There are certain places where men fear to tread, places where the very fiber of our being is threatened. Even otherwise tough men go to these places haltingly, fearfully, knowing that they may face unspeakable terror — knowing that, at the very least, a life-changing and significant event is about to happen.
I went to one of these places recently, and I survived, but just barely. That place is called David's Bridal.
What happened was I had to accompany my wife for a fitting of her mother-of-the-bride's dress for our daughter's upcoming wedding. I was there to take pictures with the phone and send them to the daughters for instantaneous commentary and approval (what a Jetsons world we live in now). This was to be my first full-on David's Bridal experience. It was quite the adventure.
In case you don't know, David's Bridal is a warehouse-sized wedding and women’s formalwear store. I'd never been there before but I've been to men’s formalwear stores for suits several times.
When you go to the men’s stores, it's very low key. You work with a knowledgeable salesman, try on a few suits, and come back a few weeks later when the alterations are done. In a men’s store, it's so calm and refined ,you feel like sitting down with a newspaper, or maybe even a scotch and a cigar. That's how relaxed the atmosphere is in a men’s formalwear store.
Not so in David's Bridal. I've never been inside a beehive, but I imagine it's very similar in there to the atmosphere inside David's Bridal. That's right, it's full of all these women literally buzzing around.
I could not believe how busy this place was on an otherwise cold and quiet winter Sunday afternoon. I don't know if David's Bridal is publicly traded but, if it is, that's the next stock I'm getting.
When you walk in, there's a receptionist; yes, they are so busy, they actually have a receptionist, like in a doctor's office. As you're waiting to talk to her, you look around and it's just unreal.
You may have seen or at least heard of the TV show, "Say Yes to the Dress." My wife and daughters watch this all the time. It's brides trying on wedding dresses with family members nodding approval or disapproval.
Believe it or not, what should be this special but still kind of ordinary event is actually a TV show. Well, David's Bridal is like 20 episodes of this show running at the same time.
As you wait for the receptionist, you look around and there are future brides all over the place on display in all their shiny white finery. Whoever said marriage was on the way out had it all wrong, based on the amount of dress shopping that is going on.
We finally got the receptionist, and the dress my wife ordered was brought out. Then we were directed to a tiny fitting room way in the back of the humongous space.
Unlike other women’s stores I've been to with my wife, they had no problem with me joining her in the fitting room, which was really helpful. I was able to help her hang up her clothes properly, and then zip her up when she got the new dress on.
I still needed assistance, though; there is a snap above the zipper that my fat fingers could not handle at all. A saleswoman — they're all over the place, you just have to flag one down — kindly showed me the trick: Pull the zipper part-way down, do the clip, then zip up. Any day you learn a new trick, even if it's just a fancy dress-zipper trick, is a good day.
Then we stepped outside the fitting room and I took some pictures with the phone and sent them to my daughters. The funny thing is, I have a hard time relating to all this since it's so easy for me to get dressed.
On a normal day, it's a shower, pants, a shirt, and I'm done. My hair is so short, it needs virtually no care at all. Even putting on a suit and tie is relatively quick and easy.
Compared to that, what these women go through is kind of a nightmare. Just finding the dress — once you eventually do — is only the first step. Now comes the search for the shoes and the bag and the accessories, to say nothing of the hair and nails and all that. What a conundrum.
Honestly, I'm so glad as a man I have it so much easier. I wouldn't have the fashion sense, patience, and endurance for shopping to deal with the "Say Yes to the Dress" crowd.
Here's another trick I learned at David's Bridal. When a dress is close but not quite right, they make a thing called Dress Tape that lets you stick things where they need to be. I'm getting a roll of it for myself, yes I am.
I ride old British motorcycles that vibrate a lot, and this clear, sticky stuff will be perfect for taping up a loose horn or taillight that's about to fall off. Wish I'd found out about it sooner.
When you're a guy in a place like David's Bridal, you can't help checking out the ladies. What's amazing to me is that all these gals are there, walking around in fancy wedding dresses, in a very public space, like it was nothing.
To me, that should be kind of a private thing, but maybe I'm just old-fashioned (or just plain old). I guess, now that I think about it, I've only ever seen one live bride at a time. To see so many in one spot — literally dozens — is like bride overload. All those sequins, veils, trains, and bust-lines in one place at one time. Holy cannoli.
