Do you ever have a nagging itch in the center of your back, just out of the reach of your hand? It’s enough to drive you crazy. You claw at your back desperately with your hands, nearly pulling your arm out the socket in an attempt to bring your nails close enough for relief, only to fuel the fires of frustration. You twist and turn your back, rub it against the back of your chair or desperately grasp for a pen just to relieve yourself of the annoyance. Eventually, it finds its long-awaited scratch or just goes away out of its own accord.
But what if it can’t be scratched? What is a person to do when the itch’s nagging presence turns into obsession, and you begin taking desperate measures for some sanity? You begin slathering with pricy lotions and creams, picking up various tools hoping they chase your aggravation away. Something that seemingly started so innocently has graduated into an ordeal.
People of the world: meet my itch. It’s name is Oak Kitchen Cabinets. The itch began in August, when we moved into our house. It was like the cabinets were taunting me, what with their deep wood grain and intense love for the 90’s and brass hardware. Sure, they match the rest of the house with its oak trim and beautiful 6-panel solid doors, but I can’t help but feel like they’re trapped in a time warp. Back in the day, I’m sure they loved Beverly Hills 90210, New Kids on the Block and Pound Puppies. I loved those things too, cabinets! Really, they were great. But, I’ve moved on since then and changed my preference while you still reminisce about wearing a side pony tail and those shirts that changed color with the heat of your body.
Deep down, I am my father’s daughter. I have a great appreciation for beautiful, solid wood, and am intrigued by the story an old piece of furniture has to tell. I have many memories of the hours my dad spent stripping layers of paint from antique furniture in our garage, bringing out the beautiful grain in old pieces of history that made our house a home. He just has that knack for seeing through the layers of paint and grime to the potential that lies underneath.
Now, with that being said, I have respectfully come to the conclusion that there is no potential to be discovered underneath the layers of paint I am prepared to slap upon my oak cabinets. Part of me appreciates their beauty and feels fortunate to have such numerous and well-constructed real wood cabinetry in my home. I know others aren’t as lucky and would consider killing for cabinets like mine. But, I’m a greedy little homeowner.
I have a tendency to get an idea and without careful planning or thought, dive right into the project without looking back. Recent stints with projects gone awry and the process of repainting the freshly painted have made me a bit skittish. This project is different. I have spent months poring over design websites, photos, paint swatches and step-by-step instructions on numerous websites. Although I feel I am prepared for the mess and mountains of work ahead, the itch has begun to interrogate me.
For an itch, it sure does ask a lot of questions. Sooo, have you decided on a theme for this kitchen of yours? English Cottage? French Country? Tuscan? Roosters are nice, but how many roosters is too many roosters? What if you pick the wrong shade of white? Maybe white is too “white.” Perhaps ivory or butter cream would be better. The rest of the house is oak, maybe you should just keep it the way it is, that way everything will match. What if you mess it up and spend the rest of your life hating it and yourself for what you’ve done?
But what if it can’t be scratched? What is a person to do when the itch’s nagging presence turns into obsession, and you begin taking desperate measures for some sanity? You begin slathering with pricy lotions and creams, picking up various tools hoping they chase your aggravation away. Something that seemingly started so innocently has graduated into an ordeal.
People of the world: meet my itch. It’s name is Oak Kitchen Cabinets. The itch began in August, when we moved into our house. It was like the cabinets were taunting me, what with their deep wood grain and intense love for the 90’s and brass hardware. Sure, they match the rest of the house with its oak trim and beautiful 6-panel solid doors, but I can’t help but feel like they’re trapped in a time warp. Back in the day, I’m sure they loved Beverly Hills 90210, New Kids on the Block and Pound Puppies. I loved those things too, cabinets! Really, they were great. But, I’ve moved on since then and changed my preference while you still reminisce about wearing a side pony tail and those shirts that changed color with the heat of your body.
Deep down, I am my father’s daughter. I have a great appreciation for beautiful, solid wood, and am intrigued by the story an old piece of furniture has to tell. I have many memories of the hours my dad spent stripping layers of paint from antique furniture in our garage, bringing out the beautiful grain in old pieces of history that made our house a home. He just has that knack for seeing through the layers of paint and grime to the potential that lies underneath.
Now, with that being said, I have respectfully come to the conclusion that there is no potential to be discovered underneath the layers of paint I am prepared to slap upon my oak cabinets. Part of me appreciates their beauty and feels fortunate to have such numerous and well-constructed real wood cabinetry in my home. I know others aren’t as lucky and would consider killing for cabinets like mine. But, I’m a greedy little homeowner.
