It has been a long time since my friend Paul introduced me to a website that featured DIY plugger repairs. “There, I fixed it,” perfectly summed up the eyeglasses that were held together with zip ties or the mirror that was taped to a car. My latest low-budget solution indeed made me yell those words out loud. I solved a problem that had arose from the solution for a different problem, which in turn gave me an idea for a future episode of my long-dormant podcast, QuOTeD – The Question of the Day.
It only took 14 years of living in this house to realize that the door on the dryer is reversible. Making the switch would mean that I could transfer clothes from the washer to the dryer without the door blocking me. However, one improvement exposed the need for another one. The dryer isn’t level. Now the door swings closed from a resting state. It might be worse than the original problem was. The solution is to level the dryer. But until I get around to it, I’m using a magnet to hold the door open. It’s taped to a random wire that will be removed – again – when I get to it.
Hold dryer door open with magnet.There’s a magnet buried in the blue tape.
In more fix-it news, I made some updates to the various websites that I manage. Had I been pinged by the social scientists who are collecting happiness data, it would have been a low point for me. But I don’t think it was the task itself that I hated. It was having to do it instead of something else. In fact, I might have preferred to troubleshoot websites over putting up the apples from my neighbor’s tree. In this case, any unhappiness I might have been feeling didn’t stem from a specific task, annoying that it might have been. But it was about the perceived or real pressure to do more than can be done in a day. I suppose one lesson here is to ignore the dire messages to make software upgrades until you can put it on the schedule. In the meantime, find your happiness in crossing your fingers and trusting that it’ll be fine.
Taking a walk this morning, Brian and I stumbled upon another swell fix-it job.
Cheap landlord or ingenious solution?
It’s nice when things fix themselves. I was late planting my garden this spring and on top of that, it appeared that I had planted some non-producing beans – if that’s such a thing. But then one day I was working in my yard and saw green beans hanging from the top of the arbor.
Nature doing its thing.
I wish the environment could fix itself on a timeline conducive to supporting life as we know it. Regardless, I’m still heartened by the bees that make the yard hum.
Bees go wild for the chives and sedum that line the back walk.Chives and sedum make a pretty mix.
If only I would fix the compost, maybe Brian wouldn’t cringe whenever I hand him a bucket to empty. It’s pretty wild back there.
Can you spot the compost bin in this jungle?You’ll have to fight the raspberries to get to it!
There’s a lot yet to fix around here. But it’s important to remember to stop and take pictures of the flowers.
As for my question, given that it took me over a decade to make a simple improvement – reversing the swing on the dryer door – I’m wondering if others have such projects. Are there easy home improvements or repairs that you put off doing until, for reasons you might not fully understand, you woke up and decided today is the day. You tackle a task only to wonder: What took me so long?
Brian groaned when he realized the purpose of our post-lunch errand. Nevertheless, he was relieved to find out that my haul would fit into a grocery bag. In other words, it wasn’t another chair.
I love my recent acquisitions, two paintings I found on FreeCycle. The first is a sunset – or a sunrise? – that I see as I turn around to face the hallway at the top of the stairs.
The second is a place that feels familiar, though I’ve never been there.
If you ask me what I’ve been up to, this is what I’ll tell you. I hung up two paintings the same day I got them. If there’s time and you seem interested, we could talk about how something as simple as a free painting can lift a person’s spirits or how these random paintings about which I felt lukewarm belong here. For the person who gave them away, these paintings were clutter or reminiscent of a time best forgotten or just ugly. Or maybe it was painful to give away her mother’s art that was collected over the span of a childhood? But she’s moving to Denver. Starting over after a messy divorce. No room. Downsize, like it or not. Or maybe she read Marie Kondo’s book and said, “These colors don’t spark joy! Get them out!”
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Or I might tell you about how I’ve been replacing the boards on my deck and how being done with hauling 16-footers on top of my car (after hours of picking through them at the warehouse, ugh!) is a cause for celebration, even though there’s still more to do.
Or – being of limited skills in the way of needle arts – how I cannot believe that I managed to recover four patio chairs using my consumer-end sewing machine. It was tricky but not as hard as sewing a patch on some old jeans.
