My basic philosophy is that if I DIMDS, I will spend less, learn more and get better results. I'm at a stage in my life where it's worth investing the time in learning how to cook, do repairs and maintenance on my house, and make or build things out of found materials. If I learn to paint now, it will save me thousands over my lifetime in home updates. If I start collecting a good set of basic tools and corresponding know-how, I will gradually master home repair and again, save money in the long run. Most importantly, I want the knowledge to effectively hire experts when I need them and know I'm being treated fairly.
Beyond the basic stuff, there are lots of projects that are very tempting, like this recipe for homemade dishwasher detergent. They remind me of being a kid and mixing together either condiments or cosmetics to come up with some brand-new-never-before-tried creation that would wow my mom and win the hearts of the media. It's science!!
But how much time and money will they really save me over the store brand dry dishwasher detergent? I have set my hourly rate for these projects at $20, because I figure that's what it would take to get me to take on an extra part-time job. For less than $20, I would be better off staying home and getting caught up on chores and reading.
The other day, I got lost down the rabbit hole of DIY/frugal/sustainable projects online. I kept picking up my head and saying to Kevin, "What would you do if I started making my own ___?" I suggested bread, dish detergent, laundry soap, bath soap, taco seasoning, English muffins, curtains, and I still had half a dozen tabs open.
His response? "I would hope you would get bored with it soon and find something that is a more efficient use of your time." OK, so the man has a point. I am a person with a highly specialized skill set. People pay me both directly (when I tutor) and indirectly (when I work for a school district) to teach their children. And yet, and YET, what I really want is to make my own soap sometimes.
There are some things, like bread, where I definitely get a superior product for a lower price, at least during the summer when my schedule is flexible and I can be home to mix up a batch of no-knead bread dough and attend to it 12 hours later. I would love to do a little more wine-making (we've done a few small experiments) for variety and self-sufficiency.
Then there are other things, like laundry soap, that might save me money, but maybe the product isn't as good? And there are some things, like bath soap, that are just not worth the investment in learning, equipment and materials. Frankly, whatever bar soap is on sale is good enough for me. So I don't know where to draw the line.
My rule of thumb is if the project requires a minimal investment, and not too much time, then I should give it a shot. At worst, I'll learn something and gain a new appreciation for cheap, abundant products and their artisan equivalents. What do you think? When is it worth giving DIY a whirl, and when is it time to leave it up to the professionals?
Monday, September 24, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
Rush-Seated Chair
I explained to a co-worker once that I know if I ever went to an animal shelter, I would come home with a near-sighted, 3-legged dog with chronic asthma and the mange. I just pick the thing that needs the most love and attention. She suggested I never get married.
I am the same way about furniture. I have this impulse to uncover the good in each ratty table and chair at the curb, even when it's clearly not worth the time, or the money, to repair and refinish. Sometimes the magic works, and sometimes it doesn't.
This rush-seated chair, which my dad inherited from his aunts, is one of my proudest furniture rescues. It fell over one night and one of the spindles on top broke. I glued it inexpertly, against my mother's advice, and left it in my room when I went to college. Years later, it ended up in my apartment in desperate need of refinishing and a new rush seat.
First, I cut away the old rush and the cardboard padding in the seat of the chair.
Then I used Citristrip to remove the old stain from the wood. Scrubbing the finish out of the woodwork on the legs was beastly, and it ended up still darker than the rest of the chair. I wiped the whole thing down with a tack cloth. I always think there must be a better way, every time I try to jam that sticky cloth back into a bag for storage.
This project is even more absurd when I remember that I managed it in a 550-square-foot apartment with wall-to-wall carpeting and no outdoor space.
When I finally had the wood clean and sanded, I coated it with stain. I have always used old pantyhose to rub on stain, which becomes harder every year because I am pleased to report that my life rarely requires pantyhose.
I put two coats of polyurethane on the chair frame and got a nice, semi-gloss finish. The wood has some really cool color effects that I never noticed as a kid because the stain was dark and covered with a hefty layer of nicotine. Mmm, nicotine.
