Installing Vertical Planks: ONE important thing i learned!

Well I'm finally putting together a post to tell you about our bedroom-turned-family room with the vertical planked walls that I installed. 

And yes, I'm sharing the one important thing I learned from my experience.

But I have a little confession to make. 

This post is not for experienced carpenters unless of course you're in the mood to grab a cold drink while you sit back, shake your head with pity, and repeat the phrase,

 "Lady! Why didn't ya just use sheets of beadboard?!"

That my friends, is the question I asked myself more than once when I was working with the 6-inch-wide strips of plywood that the Home Depot guys had ripped for me on their saw. 

Although to be honest I always have one of those what-did-I-get myself-into-moments when I'm working without my Dad. 

And even though I eventually finished this room, believe me, there was a lot exasperation about getting my vertical lines straight. 

When my Dad visits next month, I know he'll be smiling and really supportive of my job, but he'll definitely see my little mistakes.

After

 Here's the one mistake that bugs me the most although chances are, you might not notice it. I had to point it out to Jim.

1. Horiozontal vs Vertical Planks?

OK, so back to the topic of vertical planks. 

I don't see as many vertical plank projects, do you?  At least compared to the shiplap ala-Joanna-Gaines-Fixer-Upper look that's so popular these days. If you're still on the fence about shiplap here's an interesting article on whether it fits with your home.

 Me? I've been collecting pictures like this one forever:

And I find the look quite charming, especially for our home which is near the ocean. Still, I'm not sure I would've deviated from the horizontal planks which I've already installed in certain parts of my home, --if it wasn't for our low ceilings in this one bedroom. 

2. The Room

Here's the original Before 

(from the real estate pictures)

A dark room ....with little natural light and low (less that 8 ft) ceilings that made it feel claustrophobic.

The previous owners lowered the ceilings in this room to accommodate the can lighting, and according to our electrician, it's not uncommon around here. 

But since changing the ceiling height is entirely dependent on winning the lottery which I never play--installing vertical planks were my answer to adding to the illusion of height in this bedroom.

In the months before the planks were added, we began with a few basic changes to this bedroom:

The next stage was transforming this bedroom into a casual living space for everyone.

3. Choosing the vertical plank look: 

beadboard sheets or individual planks? 

For me the answer was easy. Because I was working alone I ruled out sheets of beadboard because of the sheer hassle of lifting and moving them myself, and no I didn't want to wait for weekends when the hubby could help me. I know that might seem like a weak reason to rule out beadboard but that's how I roll. 

Also there were two other factors on why I went with faux planks: first I prefer a wider plank beadboard which our lumber yard didn't carry and second, I didn't want to pay for the pricier tongue and groove planks. Since I already knew our local Home Depot would rip my plywood sheets for me I went that way.

...And (little naive Me),

 thought the "faux' vertical planks would be similar to the horizontal planks. 

4. To cut or not to cut my own sheets of plywood?

When using the 'faux' planks ripped from plywood sheets most of us choose to have our local Home Depot or Lowe's do it. Even though I've got a table saw, the thought of ripping all my own wood felt too time consuming. Although in hindsight, the time I saved cutting my planks, I probably wasted in added installation work.

After measuring the room I collected my planks over a week, by dropping into two different Home Depot stores and asking whoever happened to be at their saw. One of my helpers was the manager who was absolutely fastidious about his cuts. Those were the straight ones. The rest of the cuts were pretty irregular which wouldn't have been that noticable if I were laying them horizontally. But once I got started it was obvious that I would have to make a choice.

5. Deciding on the look:

Either I had to keep my vertical lines straight and give up the equal distance between each plank,

or I could use the spacers to guarantee uniform space between the planks, however the vertical lines would not be straight. 

I chose to keep the vertical lines all straight.

6. Confessions from a non-perfectionist carpenter

To further add to my novice carpenter woes, one of the Home Depot guys had pulled out a plywood sheet that was thicker than my others and I didn't catch it. And yep, it got mixed in with the planks on the wall. 