I know the girls go there to try on dress after dress and it's a lot of work, but maybe I can give them a little advice. As I stood there taking it all in, one thing became apparent to me: The "best looking" brides weren't the ones with the most fancy or elaborate dresses. Not at all.
The best looking brides, to me, were the ones who looked happiest. The ones who had big smiles on their faces, no matter what dress they happened to be in. The ones who looked like they had the feeling that they were getting ready for the biggest day in their lives and this was just another small step to getting there.
I'm not kidding, you can see it in their faces. Call it confidence or happiness or whatever; the ones that looked like it really didn't matter what dress they got, these were the ones who looked the best. You could just see it.
I'm really glad I'm not a woman, because you'd not be impressed with my fashion choices, I can guarantee you that. Life is too short. I'd much rather say yes to the couch than say yes to the dress.
A couple of winters ago, we had so little snow that I never once started my snowblower. This year was obviously Mother Nature's payback. Since we had so much snow this winter, I thought I'd go over my snow-removal procedures.
What I do depends on when we get the snow and how much snow we get. Like anything in life, snow removal is all about attitude. If I tell myself it's going to be my exercise for the day, it doesn't seem quite as bad.
When I was younger, we lived in a house with a normal-sized driveway. Back then, my only snow-removal tool was a shovel. I can remember a few times when the snow was so deep I had to take a cut or two of snow off the top before I could shovel to the ground. That was a lot of snow.
Occasionally, a nice neighbor with a snowblower would help out. When you're out there with that much snow, armed only with a shovel, there is nothing better than a helpful neighbor, let me tell you.
Then we moved to a house with a very large U-shaped driveway; in effect, we now have two driveways. That's when I finally had to get a snowblower. Advancing age and so much more snow to clear demanded it.
On a really bad day, it takes me about 90 minutes to get the whole driveway cleared. That's a workout, even with the snowblower.
Lets say it’s a workday. Since I leave for work so early in the morning, I try to just blast my car out of the snow-covered driveway and into the street, which I hope will be plowed, figuring I can deal with the driveway later in the day.
The prospect of running the snowblower in the frigid cold and dark pre-sunrise morning is too depressing to contemplate, unless someone in the house has to get her car out before I get home from work.
On the weekend, I don't have to worry about timing so much, which is great. Even if my church organist wife has to get out for Mass, the sun is at least out by then, which makes it so much better.
If the snow accumulation is no more than a couple of inches, I won't bother with the loud, heavy machine; instead, the pusher shovel works just fine. I treat it like a workout and it's not so bad.
If we get up to, say, four inches, then I'll go with the regular shovel. It just seems wasteful to use a gas-powered machine for so little snow. As long as I'm still strong enough to do it by shovel, I always try that first.
If we get six inches or more, the snowblower and the ear protectors come out. No way around it. There's just too much driveway; I don't need or want that much exercise.
By the way, if you're thinking of getting a snowblower, I'd recommend a 10-horsepower, two-stage unit as a minimum. In this part of the great Northeast, you need that much, trust me. Anything smaller and you won't be able to handle the nor’easters that seem to be coming so much more frequently these days. Sometimes bigger really is better.
OK, so now I'm ready to snowblow the driveway. It's taken me many years to perfect my routine. When you have a big driveway like I do, you have to think about the pattern, because you want to minimize the amount of snow you have to move twice; a snowblower can throw snow only so far.
First, I'll make a cut right in front of the garage door that is twice as deep as the length of the snowblower itself. This becomes my turn-around area for my return trip back up the driveway. You really need to have this.
It also helps to have all cars out of the driveway if possible. Blowing show onto the car is just more snow that has to be removed later.
When you make that first pass to the end of the driveway, it gets interesting. You need to turn around, but you might have a foot or more of snow on each side, wedging you in tighter than a belt line at a Weight Watchers’ meeting.
You hope your snowblower is powerful enough to get you through that dense, packed-in snow left in the depression at the bottom of the driveway by the town plow. If you break through that, then you can pivot 90 degrees and make a couple of turnaround cuts parallel to the house, same as you did at the top of the driveway.
This insures that, on the remaining trips to the bottom of the driveway, you won't have to go out into the street again, which is always dangerous. If you can't break though the packed-in mass at the bottom of the driveway, leave it for later and attack it in small chunks from a different angle (this is why you need a big, powerful snow-blower). If that doesn't work, God forbid, you have to shovel it by hand. Ouch. Pray for your lower back.
