Nom de Plume

I slung my briefcase over my shoulder this morning, whistled for the dog, and commuted down the alley.

This white thing is the official Chez Munshi Shack:

Admittedly, every time I come to the front door, I feel like I’m being incarcerated:

But it’s not so bad when you walk in:

Hard at work:

Within 20 minutes of moving out of my office–and we’re talking about before my body heat even dissipated, Mr. Demo started his favorite thing.

I still have to get curtains up, finish hanging pictures, rearrange rugs, etc. But it’s starting to be quite habitable.

of my home office.

I’ve had such fun saying that with a pregnant pause and watching the perplexity on people’s faces because I sound so happy about it.

He’s been making this push for a couple of months, and I’ve been resisting. About a month ago, we were sitting in the hot tub, and he brought it up again. I, as usual, resisted. But he was getting more and more frustrated. First, our house is small and he feels cramped, because he really doesn’t have a place of his own. Which is completely fair. Second, his Mr. Demo-ness has been thwarted, because more than anything, he wants to start tearing into the walls in the bedrooms–and he can’t when one is a bedroom and one is my office.

The thing is, 90 percent about what I like about working for myself is being here–being able to work, then futz around the house, work some more, run errands, go to the gym, whatever. He kept on saying that I need to get over that … and drive somewhere. That was a complete non-negotiable for me. If I had to drive somewhere, I’d still end up working from home–only much less comfortably.

What to do?

I was driving home one day and passed the shack right around the corner that’s been for rent for ages. A light bulb went off.

Long story short, the owner has rented it to me. He’s thrilled to get someone with good credit who won’t deface the walls. I’m thrilled that my commute now consists of walking down the alley. It’s a great solution all the way around. And while the house is nothing on the outside, it’s perfectly functional on the inside. Nothing special, but I’m feeling pretty spoiled that I’ve managed to get a 770 square foot house for about the cost of renting a decent office somewhere (if not less). It’s a great solution on a variety of fronts. First, it’s an office space. Second, it has two bedrooms. I can sublet one if I want, and anyone who comes to stay with us can stay down there. Third, it has a kitchen that I can devote to soaping.

I’m in the process of moving this week; should be completely set up next. Will post pix soon.

Mr Demo didn’t like the old windows he installed, so he put in new ones. It’s hard to tell from my pictures, but this is a huge improvement. I didn’t even mind the old ones, but then again, I didn’t have the vision. As I keep being reminded.

And while I’m uploading pictures, here’s a snap of Harry on Christmas. The ribbon traumatized him.

My Poppery II died. So what do I roast coffee in now? Do I get another air popper? Do I splurge for a coffee roaster?

Sing along everyone!

But let me caveat this with the statement that I admire people who have minimalist tendencies. We’d like to. But the simple fact is that we have SO much crap. Anyway, this is what the kitchen looks like as of right now. Mess and all:

We still have to replace the windows over the sink (Steve didn’t like what he put in), put in countertops (Steve now wants marble, not slate), tile the backsplash all the way around, and put in a vent over the stove.

But the amazing thing is that we not only have kitchen cabinets, but also that we have a stove.

I have to tell you a little bit about the stove because it’s kind of funny. Steve was filling in some patches of tile and sent me down to talk to his contact at Albert Lee. Before I left, I asked what our budget was. He named a figure–and I was shocked at how much he was willing to spend on a stove.

“But you can get something decent for $500 to $700!” I said, with not just a tinge of sanctimonious frugality.

“I’d rather spend more for something we like. And all the stainless steel models with nice clean lines cost more.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbed my keys and wallet, and went to Albert Lee. Where I promptly, and quite irrationally, fell in love.

It was the center griddle that did it to me. How could I live without a five-burner stove? That comes with a griddle? FIVE BURNERS! The excessiveness of love felled me; I was helpless in its clutches.

I bought it on the spot.

And when I brought home the catalog to show Steve, he asked how much it was.

“Never mind,” I said.

“How much?”

“Ummm ….”

Even with the great deal that his contact gave us, it was quite a bit more than the figure he had named. Steve’s been chuckling ever since.

Are you sitting down?

The kitchen is actually being worked on.

