Can You Hear the Creaking? That's Just Me ~

Peeps, I am too dang old to be doing this kind of work.  On Sunday, instead of taking Miss Diva swimming, Walker and I finished taking down all the paneled walls.  We removed all the nails and hauled the paneling outside.  Then Walker removed the nails from the trim, sanded each piece, and filled the nail holes with putty.  When the putty dried he sanded them again, then he brought all the trim pieces down to the basement for me to prime and paint. 


Meanwhile, Bro and the boys stopped by to pick up the weight bench and weights that we've been storing for them, also in the basement.  I helped them bring up the weights and bars.  Then I moved all the furniture to one side of the basement and cleaned the floor.  While the floor was drying, I took up each of the carpet tiles from the living room and brought them down to the basement.  While Walker slept, I laid the carpet squares in his man-cave downstairs.  Honestly, I would have loved nothing more than to haul that icky carpet out to the curb, but we have cement floors with peeling paint down there right now, so even icky carpet is an improvement. 

Walker's man cave in the basement, after I moved the carpet squares.  We took the far wall down after one of the many floods two years ago ~ Walker wants more drywall but I think that will be money down the drain, as we flood on a regular basis.  We're in negotiations.  =)

Walker had to go to work Sunday night, so I had the house to myself while I primed and painted all that trim.  While the first coat dried, I moved all the furniture back:  sofa, loveseat, china hutch, end tables, entertainment center, TV, dining table, four chairs, and four bar stools.  Did you know that if you put cardboard under the legs, even the heaviest furniture slides over carpet like sled runners on snow?  Walker didn't.  He still doesn't believe I moved all that furniture myself.  I am woman, hear me roar!  Yeah, right.  My legs are bruised and every muscle in my body hurts.  I know I will pay for this tomorrow ~

Two - thirds done ~ well, with the first coat, anyway!

Taking Stock

Walker and I moved into this house five years ago this month. At first, the house was a mess. It was a single owner home that had been unoccupied for months after the original owner went into a nursing home. She had raised her family here; they owned the home for fifty years. While the house was structurally sound, everything needed updating.
So we updated. We cleaned and painted and pulled up carpets. Curtains, light fixtures, and orange bath fixtures went out with the trash. One room at a time, we spent every free hour putting the house together. I wouldn't say we finished, I'd say we stopped. We ran out of steam about the time we ran out of money. Most everything got done, though there are odd projects here and there that are incomplete. The important things are done, and I doubt the previous owners would recognize the inside of the house. The biggest holdover is the pile of "leftovers" in the basement.
The past few days have been tough. I can't really do much, but I have all day to lay around looking at it. The basement has a family room area, a storage area, and laundry room. As we remodeled the upstairs, all the "leftovers" made their way down to the laundry and storage rooms. Now we have full shelves as well as a stack of boxes of odds and ends that need to be sorted, purged, and disposed of.
I can't do any of it.
It's bugging me.
A lot.
Walker and I are so busy in our "normal" lives it's easy to ignore the junk. With all this time on my hands, it's so hard to just keep ignoring it. Don't get me wrong: it's not a disaster area. As we finished each room the paint cans, unused art and knick knacks, etc, were put onto the shelves in no particular order. The extra furniture was lined up against the wall in the laundry room. The materials for finishing the basement have their space, too: new light fixtures, tiles for the bar, boxes of shelving and photo frames....we can't just finish the basement because that would increase our property taxes above what we are willing to pay in this crappy economy.
So as I lay here in Walker's big easy chair, I mentally plan my attack. When I'm feeling better, when I can use my arm again, when I am allowed to lift, here's what goes, here's what stays. This is how it will be organized, here's who will take the donations. It's all in my head. One day, hopefully soon, it will be out of my head and into reality. Soon. When I am better.