I have a tendency to get an idea and without careful planning or thought, dive right into the project without looking back. Recent stints with projects gone awry and the process of repainting the freshly painted have made me a bit skittish. This project is different. I have spent months poring over design websites, photos, paint swatches and step-by-step instructions on numerous websites. Although I feel I am prepared for the mess and mountains of work ahead, the itch has begun to interrogate me.
For an itch, it sure does ask a lot of questions. Sooo, have you decided on a theme for this kitchen of yours? English Cottage? French Country? Tuscan? Roosters are nice, but how many roosters is too many roosters? What if you pick the wrong shade of white? Maybe white is too “white.” Perhaps ivory or butter cream would be better. The rest of the house is oak, maybe you should just keep it the way it is, that way everything will match. What if you mess it up and spend the rest of your life hating it and yourself for what you’ve done?
Allow me to answer the incessant questioning churning through my head. My aim is for a hint of French Country and Tuscan, if that is possible. The perfect number of roosters in a kitchen is somewhere between one and three. Four is pushing your luck. I don’t plan on picking the wrong shade of white (who does?) but white IS too white when everything else is adorned in oak. Ivory or butter cream would be perfect, topped with a coat of deep brown glaze. If I mess it up and hate it, I’ll just have to spend the remainder of my days living with my horrible decision, now won’t I??
When we moved in, I hated the cabinets. Wait a year, I told myself—then do something with them. Maybe they will grow on you, I chimed hopefully. Nothing has grown, except my disdain. In one month, I will dedicate an entire week of my life to this project. My seven vacation days have been approved; it is just a matter of time before the journey to painted cabinets begins.
I feel like embarking on this cabinet painting project is like preparing for major surgery. I’m nervous, I don’t know what to expect but I know there will be some pain involved. I keep telling myself things like, “You are ready for this! Think of all the research and time you have invested!” and “Think how great they will look when you’re done!” and “Well, you’re using up 7 freaking vacation days for this little project of yours, so you’d better know what you’re doing and be ready, because so help me I will be really upset with you if you screw this one up.”
I also anticipate that painting the cabinets will only intensify my deep-seeded hatred for the oven, horrible white laminate countertops and the terrible fluorescent light fixture, none of which do anything for the appeal of food. Almost everything I eat has dog hair on it anyway, so the idea of it being appealing is probably a moot point.
On an unrelated topic, I discovered one of the downsides of living in the country last week. A large skunk was hit by a car and its dead carcass was located right at the end of our driveway. The wind blew its lifetime supply of stink into the house for a day before I just couldn’t take it anymore. I held my breath, swallowed my instinct to be grossed out, grabbed a board, and headed down the driveway. Smell and fly population intensifying as I drew closer, I told myself to pretend I was playing shuffleboard. I took my stance, looked both ways across the street and pushed that rotting carcass across the road with a few strokes of my scrap wood. It still stinks, but at least I don’t have to stare at the turkey buzzard-picked rotting flesh every time I pull out of the driveway.
When we moved in, I hated the cabinets. Wait a year, I told myself—then do something with them. Maybe they will grow on you, I chimed hopefully. Nothing has grown, except my disdain. In one month, I will dedicate an entire week of my life to this project. My seven vacation days have been approved; it is just a matter of time before the journey to painted cabinets begins.
I feel like embarking on this cabinet painting project is like preparing for major surgery. I’m nervous, I don’t know what to expect but I know there will be some pain involved. I keep telling myself things like, “You are ready for this! Think of all the research and time you have invested!” and “Think how great they will look when you’re done!” and “Well, you’re using up 7 freaking vacation days for this little project of yours, so you’d better know what you’re doing and be ready, because so help me I will be really upset with you if you screw this one up.”
I also anticipate that painting the cabinets will only intensify my deep-seeded hatred for the oven, horrible white laminate countertops and the terrible fluorescent light fixture, none of which do anything for the appeal of food. Almost everything I eat has dog hair on it anyway, so the idea of it being appealing is probably a moot point.
On an unrelated topic, I discovered one of the downsides of living in the country last week. A large skunk was hit by a car and its dead carcass was located right at the end of our driveway. The wind blew its lifetime supply of stink into the house for a day before I just couldn’t take it anymore. I held my breath, swallowed my instinct to be grossed out, grabbed a board, and headed down the driveway. Smell and fly population intensifying as I drew closer, I told myself to pretend I was playing shuffleboard. I took my stance, looked both ways across the street and pushed that rotting carcass across the road with a few strokes of my scrap wood. It still stinks, but at least I don’t have to stare at the turkey buzzard-picked rotting flesh every time I pull out of the driveway.
No comments:
Post a Comment