A Padlock and a Powder Room - Early Decorating

The "Powder Room" corner with some eye-catching artwork

   I've started my decorating at a curious point for an even more curious reason. I've begun with the tiny hall/powder room between bedroom and bathroom instead of my bedroom, and the reason was a padlock.
    No, the bedroom did not have a padlock. It was on the little shed to the west of the house, but nevertheless, in the random schemes of reality, it had an effect in shaping the decorating of the whole mobile.
    You see, we were not able to supervise the final unloading of our furniture and household goods by the crew of quite excellent movers who trucked them in - Amy and I were a state away, driving hard in the correct direction, but still at considerable distance. And the moving crew, without us, faced with the problem of where to put, not only the contents of a furnished house, but also of our working ceramics studio (Amy is a potter, I am a sculptor).
    I think they made a reasonable and careful guess. Having access only to the house (and in any case the little shed is obviously far too small for a studio, as well as being padlocked shut), they decided that we might be using the two rooms on the west of the house as bedrooms but the east bedroom would be converted to our studio. And in they schlepped a weighty potter's wheel and 37 boxes of wet clay, and stacked things neatly – in my bedroom – against the southern wall. 1850 pounds of red clay – only three boxes' worth away from being a literal ton of terracotta.
   Now I love this clay. It is my sister Amy's own recipe and the material we've worked in for years, previously mixing it ourselves by hand. These precious boxes were produced for us to our formula by a ceramics company in the Southwest, and represent our hope for continuing our studio output. How grateful I am to still have the stuff must be part of a different story, however. For the looming and rather discouraging logistics – and decorating - problem is the presence of over thirty-five 50 pound boxes of moist clay stacked four deep across the front wall of my bedroom. And the fact that with my limited physique (and a right hand still recovering from earlier injury), these boxes may move a little way but will by no means waft out to the shed (now unlocked) swiftly and easily. 

A mere portion of the Great Wall of - Clay.
 Stacks of fifty-pound boxes of earthenware.
  Two of my sculptures sit atop (Sarah Myers)

    The raw terracotta has just begun to “waft” - thud, bump, bang - by dint of my sister's help and my own sweaty efforts, halfway out to the kitchen's dining nook. All my friends who move and renovate and redecorate, however, will know that for the sake of morale one must not wait all attempts at light and helpful decorating touches on a heavy, dragging project which may instill stamina but is not stimulating to the mind. And so, faced with a hip-high barrier of “Myers Cone 04” temporarily walling off the interior design future of my bedroom, I stepped into the tiny hallway between bedroom and bathroom (an area essentially bathroom, lino-floored and the location of sink and laminate counter). I took with me a package of “Removable Adhesive Strips”, the small clear thingies I refer to as “sticky hooks” but which according to the label are “Damage Free Decorating Clips”, a little white ceiling hook, a treasured Mexican ceramic parrot, and some art.
   I am tremendously grateful that the sellers of this house overpainted the whole in a bright, simple, warm white. This even more so, as I have a suspicion that the paneling was that deep and aggressive brown that the Seventies felt to be so homelike and enveloping. Enveloping it continued to be past its prime, but far from comforting, especially to someone sick for as much daylight as possible and struggling to obtain it in these cold and cloudy seasons (my sister and I just arrived after five years in the brilliant Sonoran desert – and we did not leave that area willingly!) In any case the cleanly white is a good choice for this toy house, with its lovely large windows reaching down to less than a foot from the floor. And the white paint seems to cover well across what I sense were those sudden bumps and crashes which put indentations, even large, gaping ruptures, into the original “welcoming” but tinny dark wood panels.
   The paint also matches, without too much trouble, the green counter of this small area I call the “powder room”. Now, possibly to my friends' surprise, I will firmly state that I don't have any objections to this counter's definitively retro tint. I suppose that I ought to label it the official “Avocado Green” of that distant epoch the Nineteen-Seventies, but it seems to me just a shade too light and perhaps not brown enough. Perhaps it is reflecting the light of these white walls instead of its formal official pairing of yesterday, the aforesaid wood “walnut” panels. I myself would entitle it “Plantain Green”, but I am certain this was not its original commercial representation. I like it. It has an almost tropical feel. It is cheap. It is from an earlier, more casual time, and it is just well-engineered enough to not need replacing. So all to the good that I can tolerate that intense green. 

Corner with decor.
  Green counter is somewhat lighter than appears in this image

   And it will not be overpowered by an equally bright explosion of colour that enters when I hang up the brash, almost-Pop-Art blue (as close as I get to Pop, in any case) of my “Ocean” painting (a personification of the sea as a reclining lady with an overflowing vessel – whose cascade of saltwater, by the way, is a surprisingly close match to the stentorian green counter) and my yellow – and green – and red - Mexican parrot, Verb, who dangles on his circular perch. 