It’s an out-of-body experience to look at a finished product (mostly finished, I might add some buttons but I’m counting it as not to despair). It’s the same feeling I get whenever I see the door at the top of the stairs. It was caked with layers of brittle paint and it was a huge job to repaint it. The ceiling in the dining room. The office I’m sitting in right now used to be Pepto Bismol pink. These are good things to remember when you’re in the middle of a never-ending project like when there are still boards to cut, clamp and screw down to the framing of the deck. With every swing of the hammer, I wonder “Am I about to ruin my house?”
“I’m not bored but I might be boring.”
That’s what I told my mother when we were catching up this morning. She called just as she was sitting down with a fresh cup of coffee and just as I was about to do the same.
Boring is no badge of honor anymore than eschewing television makes you better than me. I would welcome adventure. But it’s still cool to take pleasure in second-hand art and to think, “Perfect! I love it.” And then to put away the drill that has a place because you’ve already done the boring task of organizing your tools, which didn’t bore you at all.
Bert claiming the materials to make the seat cushions. He loved the plastic mesh that I was able to reuse after reinforcing it with fabric.“You’re not going to throw out these filthy cushions are you?”
I did document the patio chair project and keep meaning to post some tips, if not for the random person who might find it useful (Spoiler alert: pockets, as in shams, instead of zippers), then for me. Because it’s already starting to feel like someone else must have done it and I’m not sure I could do it again.
My sister Amy doesn’t care for nuts and raisins in her baked goods. As she once put it, “What’s this debris doing in my food?” If she were in The Cities now, I’d put this muffin to the test to see if it could persuade her to come over to the other side. It’s a variation on the recipe for bran muffins in The America’s Test Kitchen Family Cookbook. Fresh out of the oven these were dense and moist with the crunchy top that makes a muffin a muffin. I took a chance and cut the refined sugar completely. I liked it. But if you have a serious sweet tooth, you might miss it.
The Recipe
In a small saucepan on low heat, melt
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
In medium bowl, soak for at least 10 minutes:
1 cup of unprocessed wheat bran
with
1 ¼ cups of buttermilk *
In the measuring cup you just used for the buttermilk, crack
1 egg
Set the egg aside in the refrigerator so that Bert doesn’t get any big ideas about jumping on the counter and licking it.
Grate and set aside
3 large carrots (a little more than 1 cup)
Chop
Almonds, pecans or walnuts to make about 1 ¼ cups
To the nuts you just chopped, add and set aside
¼ cup sunflower seeds
Check your butter. If it’s done melting, turn off the burner.
In the meantime, in a larger bowl whisk:
2 cups whole wheat flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoons cinnamon
Is the butter melted? Good. Turn off the burner and let it cool.
To the bran-buttermilk mixture mix in
1 cup raisins
1 cup unsweetened applesauce
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
<¼ cup honey, maybe ⅛?
The cooled but still melted butter
The egg from the fridge
The grated carrots
The nuts
Fold together the bran-buttermilk mixture (with the debris) with the flour and other dry ingredients. Scoop batter into well-greased muffin tins. Bake at 375˚ for 20-25 minutes.
* Buttermilk substitute
In general, add 1 TBS lemon juice to measuring cup. Fill with milk to make 1 C.
For the 1 ¼ cups of buttermilk in this recipe, add 1 TBS + ¾ TSP of lemon juice to measuring cup and fill with milk to make 1 ¼ cups.
For a double batch, add 2 TBS + 1 ½ TSP of lemon juice to measuring cup and fill with milk to make 2 ½ cups.
Alternatives
The original recipe uses white flour. In one test, I used half white and half wheat. I thought 100% wheat worked fine. It also called for molasses, which I replaced with honey because that’s what I had. I also didn’t measure it, because that’s just another dish to wash. Let’s call it ⅛ cup. Also, in the version here, I replaced the brown sugar called for in the original recipe with grated carrots. I was somewhat worried about the water content of the carrots, but decided not to drain them. In a previous test, I added 1 cup of chopped pecans (no sunflowers added). That was good. Here the combination of almonds and sunflowers worked. Again, it’s what was around. A version with coconut flakes would probably be good. I tested a cookie version of this. That seemed to work. It’s like having the top of the muffin without the bottom. I’m still curious to know if you could put this in a bunt pan for something pretty.