After the first lane is finished, it's time to get into a rhythm, making passes up and down the driveway until all the snow is cleared. At each turn-around, you have to pivot the heavy machine up on its rear wheels and turn it a full 180 degrees and then turn the snow exhaust chute the other way.
Sometimes you need to back up. The snowblower has two reverse speeds, but both are so slow that I usually just grunt and yank the thing back. As I said, snowblowing is my workout for the day; during a full session, I can easily sweat through all my clothes, no matter how cold it is.
I ordered an accessory hood for my machine that clamps onto the handles and protects me from snow blowback. On a windy day, you would not believe how much thrown snow can blow right back in your face.
The hood works great but often it can get covered with snow, making seeing where you're going tough. Still, I've experienced so much awful snow blowback that I can't imagine going without the hood.
When you get a lot of snow or a couple of snowstorms in a row, the piles around the driveway can get quite high, so high that you have trouble seeing when you pull out into the street. There's really nothing you can do about this — the snow has to go somewhere.
I've had my mailbox almost completely buried several times, to say nothing of the poor shrubs. At least the mountains of clean, white snow are pretty to look at.
Once I finish my first driveway — remember, mine is U-shaped — then I still have another one to do. The second is more difficult because I don't want to blast snow onto the neighbor’s driveway, meaning I have to constantly adjust the blower chute.
When all that’s completed, there is still the mailbox to plow out, then the steps and walkways, and finally I'm finished. Unfortunately, the snowblower doesn't clear right to the asphalt, meaning there is always a little bit left to clean up manually.
Sometimes I do it with the pusher shovel, but most times I just let it go because I'm too tired to deal with it. Then, of course, it ices over and I have a skating rink in the driveway. An ice pick and rock salt are always on hand to deal with that.
I always clean off the snowblower before putting it away, using an old car windshield snow-scraper for the job. Never put your hands anywhere near the augers (the spinning parts that blow the snow) on a jammed snowblower if the engine is running; even when it's off, you need to be extra careful around the augers.
You'd think this would be obvious, but talk to anyone who works in a hospital emergency room, and they'll tell you snowblower injuries do happen. That's the main reason I never pushed my kids to use power equipment when they were young; I'd rather just get the workout and not have to worry about them.
My snowblower is over 15 years old and still starts on one or two pulls. Here's the secret: Every year before you put it away, drain all the gas out of it, change the oil, clean it thoroughly, spray it all down with WD-40, and put it in a safe place.
Every other year, do the same thing but also take off the bottom plate, grease all the shafts and gears, and oil the cables. Follow this simple routine and you'll think you have a new snowblower every year. I still like mine a lot but new ones have heated handgrips so, if you see mine for sale, that's why.
This was surely one of those winters where you don't miss having a gym membership.
A long time ago, I went to a tool show at the New Scotland Armory. At the time, I didn't have much of a workshop but I always liked tools so I went to just look around.
At one table, there was an English-made backsaw for sale. This is a short, stiff hand saw used for fine cuts in wood. The top brace of the saw was plated gold, and the handle was exquisitely made of hardwood with matching gold rivets.
When I picked it up and held it, I gasped at first — this tool fit my hand like a fine glove, like it was made just for my hand. Before or since, I've never picked up any tool with that kind of feeling, a feel that, with this tool, which was basically an extension of my hand, I could work with total confidence and precision.
The saw cost, if I remember correctly, $45, which was a lot back then. I didn't buy it and I've been kicking myself ever since. A tool of that quality will easily last a lifetime and then some.
What brought this to mind was something that happened with my father the other day. He'd been cleaning out the trunk of his car, which was still full of stuff from a recent move.
One of the things he pulled out and gave to me was his father's wood saw. This saw is strong and stout, maybe 100 years old. There's a little rust on it but overall it's in fine condition.
When I first gripped it, I got the same feeling like I did when I picked up that backsaw at the tool show. It didn't fit my hand perfectly like that saw, "the one that got away," but it was close. It's clearly a quality product built for serious work by a craftsman. Amazing that this classic tool was just bumping around in my father's trunk for the last few years.
My grandfather was retired by the time I knew him, so I never saw him do any real work, but he would always putter around the apartment where he lived. The interesting thing about him was he'd fix everything — including his false teeth — with a file.
