life in portland

wishes for the new year

Let's try to savor the quiet time in December 

between the end of the old year and the beginning of a new one. 

May the coming year be filled 

with creativity, love, peace, prosperity and possibility!

xoxo,

Petunia

sleeping in haiku

cold autumn morning,
layered flannel, blanket, quilt:
perfect for dreaming.

a back to school tutorial: how not to do laundry

This post was originally published in 2008, and still gets the most number of reads per week of all my posts (followed closely by "Photo styling 101: How to roll towels like a pro"). The traffic around this post always increases exponentially in mid September (coincidentally, around the time newly-minted college students start running out of clean laundry and begin frantically searching the internet for instructions) so I'm rerunning it as a sort of public service message, or maybe a cautionary tale. So let this be a lesson to you!

How not to do laundry

   We have a system for doing laundry at Camp Cactus...the evolution of which seemed to happen rather organically, and naturally (meaning: nobody actually designed the system, it just sort of occurred; and said system's evolution has happened at an agonizingly slow pace, like the melting of the glaciers before global warming). Here's how it works:
Step 1: There are 3 baskets, beautifully handmade by child laborers highly skilled workers in China. One for WHITES, one for LIGHTS, and one for DARKS. Are you with me so far? Ok, so these three beautifully handmade baskets usually reside in our ridiculously huge bathroom, waiting patiently to be filled with the correct shade of dirty laundry. (This seems very simple and logical and easy to me...so why do so many people insist upon doing their laundry in one giant, washing machine- killing load? But, I digress...)

Alternate Step 1: See steps three and four for explanation.


Step 2: The now-full basket of dirty laundry is moved into the hallway outside the bathroom, waiting for someone (anyone?) to carry it down 2 flights of stairs, over 2 baby gates (a story for another time) to the basement laundry room/hovel to be washed until sparkling clean, or at least smelling like spring rain.


Step 3: The sparkling clean, smelling-like-spring-rain laundry is plopped warm and fresh out of the dryer into its beautiful and functional Chinese basket, carted back up two flights of now exceedingly steep stairs, over two baby gates (destined to someday cause one of us in our increasingly aged condition to break a hip), to the bedroom, where it is deposited in the middle of the floor. This location was chosen (again in some organic, evolutionary way) for its position relative to moving about the bedroom, meaning of course that anyone wishing to move about must step around it. Evolutionary timeline of this era: millions of years (okay...maybe a day or two or five) Which brings us back to Alternate Step 1: (see above) where dirty laundry waits not for an empty basket.

Step 4: After a few days sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor, the piles of dirty laundry have grown too big for the bathroom, and something must be done. So, the basket is emptied onto the largest flat surface available for folding.


At which time, it has started to resemble a giant sand castle molded in the shape of a hideous malformed lump, startling the lounging cat, and causing whoever faces the task of sorting (and sometimes even folding) this pile to sigh loudly and complain about the whole system.



There. All done. Now isn't that better? Stay tuned for my next tutorial: How not to fold sheets. Coming soon.

before and after

The old homestead here at Camp Cactus turns 100 this year, and to honor the occasion, we're making an effort to get the old gal looking a little less like a rundown boarding house and a little more like a well preserved gem. Looking back over old photos, I realized we've actually tackled some pretty big jobs over the years.

The little bathroom off the kitchen is one project I'm really glad we did.

the bathroom before

It was funky. A little 4 foot by 4 foot space on an open back porch. You had to go out the back door from the kitchen to get to it. There was no sink, the walls were open to the studs, and the floor was covered with cheap, stick on vinyl tiles that were peeling up at the edges. The tiny room was heated by a giant 220 volt electric heater next to the toilet that would have heated a space four times the size. Despite its obvious shortcomings, we were grateful for the extra toilet in a one-bathroom house. A year or two after we moved in, however, we discovered the floor had a severe case of dry rot, and we had to pull out the floor and the toilet before someone sat down and went through the rotten floor with their pants down.

We kind of lost our momentum after that, and went about two years with a gaping hole where the floor had been before we acknowledged that the job was now more than we could handle ourselves, and were able to afford to hire someone to finish the job. He closed in the back porch, eliminating the back door and stairs, leveled the sloping floor, and lovingly stripped all the paint off the funky old narrow fir door and frame. Then we ran out of money, and decided to finish it ourselves. We insulated and drywalled it, textured the walls, repaired the original old double hung window, installed a new toilet and tiny corner sink we found after an exhaustive search for one small enough to fit in the space.

the bathroom after

I papered the ceiling with pages from an old atlas. But the best part? We replaced the humongous old heater with a smaller, more efficient one.

Now it's the toastiest seat in the house.

is this hell, or a life sized board game?

They lure you in with beautiful room sets, all sleek and clean and homey. See what you can do with only 350 square feet? A bedroom! A bathroom! A modern kitchen! Storage everywhere! A tiny office with an ultra cool desk and chair. They make it fun to shop, those Swedes.

