domicile

Crafts for Couples

  front hall bench 
  Originally uploaded by emira.

Everyone has their little things that they simply can not abide when it comes to home decor and accoutrements. For me that list includes toilet seat covers, spoonrests (yes really ask me sometime and I'll tell you why), and too many things with obnoxious labels in plain view. For Martin it apparently includes white wire shoe racks. Who knew? Now I'm not saying that I'm the world's biggest fan of white wire shoe racks, but the one that was temporarily holding our shoes in the front entrance didn't really ruffle my feathers. Martin was however on a mission to permanently banish it.

And so, while I was in Montreal over the weekend he began building a little bench/shoerack for the front nook (I'd call it a "hall" but that would be a lie). We had talked about this little unit before I left, and agreed that it would have some shoe cubbies (one tall one for boots come fall/winter) and a storage box under the seat for scarves, gloves and general random front door items. We had planned to upholster the seat in white vinyl thereby continuing the general white vinyl theme in the house begun when Martin gave me this bench two years ago. And while I was on my visit up to Smoking Lily to pick up the couch cushion, I noticed that they had done some vinyl cut-out upholstery to a footstool and promptly decided to steal the idea.

The Classy Couch

  pillow detail 
  Originally uploaded by emira.

Last night things got down right crafty here at the domicile as we continue to ride the wave of motivation that this weekend's party brings and managed to tick a few beautification projects off the list. I began by tackling the couch cushions. These were for the upstairs couch, also known as Martin's Couch not only because it came from his house, but because he made it. (How cool is that?) The upstairs decor is somewhat more sophisticated than what you see in the rec room, and as such required a bit more attention to detail when it came to couch accessorizing. (Did I just use the term "couch accessorizing?" I believe I did, sorry about that).

Really throw cushion covers are not a tricky business, however I kept foretting to get the right zippers from the fabric store right next door to my office, which led to needless delays. The previous pillows were gorgeous chinese silk numbers made with love for me by a dear friend, but unfortunately they didn't really go with Martin's couch or our overall livingroom so well. They will likely find a new home in the house, perhaps in the bedroom or the office. (And in fact, one of them fits in quite nicely still and can be see in the back to the right of the helicopter pillow). I had been trying to think of what to do with the couch pillows since we set up the livingroom -- though I assure you this was not exactly a constant worry, I am not that motivated by throw pillows -- and had frankly been a bit terrified of colour since the electric lime green paint episode back in July.

Sweet sweet rec room

  sweet sweet rec room decor 
  Originally uploaded by emira.

We have a rec room in our house. And by rec room, I don't just mean a room in the basement suitable for recreational activities. I mean, a capital "R" Rec Room complete with real wood panelling, rockin' wall to wall industrial carpet and bizarre screaming-green half walls to mask the foundation. Oh, and there are speakers (no longer in use) mounted in the corners of the ceiling. Sweet dude.

Until now, the rec room has served two primary purposes: 1. storage of boxes and stuff of a less pressing nature; 2. a room in which one can play the X-box.

Not being a fan of the Box with an X, (and blissfully choosing to ignore the reality of those looming boxes), I don't venture often into the rec room. Though in the evening Martin can often be found there, on the pink couch, controller in hand, spending some downtime racing cars through the digitally enhanced streets of London.

But this weekend we're having a party, and so some further incentive to unpack the rec room is upon us. Much progress was made last week when we finally decided that the one small closet in our bedroom was simply not going to hold both of our clothing and shoe collections and Martin gallantly offered to take over the closet in his daughter's bedroom across the hall (leaving me with the one in our bedroom, how very kind he is!). This impacted the rec room box collection significanly, as one entire corner of the room was taken up with the many boxes that contained Martin's shoes. I will not reveal the secret of the exact number of pairs of shoes that my beloved possesses, but will tell you that it is more than my own collection and I believe I weigh in somewhere near 2 dozen if you count flip flops. Suffice it to say, there were many boxes unpacked once the shoes found their new home.

And so, motivated by the dent made, Martin has been pressing on...

Local wisdom

  Father, daughter digging time 
  Originally uploaded by emira.

Once again we have here a series of photos which might give you, dear reader, the impression that I spend most of the designated home improvement time wandering around in my kitten heels, camera at hand, perhaps daintily mopping the brows of those who do "the real work." Guess what? Photos lie.

That photo there depicts hour three in the great Labour Day Sod Removal experiment that I foolishly undertook alone last Monday afternoon. By Wednesday evening a muscle in my back had seized up so tight that Martin actually had to help me in and out of bed. Not a pretty picture.

You see with summer coming to a rapid close I'm starting to get a bit antsy about getting the garden in shape for the coming down time. There are plants to be transplanted that were gifts from Grandma's garden (rhubarb, lavitera and a hearty hydrangea) some of which need new beds to be dug, there are weeds to get under control, roses to trim and there was this bed along the one side of the front yard to reclaim.