Nutrition
Here’s the nutrition information according to VeryWellFit.com.
Compare that to the original recipe with the white flour, molasses, brown sugar and without the nuts:
Here’s how these bran muffin recipes compare to a Lemon-blueberry muffin from the same cookbook:
The Lemon-blueberry muffins include 3 cups of white flour, 1 cup sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, low-fat yogurt, 2 eggs, 8 tablespoons of butter, lemon zest and 1 cup of blueberries.
In the end, though I do love this recipe, I doubt this is the kind of “gateway debris” that might convince someone who has always hated raisins to give them another try.
In the past, whenever someone came over to visit and we sat on the deck, I’d throw an old sheet over one of the patio chairs that have seen better days. This was going to be the year to address the problem. We should have replaced the cushions a long time ago when Steve offered to make them at cost. He wanted to return a favor, if you can call being patient a favor.
We first met Steve Cone when we hired him to reupholster the old chair that Brian had inherited forty years ago during his time at Rural Sociology at the U of M. While it was supposed to take weeks to fix the chair, due to extenuating circumstances, the initial deadline was blown by several months. We didn’t care. As long as our dusty chair with its springs that dragged on the floor sat in Steve’s shop, it wasn’t in the living room. Mission accomplished, as far as I was concerned. There was no favor to return. But Steve insisted on giving us the deal.
“It’s just sewing,” he said.
It made me think that a person in his line of work must be accustomed to fussing or downright difficult clients.
Steve was a rock star in the world of upholstery and I feel lucky to have crossed paths with him when I had the chance. Recently, when a salesperson at A-1 Foam recommended his book, Singer Upholstery Basics Plus: Complete Step-by-Step Photo Guide, she said “People have started businesses based on what they learned in that book.” I couldn’t help myself and had to make it known that we too had met the man and knew of his greatness. What I didn’t say was that I have good memories of how easy it was to chat with Steve and I feel strangely proud that he felt the same way about me.
Maybe he made everyone feel that way, which would have been another testament to his greatness.
As he went over the numbers for the patio chairs, Steve said that he could reuse the fabric on the back of the cushion, which was this light gray plastic weave that’s used for sling chairs. I wasn’t so sure I liked that idea. I was sick of these awful cushions and I wanted something new. Wasn’t that the point? Whatever we decided, before he could do the job, Steve would need some time to give his hands a chance to rest. In a couple of months, I was supposed to call him to get on the schedule. Then time got away from me, as it always seems to do. When the Christmas card I sent to Steve was returned in the mail, I had a sinking feeling that too much time had slipped away. And I was right. At the age of 71, Steve had a heart attack and died.
He missed the first pandemic shutdown by just a month or so. He also would have missed the last party we had before the coronavirus took over the world. If only we had invited him…
It was a stupid calculation. On the one hand, I could see him at the table. On the other hand, it was early on in the dinner party experiments that Brian and I were planning for the year… So, maybe we should stick with people who we knew would roll with it regardless of whether a silly little game worked as planned or whether anyone had anything insightful to say about the topic at hand or whether the evening went south in some other unexpected way. We would invite Steve once we figured out what could help keep things interesting yet comfortable enough amongst a group that didn’t necessarily know each other very well. In the meantime, there’s no need to torture anyone or to look foolish so early on in what I had hoped would become a friendship. Had I to do it over again… would’ve, could’ve, should’ve… I should’ve trusted that Steve could’ve rolled with it and it would’ve been fine.
So, back to square one with the chairs. “Send photos!” a handful of upholsterers said.
We bought this secondhand patio set fourteen years ago. That pattern strikes me as 80’s but I’m not sure.
So far, there has been one response, not counting a prompt response from Repair Lair that doesn’t do upholstery even though It’s just sewing.:
Rebekah,
These cushions are pretty complicated and definitely beyond my sewing skills….
