He hands me a business card to be sure I won’t forget his name.

So the guy saved me the cost of a plumber’s trip, the cost of a new faucet, and $40 on the lamp rewire…and he charged me nothing!

How incredible IS that?
_______
*Probably not their real names. There’s a reason he figured he’d better give me a bidness card…

A Shop Vac Is a Girl’s Best Friend!

shop vacuumYears ago, when dear SDXB was living with me — or maybe shortly after he moved into his own palace — I took it into my pretty little head that I must have a shop vac. “Oh, no no no, little woman,” said he. “You don’t need a shop vac.”

Well, of course forthwith I flew to Home Depot and bought myself a fine shop vac.

And…it was one of the best buys ever for the Happy Homeowner. I can’t even count the amazing messes it’s cleaned up, from leveling Himalayan mounds of leaves to cleaning up after various repairmen to inhaling broken glass out of the garbage disposal. Today it pretty much outdid itself.

Yesh. This morning was going pretty well until I had the temerity to fix breakfast (of all the nerve!). I don’t even remember what I reached for, but whatever, when my hand moved across the countertop it brushed against a wine bottle, which toppled over and exploded all over the kitchen floor!

Holy MACKEREL! I’d only used the wine with a couple of meals, and so the bottle was about 3/4 full. A lake of red wine sprouted rivers and flowed under the kitchen cabinets, under the dishwasher, under the refrigerator…and the glass! You never SAW so much broken glass!

Had to haul the dogs outside before they cut up their feet. They didn’t want to go and so ran around and shot back in the dog door. Had to close that and drag them out again.

Fortunately, I had something on my feet — a pair of Tevas. Now their squishy rubber tread is full of glass shards — I have NO idea how to get that stuff out of them, but there was not a thing I could do about it at the time.

After picking up as much of the glass as I could and mopping up wine with paper towels to some extent, I dragged the shop vac in and tried to get as much of the tiny, sharp pieces of glass and the puddles of wine up off the floor.

M’hijito borrowed the crevice tool several years ago and, alas, disappeared it. Last time I tried to replace it, I bought the wrong size, returned it to HD, and shortly lost interest in that mission.

So I couldn’t do a very good job at trying to suck the wine out from under the cabinets (the previous owner, lovingly known as Satan, installed them but OF COURSE did not caulk along the bottom).

In the process, I tripped over the cord, which was hanging knee-high because it was plugged into one of the countertop outlets, and almost fell on the floor, knocking over the machine and busting the attachment connection apart. Fortunately it went back together. Scrubbed up as much of the wine as I could, on hands and knees, with a strong, hot solution of Simple Green. Hauled out the wet mop and scrubbed the floor again with clean water.

Realized sucking wine into the shop vac was going to ruin the filter at best (shop vac filters: not cheap!) and possibly the machine itself, since this was very, very, VERY cheap wine and had a bouquet best described as “Early Flophouse.” Carried my food and coffee out to the backyard, dodging Cassie as she flew inside. Chased Cassie down, picked her up, and carried her back outside.

All of this before I’d had so much as a sip of coffee. Luvleee.

The kitchen no longer stinks like a winery. Despite being crevice-tool-impaired, the shop vac seems to have sucked up most of the wine.

But the vacuum itself? Phewie!!

It’s dry on the inside — full of broken glass, of course, but dry. So I figure it absorbed the wine into its filter.  This has been an exceptionally long day, and it’s threatening to rain, neither of which circumstances incline me to clean out the shop-vac. So it’s stinking up the garage, which already reeks of gag-me-with-a-fork “essential oils” from the “organic” (snark!) insecticide used to kill off a new hive of Africanized bees that took up residence under the deck.

At first I was afraid vacuuming wine into the thing would wreck it. But on inspection, I think it’s OK — just smelly.  So I guess when I get a minute — which probably will happen next Monday — I’ll dump the glass into the garbage, hose out the interior, and then buy a new filter and, with any luck, maybe find a new crevice tool that fits.

Much better than having to buy a new one! Wouldn’t be without it.

Bottle breaking from Kad Nouar on Vimeo.

Day from Hell After$shock: The Water Heater Bill

Nine hundred eighty dollah and twenty-six cents. That’s what a new water 50-gallon water heater costs, installed.

I expected this, because the last time I bought a water heater — about 11 years ago when I moved into this house — the plumber said prices were headed for the stratosphere because of new safety requirements. He said then that heaters would run upwards of $600, which indeed they do. This one was $820, plus the cost of installation.

And now I see that Bradford White, the brand my new guy installed, is almost universally disliked and reviled. One buyer said their four-year-old model turned into a “blowtorch,” burned their house down, and killed their dog. That was just outside of Tucson…three months ago!

Well, the plumber didn’t get the icemaker line reattached. I may tell him to return the thing, when he comes over here tonight to connect that. Wish I’d had the sense to look it up yesterday before he installed it!!

Wouldn’t you think a plumber would know the products better?

What am I gonna do here…? There’s no way the guy is going to be able to return the thing, now that he’s installed it and filled it full of water. But holy mackerel…another Consumer Affairs commenter said a year-old model filled their home with carbon monoxide, poisoned her and her husband, and killed their dog. The thing is in the garage and the door between the garage and the kitchen is supposedly a fire door. But that door leaks like a sieve.

He wouldn’t take AMEX, so I had to give him a check. So that means I don’t have the credit-card warranty/insurance deal.

Why do I think I’m lined up for a royal screwing here? This does not look good.

I guess what I’ll have to do is buy a home warranty, which will replace the unit when it craps out (assuming it doesn’t explode my home), and also put a fire alarm and a CO alarm in the garage. There’s already a smoke alarm in the kitchen.

Another half-assed home warranty…dayum! Just what I need: another monthly charge. They cost about $500…maybe I’d be better off to simply put $42 each month toward the next water heater, which, if this one doesn’t burn the roof down around my ears first, will be in about six years and two days. It comes with a six-year warranty…which the guy failed to give me attached to the unit.

Five hundred dollah times 6 years is $3,000, enough to buy three new water heaters…

Well, meanwhile, it’s off to Costco to return the Panasonic telephone lash-up. The instructions are so complicated they are simply incomprehensible. I never have figured out how to bring up the “menu,” and to use the “Block Call” button to beat back the phone solicitors, you can’t just push the button. You have to somehow “select” the phone number, but you can’t find a way to “select.” And apparently “out of area” is not a blockable code.

The thing wasn’t that expensive, but with a thousand-dollar bill for a new water heater that may kill me, the dogs, or all of us, every little bit helps.