OK. So this is how I know I'm not truly a perfectionist, because if my Dad had noticed the slight difference between the planks on the wall he would've walked over to the flawed plank and yanked it off. Just like that, because it was the wrong size plain and simple. 

That of course, would've led to a few more planks being pulled off because of the newly open space that would have to be re-measured for the new plank to look an equal distance from the others. 

Are you seeing how one thing leads to another when it comes to measuring?

So this is what I did. I sat and stared at the thick plank with my mouth open, took a deep sigh, had a sip from my water bottle, cringed a little more and kept going. 

At that point the mere thought of going back to a crowded and under-staffed Home Depot and bringing back more wood made me want to jump head-first into shark-infested waters. 

(which is basically how I view swimming in the ocean).

This photo shows how each plank needed to be cut down to the size of the wall. Then new trim and new baseboards followed.

7. The finished walls

And so I'm left with what I jokingly call my rustic walls, in the style of a quaint cottage from the rural countryside.

What's wrong with a few odd planks here and there right? 

 Just add some white paint and voila!

  

I brought the rug from the dining room in here to warm up all the white.

I plan on sharing some photos of the REVEAL for this room shortly. Since we splurged on a new sectional in here, everything else in this room is either re-purposed from our old home or bought at a consignment or thrift store. 

Which makes decorating a fun challenge. 

Thanks so much for stopping by friends,

xo

Leslie

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Selfies, Jewelry, and feeling ridiculous (oh yeah-and-this-is-Me)

Hello friends.

Well, I certainly didn’t plan on writing a post about Selfies today but if you’re a regular here you already know I love to talk about things in life that baffle me-excite me-or challenge me.  So today’s topic pretty much covers all three of those.

First—here’s the excitement part:  

When was the last time someone sent you a gift in the mail for absolutely no reason?

Not your birthday. Not a holiday.

Nada. Nothing. Just because.

Well that’s what happened to me recently when Vannessa from Luxuria sent me an elegant set of hammered multi-toned bangles from her jewelry collection…totally out of the blue, as a little token of blogger love.

Honestly, this is one of the amazing parts of being a blogger---you end up becoming friends with people from all over the world, following them through their ups and downs, knowing the names of their family, offering support from a distance when you see them struggling. Funny, the little details I end up knowing about my blog friends. They may be women I’ve never met in person--- yet I have this distinct feeling that I “know” them.

So let me tell you about Vannessa.

She’s got an inspiring fashion blog —and a gorgeous line of jewelry. She lives in a 300 year old cottage in London and regularly writes posts about all things related to being a smart woman with a sharp sense of style. I can’t even remember how long I’ve known Vannessa but based on my memories of her life, it feels like it’s been a long time.

Okay, here’s the selfie part of the post—baffling and challenging me all at once.

Do you want to know how much I like Vannessa?

Well.

I like her SOOOOOOO much that I actually agreed to take a few pictures so I could share my new bangles and do a little shout-out for her jewelry business. And this is no small thing for me.

If you’re a regular here you might have noticed I don’t post pictures of myself much. Well actually never.

 (Except for this one little yoga pose)

After several years of blogging, this is actually my first picture I've ever posted of myself. 

Wow. That's hard to believe... even for me.

But truthfully, I may be the last official woman on earth who doesn’t take Selfies.

I know. Call me a dinosaur. 

But I admit, I'm totally mystified by that urge to pause-in-the-middle-of-whatever I’m doing, to take pictures of myself. I literally never do this.

Although I loooove to see your Selfies, I absolutely do! 

I so admire those women like my friends Tamera and Elizabeth who are refreshingly unabashed about sharing their self-portraits with the world, and whom inspire women of all ages to do the same. 

Express your own version of beauty and humor and self-confidence, they say to all of us, and do it through the art of taking Selfies. If you visit their blogs, you’ll see for yourself how easy it is to get caught up in their exhilarating freedom of expression.

But Moi?

I admit it; I’m not a convert yet.

Does this make me an old fuddy-duddy?