S*
At another place, we were warned to be prepared for how expensive cushions can be: “The stuff made in the factory is cheap. So, when you have them custom made, they’re going to cost you more than what you paid for the entire set.” In addition to that, a backlog of work meant that it would take weeks just to get an estimate.
Next stop: A big box store where they stock bolts of fabric so that a person can walk out with a yard. Probably inspired by watching too many YouTube videos, I would try to repair the cushions myself and I needed supplies to experiment. Whether my consumer-end sewing machine was up for the task was just “part of the discovery process,” as Brian likes to put it.
So far, so good.
Bert approves of the newly recovered chair, though he was also happy to claim the dirty naked Dacron that’s been sitting on the floor by the front door for the last few weeks.
In an upcoming post, I’ll describe what I did to deal with the worn parts of fabric that I reused on the backside of the cushion (I came to appreciate Steve’s suggestion to reuse the fabric and have noticed that upholsters in general take pride in keeping what’s salvageable), explain how I got around installing a zipper (and why I wanted to avoid it), and let you know how I ultimately finished this cushion. For now, I have discovered enough to know that what I’m trying to do is possible. As for the frames of the chairs, eventually I’ll repaint them.
In case you forgot, here’s a before and an almost-done after.
Steve has been on my mind as I’ve been working on this project. I’m on shaky ground, as I am not a sewer. Just cutting into the fabric feels scary. So, telling myself, “It’s just sewing,” can be helpful whenever I get stuck.
Steve Cone and Brian who is sitting in the newly reupholstered chair that Steve just delivered.The chair Steve Cone recovered for us.
In the summer of 2020, I spent some time organizing the garage. This included facing the yogurt containers full of miscellaneous screws, nails, paperclips and the random cafe curtain ring. It was a tiresome task that used up my allotment of decision-making power for the day. Nevertheless, it felt good to do it. Tidying up always gives me a sense of accomplishment. And it’s particularly satisfying when I can benefit from my effort down the road, as I recently did.
I was, once again, organizing the garage and needed some really short screws that could be used to attach container lids to the bottom of a shelf. At first, it was looking like a trip to the hardware store was in order. But then I remembered that not only did I save some random screws, I organized them in such a way that they could be useful.
In one case, I used scraps of foil insulation to further divide the drawers in the hardware organizer that I was using. Other materials like a piece of thin cardboard would also work. Take a strip that is the width of and a bit longer than the drawer. Make a crease for however many dividers you want, being careful that the resulting divider doesn’t exceed the height of the drawer. Pinch. Staple. Insert.
Here’s a picture where you can see how two different types of nails are separated within the same drawer:
In another case, where I had a handful of onesies and twosies, I punched the screws through a scrap of foil insulation. This keeps them together nicely.
Then you can just put these little sheet of screws in a drawer:
As for why I wanted to screw container lids to the bottom of a shelf: more storage.
Ironically, as I was tidying up this year, I found three – count ’em! three! – yogurt containers full of random hardware.
My friend Santwana started a zero waste Facebook page for her neighborhood. So, when I told her about the seedling rack that I made out of a box spring, she wanted pictures to share on her page. Here’s an overview:
This twin box spring was cut in half and folded to stand freely on one end. It made natural shelf space for trays of seedlings.
If I recall correctly, some mattress warranties are dependent on using the box spring that comes with it. So, with every new mattress coming with a new box spring, how are the two ever separated? And yet orphaned box springs are a dime a dozen online.
Correction: They are free.
Taking a box spring that I didn’t need was the price of a free bed frame from FreeCycle. The people who were giving away/off-loading these items were trying to avoid a disposal fee. Since our regular trash service allows for three “large trash” pickups a year, I took the deal. I just needed to make a call and put our new box spring on the schedule. Then like magic someone would come and haul it away. Easy. And yet there it sat in the garage. Maybe someone could use it? But no one ever responded to my posts. Maybe it could be upcycled? But the votive candle holders everyone was making out of box spring springs just seemed like reshaped junk, much like a lot of pasta dishes that require varying degrees of effort.