Sounds odd, I know, but talk to any craftsman and he will tell you a good man (or woman) with a file can fix anything. To think I now have his saw in my own personal possession is quite an honor.
When my parents moved, I did pick up a few of his other tools, most notably a really nice Stanley hand drill, but this saw is much larger and makes a wonderful visual impression. It still looks like it's ready for anything.
My lovely wife and I used to go to a lot of garage and estate sales where we'd often find vintage tools like this, but we had to stop going. The problem , for every nice thing we'd find we'd bring home 10 other things that we really didn't need, which leads to clutter.
There are reality TV shows about out-of-control hoarders that get good ratings. We're not that bad but I've decided that, until we clear most of it out, we're not "sale-ing" (hitting the yard and estate sales) anymore.
I have a buddy, a tool guy like me, who made a rule for his family — nothing goes in unless something goes out. So, if you want a new TV, the old one goes. Same with furniture, housewares, etc.
I wish I'd done that years ago, believe me. You don't own stuff; it owns you. Everything needs to be stored properly, cared for, dusted, and maintained. The less you own, the less work you have to do.
I like motorcycles but I only want to own a few that I can really ride. I know several guys who have around 50 bikes, and I know one guy with over 100. No way I would ever want to own that many bikes, unless I were opening a museum.
There is a TV show called New Yankee Workshop where master carpenter Norm Abram builds various projects. He does a great job but the thing is, he has a large, heated shop and every power tool ever made.
For regular guys like me, it loses a lot of relevance because of this. I'd like to see him build a cabinet with just two sawhorses, simple hand-held power tools, and old-style hand tools like my grandfather's saw and drill, in his driveway, garage, or basement, the way most normal guys work.
He virtually never uses any hand tools, yet I still do many times. For example, when I want really fine control, or to clean up the end of the cut where the curved circular saw blade can't reach, I still use a handsaw. Works great.
As well built as it is, I couldn't see using my grandfather's handsaw for any real work. Instead, I removed the rust and polished it up real nice.
Here's a tip: To remove rust from an old tool, go to the supermarket or health-food store and pick up some powdered citric acid — about one cup to a gallon of warm water will do. Let the tool soak in there for a few days and the rust will magically disappear.
After the saw was cleaned up, I made a display case for it and it now sits proudly on the wall in my family room. I thought about mounting it behind glass but instead I left it open, attached by magnets. This way, if I ever have an intruder I can quickly pull the saw out to defend myself. I'll bet Grandpa would have loved that!
Displaying Grandpa's saw like this just seems appropriate for such a well-preserved relic from a prior generation. Truly they don't make 'em like this anymore.
I have other hand-saws that are not as nice; I'll use them to do real work. For a special tool with sentimental value like this, celebrating its heritage in this way is the right thing to do. There's nothing like passing down an old tool from generation to generation.
Isn't it funny how things work out: I let the one saw I really liked get away, but the one I really needed found me anyway.
Not long ago, we had a playoff of horrible things, with automated telephone answering systems beating out graffiti by a hair. With vestiges of the holidays and good cheer still hanging in the crisp, cold air, it's time to be positive and look at the bright side for a change.
In that spirit, let's have a playoff of good things. Same rules as before, two divisions of 12 going head to head. Again, we have no idea how this will turn out, so lets get started.
Good Things Division I:
7. The bveach
11. Motorcycle riding
1 vs. 12, Mangos vs. Walking — Mangos are the most popular fruit in the world. There's nothing like a fresh one that's not too ripe and not too hard. Makes you glad to be alive. Walking is the most basic exercise, a fundamental human activity that we take for granted but is so key to our personal freedom and ability to do things. As good as mangos are, walking wins.
2 vs. 11, Sex vs. Motorcycle riding — When sex is good, it's very good, and when sex is bad, it's still pretty good. The problem with sex is that you can't get away from it. Even when you're buying a bag of onions at the market, there are the women’s magazine covers shoving it in your face. Motorcycle riding is wonderful on so many levels I can't imagine my life without it. Maybe when I was younger I would have gone the other way, but too much of anything is never good, so motorcycle riding wins (that's one good thing about getting older — I used to think of sex all the time; now I can sometimes go almost 10 minutes).