   I used the sticky velcro strips (I ask pardon, “Removable Adhesive Strips”) to mount the “Ocean” picture to the wall. The house is a mobile and it simply feels fragile, and that sensation is inducing me to use adhesive in place of light nails and light nails instead of heavier bolts except where absolutely critical for safety. I hope I do not greatly regret this decision, and it is not one I can comfortably recommend to others. I cannot guarantee canvases will not rapidly descend from the wall and glass-filled frames will not smash when their mounting hooks pull loose. But I am also reluctant to be the cause of catastrophic openings in the thin paneling even though these can be, apparently, corrected by careful patching and at least partially concealed by a double coat of clean white paint.
    The little hook to hang Verb's perch is what is called a “swag hook”. I associate it with hanging flower baskets, and sometimes it's found in the gardening section rather than the décor section of the hardware store. The kind I bought came with two methods for anchoring; a sharp-pointed screw which can be hand-tightened into most surfaces just by turning the hook round and round, and a longer, blunt end screw with a toggle bolt to hold the hook into thin plaster or wallboard. I have used these hooks both ways, and at an earlier house I was sure to use the toggle bolt when hanging a lamp – light as the lamp was, I wanted to be absolutely certain it never came down unexpectedly. 

Having hung the Parrot and the "Ocean" painting

    I do not want Verb to tumble unexpectedly either, the poor fellow wouldn't survive it, but the hook with the simple sharp screw felt like it was tightening quite securely overhead and the bird ornament is surprisingly light for its size and visual impact.
    With sisterly assistance, I twisted off about 16 inches of dark decorative chain I had saved for this project, and slipping the perch's loop through a link (closed afterward with borrowed pliers), I hung the bird up.
    Amy chuckled at my placement of the dangling bird with his long tail. “So long as you're not going to be brushing your teeth and…” the rest of the sentence not needing explanation; obviously if Verb was swinging too low, I'd be running my head hard into a friendly parrot every time I bent over the sink.
    He's just above that height, at a very visible but not initially tangible level. It was only belatedly that I realized this perfect placement has probably less than two inches worth of margin, and that anyone anywhere nearer six feet would be coming into abrupt contact while hand-washing or – as Amy described – brushing their teeth. It is these details that often make decorating choices almost too individual. But short of damage or injury – which we hope, in this case, never occurs to Verb's tail or to someone else's scalp – these can also be the design touches that give a home a sense of personal presence, even if they ask for patience on the part of a visitor. On which front I am perhaps more concerned over the blinding if tasty green of that laminate counter.
    What I am not concerned about, for myself or others, is the proportions of the home's doors, walls, trim, or the placement of all three. Their design is still strongly mid-century – wonderful slender trim that leaves the spaces clear, and logical, good-sized dimensions on openings. It means that there is far more space to throw things onto the wall without the rooms looking cluttered or nonsensical; and feeling this, I grew brave enough to start mounting my hand-pulled block-prints on the walls to either side of the closet. There is not much width here – only slightly over a foot on each side of the four-foot (approximately) doors opening on a shallow closet. 

My hand-pulled block-prints hanging on the wall by the closet.
"Hat and Roses" and "Two Swans", Sarah Myers

    I resorted to the “Decorative Clips” or sticky hooks to put these smaller framed artworks up. The acrylic painting of “Ocean” is hanging at a level unlikely to be splashed or steamed from running water in the sink, and the ceramic parrot is impervious; but these block-prints are on paper, so relatively fragile even if behind glass, and I was glad to put them across from the counter and sink on an opposite wall. Their strong black and white, with their fairly simple shapes, make them bold enough to hold the smaller border of space even across from all the shouting hues of the painting, counter and other décor.

    I measured by eyeball preference for height and width, holding the framed art against the wall.

Marking the spot for the hook

Measuring for center

 Then I checked with tape-measure for the width. On this left side of the doors, my position for the first block-print was close enough to center horizontally that this was obviously the placement my mind was choosing.  So I simply corrected my tentative pencil-mark by a fraction of an inch and prepared the wall by wiping it with a little alcohol (just as I had done preparing to apply the larger velcro-type strip that holds the canvas painting).

    This quick swipe doesn't usually remove your pencil marking completely, you'll still be able to see it, but the wall will be clean enough to hold the adhesive.

A quick wipe with rubbing alcohol

Applying adhesive -
I'm doing it the wrong way!

Then, after the wall had dried from its light cleaning, I applied the small patch of sticky. I felt abruptly ridiculous afterward. I had applied it with the clear tab downward, which, as the patch was rectangular, meant the hook would only mount sideways – a useless eyesore.