In the meantime, I’ve been developing an interest in restoring old furniture. Knowing very little about it, I wondered if the springs some people were using to make Christmas wreaths could be used in the seat of a chair. Maybe I should open up the box spring to see what’s what. But wait! Finally, a bite. Someone actually needs a box spring sans mattress. Fine. I brought it in the house to inspect it more closely and vacuum it. False alarm. She won’t be needing the box spring after all. In the meantime, Michael and Bert – our cats – claimed it as a scratching post. And they liked napping in the perfect hammock of a box spring turned on its side.
With all of the chairs I’ve been collecting, my house was already taking on a workshop vibe. But the box spring pushed it into grunge.
So, I took it apart with the idea of reshaping it into a cat palace. A bigger better hammock with a footprint more to my liking. It would be something Michael and Bert could climb like a tree. Unfortunately, there weren’t any springs like the ones I saw on YouTube. So, there was nothing in that respect for my rescued chairs. However, the black fabric that covers the bottom of box springs is the perfect material to cover the bottom of a chair. And the padding from the box spring could be used for the seat of a chair. Having been covered in the factory with bomb-proof polyester, it was in great shape.
I’ll use the padding from the box spring and the black material that covered the bottom of it for my rescued chair projects. Instead of folding the black material, I should have rolled it to avoid causing creases that can’t be ironed.This chair was free on Craigslist. The first layer under the fabric is cotton. Underneath that is horsehair which can be reused.
After removing the upholstery from the box spring, I removed the center brace and cut the cross slats in half. This gave me a chance to use my fancy laser level. It let me strike a line down the center of the slats, so that I could easily cut each one in the same location. Then with Brian’s help, I folded the box spring in half lengthwise and stood it up on its end. I reattached the center brace to support the open end of the slats that had been cut. Then I attached an additional strip of wood to support the slats on the other side of the fold.
The next morning, I couldn’t see a cat tower anymore. I don’t know why but it became a tower for seedlings instead. Thankfully, Michael and Bert didn’t seem to mind, although I did wake up one morning to find a tray on the floor with teeth marks in it.
I started with making trays that fit seven pots and it worked. But I decided to go with shorter trays so that everything was contained within the frame.
Since I needed trays of a specific size, I made them using foil insulation. To make them, I cut an 8 x 21″ piece of insulation then pinched each corner and secured it with a rubber band. To add support and to more uniformly hold up the sides, I added a rubber band around each end of the tray.
There are fourteen shelves – seven on each side of the fold – that hold trays with six pots each.
Yes, those pots are made out of newspaper and a dab of tape. I’ve used them in the past and they work great. Here’s the YouTube video where I learned how to make them. Or if you do a search for newspaper seedling pots, you’ll find other methods that do not require any tape.
While I really like the look of my seedling tower (I don’t get an old mattress vibe at all. I think it’s really cool!), I figured that it would be a pain to water. But for me, it’s fine. A little water in the bottom of the tray and a couple of squirts with a spray bottle seems to work fine. In case I wanted to make adjustments to maximize the sun exposure, I put the seedling tower on a rug so that it’s easy to slide on the wood floors.
I saw a YouTube video where someone made a display rack for a store with the same idea of using these built-in shelves. In that case, they did not fold the box spring in half. They also added wheels. I can see where that might make a nice seedling rack too.
To maximize light, I’m thinking about adding more foil insulation so that it can close around the structure at night and open and reflect light back to the tower during the day. There’s probably an optimal way of doing this, but I don’t know what it is.
I’m playing around with the idea of adding foil insulation that could be closed around the structure at night and opened to reflect light back onto the structure during the day.
Somewhere I have lights I could potentially add.
We’ll see how this works. In the past, I’ve just had luck putting seedlings in a tray by the window and keeping them moist. As I learn more about it, I can see there are some best practices that might yield even better results. In the meantime, I’m also trying winter sowing. My friend Santwana mentioned that she was doing this, which is what prompted me to do seedlings this year. It’s funny how life is a circle that way.
If you wanted to try this, I’m sure you could make someone’s day by taking an old box spring off of their hands.