3 vs. 10, Art vs. Solitude — I've never studied art but I do get great satisfaction from classic Norman Rockwell paintings and wild Salvador Dali paitnings, along with our local masters like thought-provoking Thom Breitenbach and moody Dave Arsenault. I also enjoy contemporary art, classics, sculpture, etc. — just set me loose in a museum and I'm happy. Solitude is hard to come by, but it's a delicious joy when you can find it. I don't mean like in prison; rather, just time to contemplate in total peace and quite so you can reflect and recharge. Art wins but solitude rocks.
4 vs. 9, Music vs. Electronics — Music in all forms is the true common language among humans. If you , you can have it 24/7 no problem, just amazing. Electronics is what makes all our technology possible, from space travel to smart phones. I'll give music the win here only because I can't imagine living without it.
5 vs. 8, Vacations vs. Books — Vacations are a good thing, but, if you're lucky and love your job, they might not be so important to you. Books are the best way I know to share knowledge between eras, races, genders, etc. Books win this one easily.
6 vs. 7, Railroads vs. The Beach — Railroads are the single most efficient way to move mass amounts of goods; nothing else even comes close. The beach is the quintessential summer fun and relaxation destination (don't forget the sunscreen). As much as I love the beach, I'm giving railroads the win because they are so useful.
So now we have:
Walking vs. Railroads — Walking wins here because it's so basic to the human condition, but that doesn't take away from the utility of railroads in any way.
Motorcycle Riding vs. Books — As much as I love motorcycle riding, I can't curl up in bed with my bike, so books win.
Art vs. Music — Quality art can move me, no doubt about it, but I can't slow dance with a painting or a statue, so music wins.
Which brings us to:
Walking vs. Music — This is really tough because I love both so much, but they make some really nice high-end wheelchairs, so music takes it.
And now for the Division I final:
Music vs. Books — Does it get any tougher than this? There's actually an opera called Capriccio by Richard Strauss where the heroine has to choose between two suitors, one who uses music to woo her and one who uses poetry (I won't tell you how it turns out; go see it for yourself). Almost an impossible choice, but I have to choose books since the written word is what great societies are built on.
Good Things Division II:
8. Disc Jockeys
9. Cursive Writing
1 vs. 12, Football vs. Crocs — I've been a football fan since I can remember and I still love the game, though all the concussions as players get bigger and faster concern me greatly. Crocs are those ugly rubber shoes that are so comfortable you can't believe it. I'm giving Crocs the win, as my feet are that important.
2 vs. 11, Watches vs. Water — A good watch is a thing of beauty. Now that everyone carries computers, I mean smartphones, around all the time you see fewer watches, but they are still a symbol of status and class. What can you say about water, you literally can't live without it, so let's give water the win.
3 vs. 10, Tools vs. Democracy — A good tool fits your hand like a glove and lasts a long time. That's why good used tools command such high prices. Democracy is good in principle but has its problems: people can be bought off and there are many other kinds of corruption. Still it's the best system out there. Tough call, but I'm giving tools the win because with good tools a good man or woman can build anything.
4 vs. 9, Friendship vs. Cursive Writing — I've had people tell me they have no friends and I honestly don't know how they survive. Good friends make life worth living. My cursive writing has deteriorated over time. The only way I can make it legible now is to write excruciatingly slowly. At least I still know how to do it — there are now school systems where it's no longer being taught at all. This is a mistake; everyone should learn cursive writing. I'm giving friendship the win because it's so important for personal happiness and well being, but cursive writing is in no way a loser here.
5 vs. 8, Libations vs. DJs — I've always been able to enjoy libations in all their forms without having too many problems, simply because I hate hangovers so much. Still, I realize that alcohol ruins people’s lives, which is a real tragedy. I've always loved disc jockeys as well. How can you not? On a long car ride , the DJ keeps you company, which is a very intimate and special thing. I'm giving DJs the win because I can always live without libations.
6 vs. 7, Cigars vs. Marriage — Smoking is another thing that, done to excess, ruins lives and even kills, but an occasional cigar is something to be savored. Marriage is the cornerstone of our society. I know the only reason I go to the doctor at all is because my wife makes me. I'll give marriage the win, but, if the weather were warm, I'd be outside with a fine cigar for sure.