 I returned to the instructions on the back of the box. In praiseworthy clarity, they showed two hands applying the sticky patch to the wall tab-side down and mounting the hook sideways. I remain nonplussed. (I am still trying to imagine uses for the hook in this position, but as it has a tapered top and a slick surface I can't visualize anything staying on. It probably works well for holding lines or cords close to walls). 

    Clearly now was the time to prove the advertised qualities of this product – I was already forced to pull a first “Damage Free Decorating Clip” off a wall. A slow, gentle pull, and it gummed itself from a rectangle to a ribbon and popped off. No, I couldn't see where it had been. All was well. I had wasted one adhesive patch by my mistake, but I hadn't put a hole in the wall or even a divvy in the paint. I wiped the wall once more (this time I did have to re-mark my desired position) and put the patch of sticky, horizontally, on the wall, the patch's clear tab sticking out like a derisive tongue. 

Applying the adhesive for the hook
I'm doing it the right way, here.  See the removal tab sticking out to the side?

The small clear hook is now firmly adhering to the wall
Warning! - this is a very light-weight solution

Which was the emotion with which I viewed it. And a little while later, I peeled the front off the adhesive patch and applied the plastic hook, triumphantly right-side up, and hung my picture, a lady with a dramatic hat and a bodice trimmed with lavish roses. 

    For the corresponding frame on the right side of the doors, I did not measure to center. With the distance between closet door and bedroom door-frame being more than an inch different than on the opposite side, I felt that a simple centering might be a bad mistake. I measured from the edge of the closet door's narrow trim and matched this picture's position to the corresponding distance between the trim and picture on the other side. Then my “Head of a Goat” went up. 

My artwork, "Head of a Goat" now hanging on the wall between closet and bedroom door.

    In the photos you will see that a sculpture of a life-size head has also found its way into the area. This was not an original design intention but rather the result of some necessary unpacking. With no unwrapped, assembled furniture large enough to sustain a piece of this size, built-in counters are the only place I have to store my larger sculptures after they come out of their boxes and bubble-wrap.

A view of the corner,
my sculpture of a lady
and the Mexican parrot in the mirror

 
    In some ways, the lack of space around her - pushed into the corner, she touches sink-edge on one side, mirror and walls in back – should play against her remaining here. But she is a perfect fit in many other forms. Her very weight makes her stable against being rocked or jostled; a dense “stoneware” ceramic, she is impervious to water; no small appendages stick out to be broken, and her height carries the room decoration well up the wall toward the dangling parrot and the painting hanging a couple of feet above.
    She is one of the sculptures that will probably belong in “the Artist's Own Collection” for perpetuity. An explosion in the kiln left her with damage that could only be partially remedied with a careful mending job, as some pieces were warped by the heat past the point where their surfaces would match back together – and an open fissure farther up has to be counted in as “visual interest”. But I feel the sculpture's shape is simple and graceful, with a fair amount of dignity, and often I make dream plans of filling in the crevices, doing a little polish, and having her cast in another material, perhaps frosted glass. At present I am very satisfied to have her company in this room, wearing a strand or two of jewelry and a headdress of brightly coloured, scarf-weight cloth. 

    Two corners of a very small space are now decorated with bright things that I like and I feel much the better for it. The slow procession of fifty-pound boxes labeled “Myers Cone 04” will now resume, wobbling from one part of the house to another and hopefully soon leaving free space for an antique vanity, bed, and more paintings. In the meantime there will be a yellow and green parrot to look at, a blue mythological canvas and some block-prints. 

Corner of the mobile home "Powder Room" with artwork and decor

 

Aerial view of the bright green laminate counter
Prototype soap-dish of my own creation, final version will be in white porcelain

  On perusing this blogpost I see that I have taken twenty-six paragraphs to state, “I couldn't decorate my bedroom because of boxes. So I hung a bird ornament and put some pictures up in the bathroom.” But perhaps there is some pertinent information this more efficient version would omit. I can only hope so, and wish all my readers a grand day. 

The first decorated corner of the small house - the powder room.
Mexican ceramic parrot, painting "Ocean" by me, and my hand-pulled block-prints showing in the mirror reflection.

What's for Breakfast?

 What to eat for breakfast?

Our traditional breakfast is yogurt and homemade, oven-baked granola, but during the time we have been in transition, this was not an option because we had no oven.  Cooked oatmeal was a wholesome, nutritious alternative.  At 17% daily value for protein, the grain is relatively high in protein as well as fiber (16% dv), so it's a good choice for a breakfast food.

Cooked oatmeal is a traditional Scottish food.  Oats have long been grown in northerly regions, such as Scotland, because the oat plants grow well in cold climates with short growing seasons.