Then came the fun part. I bought a roll of paper rush and a little how-to pamphlet from Cane and Reed in Manchester, Connecticut, because it's conveniently near my parents' place. I hoped that buying the materials in a store instead of online would get me some advice or at least some encouragement for my project. I didn't find it at Cane and Reed, but they had what I needed and it didn't cost much.
As you can see, I mostly used materials that I had around the house as place holders - binder clips, pencils and pens. Not only did I not know I would need these things before I got started, I still prefer to scavenge materials from my desk.
I followed the instructions in the book to weave the chair seat. The hardest part about the project was keeping the rush damp, but not too damp, and keeping the weaving even and taut. I used pieces torn from brown paper bags to fill the chair seat starting when I was halfway done, and I hope somewhere I put the date inside the seat, because I know that was all part of the plan.
I finished the chair seat by treating it with Johnson's Floor Wax rubbed into the rush seat and melted in with a hair dryer. This strengthens the paper rush and protects it from moisture and some wear. I repeated the waxing a few weeks after the first coat and, now that I think of it, should probably do it again.
It's definitely not a chair for everyday use, as the rush will wear, but it looks great in the corner and I'm really proud of putting it back in circulation. I just wish the stupid cat didn't like it so much.
There's a woven-seat rocking chair out on the porch, that was hear when I bought the house. Someday it will get the same treatment. Stay tuned!
I am the same way about furniture. I have this impulse to uncover the good in each ratty table and chair at the curb, even when it's clearly not worth the time, or the money, to repair and refinish. Sometimes the magic works, and sometimes it doesn't.
This rush-seated chair, which my dad inherited from his aunts, is one of my proudest furniture rescues. It fell over one night and one of the spindles on top broke. I glued it inexpertly, against my mother's advice, and left it in my room when I went to college. Years later, it ended up in my apartment in desperate need of refinishing and a new rush seat.
First, I cut away the old rush and the cardboard padding in the seat of the chair.
Then I used Citristrip to remove the old stain from the wood. Scrubbing the finish out of the woodwork on the legs was beastly, and it ended up still darker than the rest of the chair. I wiped the whole thing down with a tack cloth. I always think there must be a better way, every time I try to jam that sticky cloth back into a bag for storage.
This project is even more absurd when I remember that I managed it in a 550-square-foot apartment with wall-to-wall carpeting and no outdoor space.
When I finally had the wood clean and sanded, I coated it with stain. I have always used old pantyhose to rub on stain, which becomes harder every year because I am pleased to report that my life rarely requires pantyhose.
I put two coats of polyurethane on the chair frame and got a nice, semi-gloss finish. The wood has some really cool color effects that I never noticed as a kid because the stain was dark and covered with a hefty layer of nicotine. Mmm, nicotine.
Then came the fun part. I bought a roll of paper rush and a little how-to pamphlet from Cane and Reed in Manchester, Connecticut, because it's conveniently near my parents' place. I hoped that buying the materials in a store instead of online would get me some advice or at least some encouragement for my project. I didn't find it at Cane and Reed, but they had what I needed and it didn't cost much.
As you can see, I mostly used materials that I had around the house as place holders - binder clips, pencils and pens. Not only did I not know I would need these things before I got started, I still prefer to scavenge materials from my desk.
I followed the instructions in the book to weave the chair seat. The hardest part about the project was keeping the rush damp, but not too damp, and keeping the weaving even and taut. I used pieces torn from brown paper bags to fill the chair seat starting when I was halfway done, and I hope somewhere I put the date inside the seat, because I know that was all part of the plan.
I finished the chair seat by treating it with Johnson's Floor Wax rubbed into the rush seat and melted in with a hair dryer. This strengthens the paper rush and protects it from moisture and some wear. I repeated the waxing a few weeks after the first coat and, now that I think of it, should probably do it again.
It's definitely not a chair for everyday use, as the rush will wear, but it looks great in the corner and I'm really proud of putting it back in circulation. I just wish the stupid cat didn't like it so much.
There's a woven-seat rocking chair out on the porch, that was hear when I bought the house. Someday it will get the same treatment. Stay tuned!
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