Yes, that’s right. We now have cabinet doors and uppers above the stove. The gas guy’s coming to plumb the gas line Thursday morning, and the new stove’s being delivered Thursday afternoon. Pix to come …

I just crockpotted a whole chicken–just took the skin off and threw it in there with a can of tomatoes, an onion, some garlic, and some marjoram. Pretty cool. Except for the fact that the stupid knob on the lid fell off, and it turns out that when you factor in shipping for a replacement part, it would actually be less expensive to haul myself down to Fred Meyer and buy a new one. Which is one of those things that just makes you grumpy because it shouldn’t be cheaper to be more wasteful, but I guess that’s the way it goes.

Anyway, in my webbish peregrinations searching for a new lid (or better yet, just the KNOB) I came across this lovely gem of complete and utter crap.

I mean, who writes this stuff anyway?

A company called Sneakin Design, that’s who. And guess what? They’re recruiting! Yes, that’s right, they’re looking for writers (”The only requirements are that you can read and write in American English… That’s it!”), and you too can join the ranks of people making 50 Phillipino pesos per article.

Obviously, someone’s making money on these advertising-driven pages, but it’s certainly not these poor (in every sense of the word) writers.

Anyway, I was curious about whether there would be any more gems in the registered users area, so I registered. I now have the opportunity to submit two sample articles to see if they like my work. Better yet, I don’t have to scout around for topics either, because they’ve given me some to choose from:

Gonorrhea
Gall-Bladder
Gardening
Oil-Painting
Credit-Cards

Woohoo!

We’re going to Rockford for Christmas, but my mother said that if she doesn’t have anything going on–i.e., friends descending on her–she’ll hop a plane and then come up here. But then she asked (with more than just a note of suspicion in her voice) whether we have an oven yet.

And of course, the answer is no.

The good news is that the Kamado is pretty amazing. I’ve even been baking bread in it, believe it or not. But the bad news is that we’ve been ovenless since February.

Yes, February. That’s when Steve and Dave killed something in the oven when they dragged it outside.

Steve has a contact over at one of the appliance stores in town who might get him a special deal. He came home the other day saying that we were getting one of those flat topped electric jobbers. I really don’t want one; I’ve read nothing but bad things about them. What I really want is gas–not that I’m a good enough cook to really be able to tell the difference, but it seems to me that if we’re going to spend the money, we might as well get something we really like.

The problem is that getting gas requires plumbing the gas line from the furnace. I begged and pleaded, and finally Steve said, “Fine. You deal with getting it installed.”

Fair enough. I have three people coming week after next to give us an estimate. So we could conceivably have a new stove within a few short weeks.

Now I just have to return the IKEA kitchen cabinet doors we broke down and bought–and then decided we didn’t like.

One final note before I get back to work: You know you’re getting old and matronly when your boyfriend gives you a KitchenAid mixer for your birthday–and you’re thrilled about it.

Or perhaps, because they’re edible, vittle-igo.

Okay, okay, that was beyond bad.

Anyway, the dry leaf whatsit has taken over a lot of the pumpkin leaves, so I did some ruthless hacking this afternoon. And obviously, some of the tomato leaves have been starved for sun. It’s actually quite pretty:

And look! I have not one, but TWO pumpkins:

I just finished rereading all the little house on the prairie books, and next year, I think I’m going to try one of those milk-fed pumpkins that Almonzo grows in Farmer Boy. Which, in case you’re wondering, is most decidedly NOT a good book to read while you’re juice fasting, with its long descriptions of wholesome, fattening farmhouse fare.

“I’m bored,” Steve said.

“Let’s go over to Geoff’s,” I suggested. “He rebuilt his wall and wants you to see. Plus, I’m curious how our cheese is doing.” Geoff and I made kefir cheese yesterday.

So across the alley we trompled. Steve admired the wall; I admired the cheese. Not that there was much to admire; it’s resting in a bamboo steamer with a glass and 25 pounds of free weights on top of it. But anyway, Geoff was talking about how he was going to pressure wash something and Steve bemoaned how dirty the river rock wall is. I reminded him he was bored … and long story short, he’s been on a tear for the past three hours. He just called me outside, saying that he had a present for me:

It warmed the cockles of my heart, and I told him so. To which he replied, “That’s pathetic.”