The first time I set foot in an Ikea store, I fell in love. Everything was so stylish and simply designed, and oh, so cheap! Because I had stopped in on the way home from a field trip to the Seattle Art Museum with a couple of photo stylist friends, we didn't spend much time there that first day. Just long enough to buy a few cheap picture frames and get a sense of the wonder that is SWEDISH DESIGN. Little did I know that this short stopover would be the beginning of a love/hate relationship.

It's a good two and a half hour drive from Portland to the Ikea store in Renton, Washington. I began making that trip every few months, shopping for props to use on photo shoots, like the time I hauled about 800 lbs of laminate flooring, a bed frame, and countless mirrors, frames, towels and other do-dads home in a 1986 Colt Vista station wagon.


The old Vista made many such trips. The poor little thing was clearly not meant to haul such a heavy load, but she got us safely home with our booty time after time. I loved that car. But I was very happy when they finally decided Portland was big enough for its own store.

Ikea stores are designed to lead you through the entire place to entice you to buy something you didn't know you wanted, but find you suddenly need. It's a little like stepping into a giant board game of Chutes and Ladders.


You follow the arrows through the store, going from Textiles & Rugs to the Bath Shop, and on through to Home Organization, and if you're not paying attention to the arrows and make a wrong turn, you could end up back at Textiles & Rugs. So the Ikea folks have thoughtfully added "shortcuts" between departments that usually end up getting you even more lost. It can be a very disorienting experience, and you may feel like a rat trapped in a maze full of cheese* at every turn. (*I was going to name a Swedish cheese here...but after looking up "havarti" and realizing it was actually a Danish cheese, I wondered what kind of cheese the Swedes made, and all I can say is don't ever Google the term "swedish cheese.")

So, where was I going with this? Oh right. My love/hate relationship.

A couple of months ago, I embarked upon a (mostly) DIY remodeling journey. My studio was badly in need of a new door, and replacing it opened up a whole can of "while I'm at it, I might as well_________." You know what I'm talking about. It's the idea that if you've already got one wall with a giant hole in it, you might as well work on the other three while you're at it, since you've already got a mess started.

I quickly came to regret ever opening that can of "while I'm at it". You can read about my adventures in remodeling here.

But getting back to the love/hate thing: I'd been designing and researching and thinking about my dream studio for years. I had a list of amenities as long as my arm and a budget as long as a gnat's arm. Nevertheless, at the top of the list was STORAGE. I was tired of climbing up on the workbench to root through boxes stored on shelves. I wanted drawers! A whole bank of them. With neatly lettered labels. I wanted to replace the funky old workbench with a wall of storage that looks sleek and clean and gives the appearance that I'm actually organized. (Stop laughing, Dave!)

My budget being practically non-existent, I naturally thought of Ikea, that bastion of DIY. I bought four dressers, each with four drawers, and all a clean, crisp white. I stacked my four flat boxes in the car and drove home, daydreaming about how I'd have them all assembled and in place in a few hours.

I've assembled Ikea furniture before, and most pieces are designed to be idiot proof as long as you follow the instructions to the letter. This can be a little difficult, as the instructions don't even have words, but I'm a visual person, so when I opened up the first box and spread all the parts out on the floor and took an inventory, I wasn't too worried about putting them together.

Caught up in the spirit of being newly organized and logical, I perused the instruction booklet to familiarize myself with the details. First, some cautions:



Before you start, you'll need a few tools:

1. a pencil (you can steal get a free one at the store)
2. a straight-slot screwdriver
3. a Phillips-head screwdriver (I don't know why they call them Phillip...I don't see the resemblance)
4. what looks like an ice pick (or an awl)
5. a hammer

Next, it appears you need a helpful friend with a pencil behind his ear to assist you in scrutinizing the pile of parts.

After that, they are apparently cautioning you to assemble it on a rug because it's too fragile for the floor.

Last but not least, when you try to attach part C to parts A and B, you may become confused and have to call Customer Service.

The next page shows pictures of all the fasteners supplied to put the thing together. I counted 181 pieces, plus the 41 parts shown in the photo above, for a total of 222 parts. (I really did count them! Murphy's Law almost guarantees a trip back to the store if you don't.)

"Piece of cake," I thought...so how long did it take me? The first one took two hours. And then I opened the bottle of wine. I finished the other three in about two days, all by myself. (48 hours divided by 3 = 16 hours each) A total of eight hundred and eighty-eight parts, and I did it all without the friend with the pencil, because he was really only there to supervise.

I never did figure out what to do with the dang ice pick.

the new hummers

Our friends up at Green Dog have been watching this hummingbird nest in the courtyard in front of their store for weeks now. The last time we checked in, there were two impossibly teeny tiny eggs...

now the babies are so big they can barely move in there!

Mama's sure got her hands full keeping them fed. She flies in every ten minutes or so with a meal for them. 

And to think I thought human motherhood was exhausting!