When we bought the house a mere 2 months and a few weeks ago now this bed, which houses two beautiful old rose bushes and some shrubs, was teetering on the grass/dirt edge. And what with the floors to be sanded, walls to be painted and so on and so forth, the bed fell to the bottom of the list. On the day of the great dirt distribution, this bed also fell to the wayside as I packed it in sore and stiff at the end of the day, as it had unfortunately gone too far into grassland to just have dirt dumped on top, the sod had to be broken up. Well 2 months of glorious summer later and the bed was all but totally solid lawn, with only a faint outline of its former dirty self.

So, while Martin and his daughter did some post-birthday spending of her gift-certificates etc downtown, I took out the shovel and got to work. Shortly thereafter I began to curse. And sweat. And no more than 10 minutes into it one of the many passing Italian ladies in the neighbourhood stopped to supervise my activities. Our conversation followed a typical format:

1. How am I liking the neighbourhood?
2. How old is that charming little girl that comes to stay everyweek? And is she my daughter? No? Pity.
3. There are no other children in the house? A baby maybe? No? Pity.
4. That's hard work. Yes? That is not women's work. Your husband should do that.

I typically don't argue with these gals about the fact that Martin and I aren't married. And given that I know these gals are typically tough as nails, I try not to take offense and the implication that I don't have what it takes to get things done, for I know theirs is a rule of convention not ability. But as I dug through that sod, continually hitting large rocks, and wrestling with the tenacity of the grass I started to think they had a point.

By the time the second one came along, I agreed with her. Yes, this was man's work. And darn it, where was my husband anyway...?

And so, when Martin and his daughter returned from downtown I happily passed over the shovel so that he could finish off the job. He finished the edges and brought some more dirt around from the back, and she did an excellent job of mixing the new dirt in with the hoe.

Later, Martin told me that when I was in the house making dinner (in the kitchen where a woman should be!) that the neighbourhood gals walking past all gave  him the nod of approval. Order was restored.

Happiness is a new cookbook

Double Happiness is finding your very own recipe on page 148! (Emira's Speedy Gourmet Kale & Tofu Delight)

To my great delight my early copy of La Dolce Vegan arrived today at the office complete with a delightful lipstick smooch on the inside cover page from the lovely Sarah Kramer. And there on page 148, in the Entrées chapter is my humble recipe for "Speedy Gourmet Kale & Tofu Delight"! And I must admit to being fan girl giddy to see it there.

The rest of the book appears to be as charming and resourceful as ever, though I haven't had time to do much more than thumb through it at this point. But a quick glance reveals well over 200 pages of recipe goodness, a heafty DIY/crafty section and plenty of tried and tested kitchen wisdom.

While I'm going to come out here and admit that I am in fact not vegan (though I've been a vegetarian for most of my life), I absolutely love this cookbook series (How It All Vegan and The Garden of Vegan being the earlier titles) for their wisdom, their sass and their guidance on yumminess. This volume is geared at easy, simple and tasty meals and I'm very much looking forward to taking it for a spin.

Bright, Hard Shine. Never Yellows

Bright, Hard Shine Never Yellows
Originally uploaded by emira.

Wax on, wax off.

Our kitchen floors, while kitschy and charming in low light are sadly showing their years. And while I've at moments entertained illusions of restoring them to their full robin's egg blue glory, the truth is they are really beyond repair. That said, unless the floor fairy visits us in the night and installs something shiny and new, or we suddenly find ourselves with say 60 extra hours and a day and nothing else to fill it with, we're going to have to live with them for a while.

I got to know these floors well when we first moved in. While Martin was at work, my mom and I (she had come over to help me move bringing her own gloves and her favorite rag -- this people is where I get it from) got darned familiar with them as we spent hours on hands and knees with buckets, rags and a bottle of sudsy ammonia trying to remove 65 years of built up crud. I could never have done it without her, and her unabashed fearlessness around toxic household cleaners (I tend to harbour only the wimpy but environmentally friendly varieties, but let me tell you they were no match for these floors). It took hours. Any by hours I mean more than 4 and less than 24 (that would be days). And by the time we were done the floors were visably a different colour, a fact confirmed when Martin came home as it was entirely possible that we were hallucinating under the heady influence of all that ammonia.

But while my mother's unyielding dedication to cleaning our kitchen floor left it decidely, well cleaner. The scraping and the scrubbing also left them quite dull. And so, they have spent the last 2 months in serious need of a good waxing. So in need of a good waxing that they in fact illicted comments to that from my visting sister. Though notably no offers to do the deed.

I've put off waxing the floors for two reasons, namely the summer heat and my somewhat delicate and grumpy wrists. But this rainy Saturday, with one excuse firmly rendered moot, I decided to take the plunge. Fortunately I had both my mother's handy tin of AerOwax and her spanky retro electric floorpolisher on loan to make the job go faster.

And really, it wasn't so bad. With first sweeping, vacuming and then washing the floors, it still only took about 20 minutes to spread the wax on. Another 20 minutes to let it dry, during which I failed to encourage Pluto not to walk across the floors, which left him with somewhat waxy paws for the rest of the day. Cat slipping antics ensued much to our delight. And then it probably only took another 10 minutes to buff them up nice and shiny with the polisher. The scent of the wax was very nostalgia enducing, and likely equally as toxic as the ammonia. And so far I've only nearly slipped once on their bright hard shine.