Well, we take what affection we get …

I wanted a vegetable jungle; I got a vegetable jungle. I have corn, more lettuces than we can eat (they’re bolting), kale, regular cucumbers and round cucumbers, eggplant, pumpkin, zucchini, and the about 10 tomato plants, all marching down the walkway. You don’t really get an idea of how insane and overgrown this is from the pictures.

Looking down the path:

The other way:

Pumpkins!

Cucumbers:

Kale garden:

“Cost is no object,” Steve said grandly. “We’ll get whatever we like the best.”

Well, alrighty then. If you twist my arm.

So we’re getting slate:

link

One of Steve’s contractors is giving us a deal on granite countertops. So last night we went to their web site. And now, we’re wondering: should we do silestone instead?

Here’s the thing: I spill things. Coffee, oil, vinegar, all the stuff that stains. Am I capable of maintaining granite? Steve says, rather insultingly, an emphatic NO. He’s probably right. So has anyone out there actually seen silestone? Used it? Have an opinion?

Oh, not in any legal sense, though the only thing that would please my mother more is producing an anklebiter or two. It’s just that Steve did an amazing job framing in cabinets and such while I was in San Diego last week–and then he decided that we should really rip out the cabinets at the end of the kitchen.

I complained that I always had to do the crappy stuff, like clean up. So Steve handed me a huge hammer and a chisel. And while he did this:

I did this:

Then Steve and I both cleaned up.

Here’s the thing: Smashing into walls is the BEST.

Mr. Demo, that is. Not God.

Still no dishwaster. I had one, and it was wonderful. Now I’m washing dishes in the bathtub again.

Which really sucks.

We won’t even talk about the division of labor. Suffice it to say that I have descended to the level of leaving his dirty glasses in the bathtub so that when he comes home and wants to take a shower, he gets a little hint. The first day, he laughed. The second day he said, “Looks like you have some dishes to do.” Today’s the third day. What’s in store now?

Steve was home sick yesterday. He’s not a very good sick person because he can’t seem to loll around and read all day. Instead, he has to be doing, doing, doing all the time. This elicits very little sympathy from me; I am the queen of lolling about and reading. But anyway.

His mother is coming for a visit week after next. And he realized that he needed to get the sink hooked up. (Apparently his mother can goad him into action; I should invite her to visit more often.) So we hoisted the darn thing off the pedestal so he could connect the faucets, cracking the pipe on one side. This was completely my fault; the thing weighs, like, 3 million pounds. There are two sinks, with two sets of faucet holes. He got one faucet attached, thinking that one is god enough for now.

YAY! Running water. We danced around the kitchen, Harry barking at our feet. Only to realize that there’s a major leak. Somewhere. We don’t know where. he dismantled the pipes trying to figure out where it was leaking. So the status update is this: We now have running water in the kitchen, only it doesn’t drain. We also have no dishwasher now.

There is some good news, however. He works in construction, and is now doing some pretty nice condos. The architect had specified these really cool, ultra groovy subway tiles from France, which are 2″ by 8″. They came in and the color was slightly off–they’re a light mushroom and apparently he says they’re too pink. No one can see any pink to speak of–and it means we’re getting them for free. Also, we’re getting new fridge, also free. Stainless steel, with the freezer on the bottom. It has a minor ding on one side.

I am afraid I have done Mr. Demo a disservice, making it seem as though more of our house is in complete construction mode than is the case. I had lunch with Pete and Marc last week. Pete asked just how much of our house is livable. The answer is: quite a lot. Don’t believe me?** Maribel just finished scrubbing from top to bottom, so I feel no compunctions in posting pictures.

Welcome to Chez Smunshi with our unabashedly over-the-top art wall.

Admittedly, the chairs are a little bright. I’ve vaguely thought about having them recovered but that’s a) too expensive and b) way too much hassle. I did finally manage to get the rugs in the living room cleaned, which I picked up this morning.

Obviously, this is my office. My wallet is open because I just paid that stupid parking ticket from when I got towed three weeks ago. One of these days, I may actually get a real desk. And the floors refinished. And the ceiling repatched from the skylight leaking …

**Well, we think it’s livable. Those who prefer, um, uncluttered homes will no doubt hate ours. And given the state of the kitchen (and how long we lived with the bathroom), we all know how low our standards are.