Today our friend Faith stopped by for our regular Saturday coffee hour. When she mentioned that she needed some mousetraps, I was happy to save her a trip to the store. Her visit was timely, as I’ve been in a decluttering mode. While extreme examples of hoarding make me feel sick to my stomach, even more repulsive is how easily we throw things away, wherever that is. A-W-A-Y. It sounds more like paradise than a landfill or an incinerator. Or it could be a prison: He’s going away for a long time.
The language around acquiring and discarding stuff is interesting. I feel sorry for the artificial Christmas tree that’s posted on Craig’s List or FreeCycle with a note that says: “We need to get rid of it by Sunday.” After twenty years of service, this is how it ends. They just “get rid” of you, as if treating a case of lice. It feels disrespectful. On the other end of the spectrum there’s “rehome.” That’s a little precious. “I would be glad to rehome the working treadmill that you’re not using.” Of course, up top, I’ve already said “upcycle” and “declutter”, two words that spellcheck doesn’t like, though it’s notable that “spellcheck” is just fine. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.
Staring into my kitchen drawer, I wonder how many oven mitts a person can use at once. It’s a maximum of two, right? One of the mitts has a hole in it, something I discovered months ago when I burned myself on a baking sheet. And yet, there it is. Un-re-homable. I’ll have to throw it away or let these things pile up until pictures of them are posted on the Estate Sale app next to my teddy bear.
This is where YouTube comes in. Somewhere along the line, YouTube decided that I might be interested in learning how to reupholster furniture. One thing leads to another, and now I’m learning how to make box cushions. That’s why I saw a drink cozy as I looked at this useless mitt. While my sewing skills are limited, I could picture it. So, I tried to make one.
Being careful not to tap the soda can with the sharp scissors, cut the stained worn out top from the bottom that doesn’t wear out as fast. Take out one seam on the sides of each of the two pieces and open them up in a single flat layer. Trace a soda can on the top part of the open mitten. Then trace a bigger circle around that. If I did this again, I would use the measurement from the cup I used for the outer circle and use a compass to make a pattern.Wrap the bottom part of the mitt – finished side up – around the can. Move it so the top of the can extends past it enough to drink from it. Use a pin to mark the fabric where the bottom of the can is. Trim off the bottom from the pin plus a 1/2 inch or so for the seam allowance. Secure the binding on the top, if needed. Add more binding to each side. I used part of an old sheet (the red strip). Cut out the circle for the bottom. Mine didn’t look so great, so I topped it with denim from some old jeans. I covered the inside of the bottom with the red sheet, but didn’t do anything with the sides on the inside.
Once the two pieces were ready, I sewed the side piece to bottom, using what I learned from the YouTube videos about making box cushions. A better sewer could whip out a much nicer version of this in no time. Other than starting with a perfect circle, if I did this again, I would consider adding a button hole to the top edge of the overlapping side. I don’t think I can do that now that everything is assembled.
The good news is that there’s less to throw away. The not so good news is that we’ve never used cozy’s. We have friends who use them and that’s what gave me the idea. In fact, I have a foam cozy that was a freebie at an event and it was my intention to give this thing to my cozy-loving friends. Now, instead having one cozy that we never use, we have two of them!
At least I didn’t make a wind chime out of old CDs.
In the spirit of giving old things a new life, I gave my new cozy an honest try. I could appreciate the appeal of it. When Brian saw it he laughed and immediately recognized his old oven mitt. He had to admit that it was convenient to put down his drink without being tethered to a coaster.
After I’m dead, people are going to come to my estate sale and they’re going to find this cozy on a table full of kitchenware and possibly, unless a relative feels some attachment to it, a bear.
Bert on Brian’s chest with his paw in the shirt pocket.
The first five pictures I took were totally black because I didn’t notice right away that I wasn’t in the point-and-shoot mode. That required a flash that made the picture look flat.
This is a nice picture of Brian. The light catches is eyes. But the picture is still flat.
I flipped though some of the pre-sets on the camera to see what would work.
Our messy living room.
I liked the slower shutter speed better. But I needed my subjects to stop moving. A tripod would have helped. I like that this picture had more light variation and isn’t so flat. But does it have a focus? The lamp in the background is probably blown out. But this was an improvement over the flash. I like the suggestion of trees through the window and the way the blue wall color shows.