Honestly I just don’t get that 'Empowered-This-Is-Me-Being-Totally-Me-Feeling, as I struggle to figure out how far to hold my phone away from the gigantic-looking face I see in that screen.

Do you know what I mean?

Because sometimes I feel like I'm the only one with this view.

Those rare times when I’ve tried to take a Selfie it brings out my absurd side; that part of me that laughed out loud when Jim and I walked into an “Ugly Xmas Sweater” corporate party dressed in formal-wear because we literally missed the memo.

The Me that trips in public because I misplace my glasses and can’t see the curb.

It's the posing part that makes me feel a tad ridiculous. That suddenly brings out my "Tom-Boy"side ....the Me that prefers old jeans and t-shirts and who never finds time to get my nails done, because there’s literally 1000 things I’d rather be doing than sitting still long enough for someone to paint my nails. 

I jokingly call it my 'Dude' side;  it's the Me that recently got my first tattoo at age 57 with my 22 year old son after we met for a cold beer at a bar in Newport Beach and had a great talk about Life.

I guess my point with all this blathering ….is to say, please don’t let my geeky posing as a jewelry- model keep you from visiting Vannessa’s blog and introducing yourself. It would be so kind of you to visit her at Luxuria-Jewellery and tell her I sent you!

She was so sweet to send me these beautiful bracelets.

Let's see. If I lift my hair up would it draw attention to the bangles? Opps...too blurry.

Maybe if I hold my hand up...but wait, the bangles keep separating that doesn't look right.....

What if I hold my arm up... balancing it on my other arm? At least the bangles all fall together, but what's with that plastic smile? 

I could keep going but you'd be bored silly. I know I am.

But you should know that these bangles really do look great with everything! And I sure hope you have fun checking out Vannessa's jewelry. 

Oh and before you go...please tell me, how do you feel when you take Selfies?

xo

Leslie

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What you are seeking is seeking You.

The first time I ever met Anne she politely asked me to leave.

“Goodbye!” She said in a strong, matriarch voice. “Good-bye!” she repeated just in case I didn’t get the message.

I had sat frozen in my seat for an extra minute, feeling like a pink-faced candy striper who had just walked in on a naked patient. But. But...I’ve only been here ten minutes I remember thinking. Ten minutes into our one hour visit.

Oh well, I gave her a weak smile and walked out thinking,

...well I guess not all hospice patients want visitors.

Especially when they’re in the Alzheimer-Dementia unit and rarely able to recognize you; although this little insight took a while to sink in.

In the following weeks my visits with Anne have settled into a comfortable pattern of unpredictability where I walk into the room with a big, happy greeting and silently wait to see signs of alertness in Anne’s eyes.

For me these moments have a fuzzy similarity with a scene out of Groundhog Day; except I am Bill Murray’s softer version, gently repeating our first introduction each time we meet.

Sometimes I’ve been excited by the occasional flash of connection that happens during an ordinary visit. Those are good days. Like the time I was standing at the foot of the bed when Anne suddenly lost control of her bowels. I felt sure that something emotionally real had passed between us in those intimate moments before the nurse arrived.

I was the one who saw the flash of horror on her face and heard her repeatedly mumble,

 “What …what happened?! I’ve never had this happen before!”

In that split-second I felt myself catapulted from a quasi-stranger into that of intimate confidante, if only for those moments when she seemed comforted by my words.

And it made me wonder, would things be different from now?

You can imagine how giddy I felt the next week when Anne was totally alert and smiling, even asked me to push her around in her wheelchair, into the garden and through the hallways until we eventually ended up singing in front of the Karaoke machine. Around us was a small huddle of fellow patients that Anne typically avoids, and even they seemed a bit surprised to see her roll up next to them.

We sang together.

And I can still hear her wobbly voice surprising me with these verses she clearly recalled from her past:

“Jesus loves me this I know

For the Bible tells me so”

Little ones to him belong

They are weak but He is strong.”

Naive me. I actually thought we had some kind of break-through that could last.