The normal preparation process is simple enough: put the oats into boiling water with a little salt.  Boil and stir for about five minutes, then remove from heat.  All very straightforward.  No reason to change it.

Except that for several months Sarah and I were floating among a potpourri of hotel rooms and AirBnBs with varying degrees of cooking apparatus available.  A few had stove-tops; most (but not all) had microwaves.  My first breakfast solution was to use the standard microwave process: combine the ingredients in a microwave-safe bowl, then cook on high for about 2 1/2 minutes.  This makes a stiffer, drier porridge, but it does work.  As things went on, however, we one morning found ourselves without a suitable bowl and, stranded while our truck was in the shop, no way to get one.

The solution I came up with was a variation of overnight oats, but a good deal faster.  I brought the water (with a pinch of salt) to a boil in individual cups, then stirred the oats in and let them stand for about twenty minutes.  The result was creamier than standard cooked oatmeal, and I found I preferred it.  So much so, that I've continued to use this technique unless there isn't enough time.  Five minutes stirring at the boil is faster.  Otherwise I am likely to stick with the new recipe.

So, how to make it?

I start with the usual proportion 2:1 water to oats, plus a little salt for each serving.  For the two of us, the recipe will look like this:

2 C water
Dash salt
1 C old-fashioned oats, any brand

Bring water and salt to boil.  Remove from heat and stir in oats thoroughly.  Cover and let stand between 17 and 25 minutes.  Stir again and serve in bowls.  Add butter, brown sugar, and milk or cream as desired.

The length of time you let the mixture stand will determine whether it is thicker or thinner.  A longer stand time will allow the oats to more fully absorb the cooking liquid.

If you like to include raisins in your oatmeal, this is an excellent way to prepare it.  The standing time will allow the dried raisins to plump up nicely.  Just be sure to add them at the start or, at latest, when you stir in the oats.

As for the butter, sugar, and milk, due to varying states of our larder en route, we have tried it with and without butter, with brown sugar and white, with and without milk.  Our preference is for butter, brown sugar, and milk; but it can be fairly palatable with just a topping of white sugar if that's what is available!

Have a bowl?

Plain...

...with butter and sugar added...

...and milk poured over (plus an added dollop of butter).

Good morning!

(Props included my vintage oak table, purchased from a resale store, and a bowl I made from unglazed red clay.

Arrival

the view from the west side, down toward the road

Brown fields and a small, white, vintage double-wide.

We arrived, January 2019.

from the back, looking downhill

It's a very small home (pick-up included for scale, above!) on a long, open hillside.

Moving in consisted of driving up, resetting the house heater and setting up the mini heater for Sarah's parakeet, Percy.  Bringing in the dogs, Dulcie and Betty.  Some luggage and, after a while, an air mattress.

The air mattress was a difficulty.  We had inadvertently stored it in the back of the pick-up within range of my largest cactus.  Need I say more?  We soon replaced it with a couple of foam pads while we waited for an opportunity to bring our furniture and boxes the long drive up to our new home.

In the meantime, the decorating was decidedly minimalist!  Betty had no objections to that.  It left her more room to look out the windows.

Our trip to pick up our stuff from storage was delayed by weather...

...mostly in the form of ice.

There was also a flat-out refusal to start, on the part of our truck, the morning we had scheduled to leave.  What between repairs and another bout of weather, we slept on those foam pads for another week.

At last we were able to hit the road.

The longest of winter sunsets glowing across the hills and trees in southern Missouri.  The warm Oklahoma accent.  Black cattle, green fields, enormous windmills instead of the old oil derricks of a hundred years ago.  Chill blowing fog in west Texas canyons.  Wind, and more wind from Oklahoma through Texas, on into New Mexico.  The solidity of the hill above Tucumcari.  The opening of the southwestern sunlight.  Then snow as we approached Albuquerque.  Almost white-out conditions, and I was forced to the side of the road for a few minutes as my windshield wipers could not cope.  Then the next morning a bloom of snow on all the trees across those warm hillsides.  Snow fading as we drove south.  Bare canyons high in the high desert.  At last a look into our storage unit in Las Cruces to be sure everything was right, then waiting for the guys to come load and drive our stuff back to Missouri.

Chihuahuan Desert south of Las Lunas, NM

And here we are.  There are still boxes to unpack, the furniture needs to be arranged, we have no appliances, and we are trying to deal with the pain of a few precious things having somehow been left behind (unless major discoveries are made soon).  But we are in our little, new, old mobile home and sleeping on mattresses and eating food cooked on a burner that works (more on that in another post!).

If you want to follow along with our adventures, hacks, weal and woe, please come right on in!  Just be aware you may have to dodge a few boxes of books still...