Bert with his paw in Brian’s pocket.
In the pictures without the flash, Bert’s orange markings stand out better.
Speaking of Bert, he would like to have breakfast now. I assume that’s why he is meowing at the office door. As for me, I am going to get back to working on some writing. After I had already told some people that I am writing a novel, I heard an author say that he doesn’t like to make such announcements because you can’t be sure that the thing that you are working on wants to be a novel. So, then you have put yourself in the position of forcing – let’s say – a short story into being something that it isn’t. Or maybe after a lot of work you discover that you don’t have anything. Why not fail in private? Jinxing myself aside, I feel mostly confident that I will finish this. Whether it turns out to be “anything” can be another problem for another time.
With all of the old homes that are being torn down in our neighborhood in favor of density, it was distressing to come upon a gem that had some “architectural interest,” though it had fallen into disrepair. Next to an open lot – maybe two – that had already been cleared of the homes that used to be there, I was certain that Brian and I were looking at the future site of yet another apartment building that would be made with particle board. My heart sunk. I didn’t think that the house had much of a chance of escaping the wrecking ball.
I was wrong.
Southwest corner of the house.
Recently, Brian noticed a crew working on the home. We confirmed that the place is being restored and I am relieved. For starters, the house is sitting on a brand new foundation after having been moved from the adjacent empty lot. On Sunday, two guys were busy framing a new garage.
Front.Front zoom.Porch. The Christmas lights on the front porch hint at an interesting story. Who put them there? The previous owners? Was it a last hurrah of some sort? The new owners – the people who are fixing it up? I am picturing a celebration after they had just bought the place.
Density in the city core is supposed to be the environmentally responsible thing to do. However, if that’s the case, then why not require the buildings that replace old homes to meet LEED (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design) standards? They should be state-of-the-art, zero-waste and carbon-free (almost free?) structures. Green roofs. Grey water. Passive solar. The works. They could be made to last for centuries. And they could be made for Minnesota. What do I mean by that?
Several years ago, I was in Virginia for a wedding. The area had been going through a crazy heat wave that ultimately took the power out for many of its residents, including the family of the bride. The hotel where several of us were staying was not effected and so there was some shifting to accommodate various guests, some of whom were getting baked out of the spare bedrooms where they were staying with the locals. Even the bride took over one of the rooms at the hotel so that she could get ready for the big day.
It was scary. And it made me wonder. When did we stop designing buildings based on the conditions of the natural environment versus the assumption that air conditioning (or heat) would always be a simple flip of the switch? Do we have to go back to adobe homes? Our own house that is just over a hundred years old was also built with the belief that we would never need to worry about the supply of cheap power or the consequences of using too much of it. So we have added insulation and taken some other steps to conserve energy. But now that we know what we know, when we build new housing, shouldn’t we build for the environment from the start?
When I took these snapshots, I didn’t anticipate that I was going to make a video with them. But I wanted to try it and used what I had.
And that is just considering the energy standards. There are also human standards. For example, we were talking to a couple at a friend’s party (pre COVID-19) who were telling us about their woes looking for a town home in a retirement community. The good ones have – ahem – community spaces. And this couple was holding out for one such place. According to them, the newer developments treated things like lounges and meeting rooms as wasted space, which is to say that they were not included. While the two embraced downsizing, retreating to their pod where they would feel isolated wasn’t what they had in mind when they decided to retire.
There is also green space to consider, which is another aspect of the human standard. New buildings should have green rooftops. Courtyards. Enough grass for a picnic. Balconies. Playgrounds. We cannot concern ourselves with this, right? However, we do concern ourselves with how many parking spaces there will be, which is funny since density is packaged with this idea that the new arrivals will use the public transit and therefore should eliminate any concerns about the impact on traffic. In the meantime, in one of the apartments going up near us, eliminating balconies from the plan is supposed to assuage the fears of the neighbors who see the development for what it is. College housing. Elsewhere, another development received a variance that essentially traded green space for parking.