But the next week I found Anne in a darkened room when I arrived. Her mouth was open and her face was relaxed in the throes of a deep sleep. While I stood there, her eyelids suddenly flickered, she saw me and told me to go.

Taking my cues from previous weeks when she often woke up ready to talk, I pulled out a book and sat next to her bed.

And several minutes later she opened her eyes again.

“Why are you still here?” she demanded, her voice suddenly becoming a razor sharp knife cutting through the quietness, “If you don’t leave right now I’m gonna call the lady!”

And that was that.

Later after I sent my report, the hospice chaplain was concerned about my feelings. Had I been ‘traumatized” by Anne’s treatment, he asked.

It was a sensitive question on his part, but traumatized?  Definitely not.

It’s true that I felt the sting from her harsh words, let's face it, being tossed out of someone’s room is a jolt to the heart. But what had lingered afterwards was something else; it was the shock of the complete disappearance of my sweet, vulnerable singing partner of the previous week. It was the dramatic switch in her mood and tone that threw me. Not only was I not recognized, but I hadn't recognized her.

A few days later while I was practicing on my yoga mat, I had this clear insight into how my ego causes me to slip up in real life. It was a lesson on how "egoism,"--what yoga teacher Patanjali refers to as "asmita" blurs the truth. 

In my case, my instant reaction of hurt had been solely focused on me, pure and simple. Even though I had good intentions, I lacked the ability to pause. To create a little space before my own feelings of woundedness enveloped me. Here was a clear-cut example of how easy it is to misread a difficult person in my daily life. My ego had literally obscured the fact that these harsh words were being uttered from someone barely clinging to reality.

The fact that I would take her outburst as personal would be the epitome of ego.

And while Anne's dementia-tinged outburst may seem an extreme example, it comes with a message. It lifts the curtain on those people who go around lashing out at others. 

Do you have one of these in your life? Because it begs the question. Before we react to their words, can we pause long enough to ‘see” how badly they must be struggling?

This is what the hospice director doesn’t know.

 Anne is my teacher.

Anne is teaching me what it’s like to take my yoga practice off the mat and into the real world.

She is reminding me every time I see her that all we truly have is the Present Moment. And whether we’re a hospice patient or not, we should take nothing for granted. There are absolutely no guarantees that what we have today will be here tomorrow.

Anne is teaching me about impermanence. Reminding me—every time I say good-bye—that time is a gift. And that we should never wait to tell the people in our lives, I love you. Thank you. I’m sorry.

Anne is teaching me about how to care deeply about someone without attachment, how to give freely without having any expectations. Even the expectation that she remember me.

 Anne is teaching me about my own annoying flaws and unfinished work and reminding me in the words of our hospice director, “that most of us die the same way we lived,” which simply means there are no magical transformations on the deathbed. Not really. Angry people die with their anger. Selfish people die afraid. It’s up to us --- in the words of Maya Angelou, to “go out and grab the world by the lapels.” It’s up to us to have a clear intention of the person we what to be, and to begin today to put that “ideal” into practice.

Anne is reminding me to keep growing. To keep facing my anxieties. To deal honestly with my underlying fears that make it so hard for me to “let go” of certain situations and worries.

She is teaching me that if I truly want to become a wise, peaceful person by the end of  my life--it won’t happen without mindful choices and effort.

I can keep this list going, but I’ll end it this way.

Every single time I walk out of the beige, brick building where Anne has a room, I am blown away by the fact that I can walk outside and breathe in fresh air.

I have a laser beam awareness that I’m standing on two strong legs that can carry me anywhere I want to go. And that I can look up and see the color of the sky whenever I get the urge.

I can’t explain how simple and radiant and beautiful my life seems at this one moment.

But this is what I do every time I leave Anne's dark carpeted room with it's hospital bed.

I stand on the concrete sideway. I take a deep breath and I feel utterly grateful.

Tell me.

Who is your teacher these days?

I'd love to know.

Namaste,
Leslie

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*recent posts in my yoga series:

Becoming the person you're meant to be

one radically different thing I did that changed my life