It feels like people are pitted against each other in weird ways and bad decisions come out of that. I wonder if it’s because economic problems are easier to solve than human ones (I think I am channeling Brian here because this is a theme for him.). If I only have to think about the cost per square foot, it is easy to find a solution. But if I have to ask myself whether I want my grandmother to live in a place where there will be almost no chance that she will get to know her neighbors or whether a little kid wouldn’t be better off growing up in a place where there are trees and grass – those are bigger, messier questions that will depend more on stuff that cannot be expressed algebraically. These are values that exist outside of ledgers.
A while ago, I recall reading about a family that was selling their house on Marshall Avenue to a developer. The neighbors were upset for all of the reasons you would expect. But the sellers insisted that they had no choice. They needed the money to retire (it might have been a case of a parent who needed to move to assisted living, but the point here is the same). I just hope that they were able to find a place where the developer did not skimp on the community space because that is what the market dictated. Now, why people are in the position of making economic choices that they would rather not make is another issue. But I mention it here because long term care security and a broken health care system are a part of this story that should be explored further.
Finally, I have a question about how the neighbors are economically impacted by these developments. For example, down the street from where I live, a property sold for over a million dollars to a developer. The one on the corner across from it sold for 700,000 dollars. But what if suddenly having an apartment building next to your house makes your property value go down? Or what if, you can no longer see the sky when you look out of your office window and this really depresses you? What if it shades your tomato plant? Should you be compensated for this? Conversely, do these over-market-value sales have an impact on my property taxes, since home valuations are based on recent sales of comparable homes in the area? Or should I expect my property taxes to go down since there will be more people to share costs?
This is not a rant against density. However, it is an observation that it is not the only thing and it can be taken to an extreme. The airlines serve as a cautionary tale. Over the years, we have watched legroom on flights disappear. And now just as we thought that it would have been impossible to jam another row of seats into economy class, the industry has been considering yet another tier of traveling where passengers would essentially stand for the duration of the trip. Yep. Too far.
Back in September, I started to dread winter. We anticipated feeling even more cramped inside our bubbles, as Dr. Fauci predicted a surge in coronavirus cases. Maybe we would get antsy and panic like a flock of ducks flushed out of the security of the brush. So, Brian and I started hosting Saturday coffees with the idea that by the time winter came, we would have established a routine where we could easily pop out of the house for a quick hello with the neighbors.
That was the plan. And it still is. But there would be no perfect record, as I had hoped. The single digits eventually forced a cancellation of our Saturday routine. More would follow. Though disappointing, the bitter cold gave me an idea. Or it might be more accurate to say that it brought an idea forward. Could we base a podcast on the neighborhood zine that we have been publishing since July? Would this offer some additional connections that might be valuable?
I was adamant that the zine itself should be printed and delivered to households. That’s why I began with what I alone could manage, which was essentially my block. Then a few people offered to print and deliver even more copies. It became the model. The zine would be as big as this volunteer pool would allow. And while we don’t quite cover it at present, I see the natural physical boundaries of the zineto be east of Cretin, west of Cleveland, north of Marshall and south of St. Anthony Avenues.
Though I love the e-newsletter that I produce for my podcast, QuOTeD, The Question of the Day, I was positive that the Roblyn 21XX zine shouldn’t be online. Part of what makes it cool is that you have to live here to get it. (Note: I have mailed hard copies upon request. Most notably my parents are subscribers.) However, I think a companion podcast to the zine is different. Yes, it is online. Yes, there is a screen. Yes there are links to click. But, a podcast like this could also be our private low powered radio station where there is a little more room, like a secret swimming hole before it is discovered by litterbugs. Plus, there is a warmth in hearing a voice. Maybe it can warm us up on those days when it’s too cold to do much else.
So, just as I did with that first issue of the Roblyn 21XX zine, I made a pilot episode of its companion podcast. This could be a one-and-done, a nice idea that doesn’t have legs. That would be fine. Or it might stick and become something even better. Either way, I enjoyed making this episode and hope that you enjoy it too.
Rebekah
Thank You
Header image by Mary McCluske. Thank you for documenting another Saturday coffee in the neighborhood.