So now we have:
Crocs vs. Marriage — You might think it makes no sense to compare two things that are so different, but both keep you comfortable and will wear out over time unless you take care of them. I'll give marriage the win, but I've seen new fur-lined Crocs; if these are good year-round this answer could change. Are warm and comfortable feet that important? Heck yes.
Water vs. DJs — Water is truly all you need to drink. We take it for granted but in many parts of the world it's a scarce resource. DJs are falling out of favor as other forms of entertainment take over, but a good DJ, whether on radio or at a club or wedding, is still a great thing. I'll give water the win because it's so fundamental to our existence but not because I don't love DJs, believe me.
Tools vs. Friendship — Tools make our modern world possible, but what kind of a world would it be without friendship? Friendship wins.
Which brings us to:
Marriage vs. Friendship — Two sides of the same coin, don't you think? Let's give friendship the win, since (hopefully) you have to be friends before you get married anyway.
And now for the Division II finals:
Water vs. Friendship — You do need water to live, but in medieval , before they had sanitation, you were actually better off drinking beer, since the brewing process killed off the harmful bacteria. I wouldn't want to drink beer all the time — it would taste terrible on bran cereal — but it would be tough to live without friends, so I'll give friendship the win.
That brings us to the finals:
Books vs. Friendship — Books have been an important part of my life since I can remember. When I lived in Brooklyn, I was lucky enough to have a library within walking distance. I can remember making many trips loaded down with all the books I could carry. Books truly are "a moveable feast" as the great Ernest Hemingway would say. A good book needs no batteries or wi-fi connection, yet it can transport you to another time, another point of view, another reality. Such a deal. I can't imagine a life without books.
When I was small, I had a best friend. Then we moved and I never saw him again. That's the problem with even your best friends — sometimes you or they move, have a falling out, or even die. Friends come and go like butterflies looking for nectar. We savor the good times and hope they never end, but time, the tireless taskmaster of us all, just marches on and on.
I'm giving the win for Best Good Thing to Books, because they're always available and always wonderful. Amazing that in these modern times something so low-tech like books can still be the best thing, but I'm not surprised. Support your local library and read (or write) a good book. You'll be glad you did.
A Murphy bed is a bed that conveniently folds up into a wall when not in use. These space-saving beds were put to great comedic effect in plenty of old-time movies and TV shows like the Three Stooges and such; there's just something inherently funny about being in bed one minute and disappearing up into a wall the next, with arms and legs flailing and sheets flying.
You don't see too many Murphy beds these days (though kits are available if you want to build your own) but, strangely, I just had something very much like a Murphy bed appear out of nowhere in my house. Yes, I really did.
My four-bedroom house is plenty big, but I have no place in it that I can truly call my own — a place where, if I put something down, I can be absolutely 100-percent positive it won't be disturbed. That place for me just does not exist.
One time, I had a motorcycle gas tank painted beautifully. I received it from the painter in October and needed to store it until the spring. I put it in the furthest corner of the attic, figuring it would be safe from harm.
When I retrieved it in the spring, there was a dent in it. No kidding. Of course, no one knows how it got there. I really, really need a place in my house to call my own.
We have a stairway that goes from the garage to the basement — it cost extra when we had the house built but I use it all the time so it was well worth it. The stairway had a lot of height to it but the space was unreachable because it was, after all, just a stairway.
Over the years, I'd always wished there were a way to access this wasted space. It got to a point where I would sit at the top of the stairs and just stare, pardon the pun, at all the unreachable space, hoping for inspiration. (Getting a freshly painted gas tank bashed in will do this to you.)
Then one day it hit me: I could build a folding ramp to access the dead space over the stairs.
Now I was a man with a plan. I had to think how to build the ramp in such a way that it would be strong, safe, and easy to use. Of course, there's dreaming about it and then there's paying for it.
I don't know if you've been to a lumberyard lately, but wood is not cheap. The plywood, studs, lag bolts, and heavy-duty hinges I bought really added up. Then I purchased adjustable shelf hardware and some other hooks and things to help organize the space.
Finally, I bought a heavy-duty pulley. The idea was to take an old barbell plate and attach it with rope to a pulley to act as a counterweight. Setting it up this way would make it much easier to raise and lower the heavy ramp.
I'm not trained in carpentry or anything like that — I never even had any kind of a shop class in the parochial/college prep schools I attended — but I read a lot and try to learn from my mistakes. Working slowly and carefully, I soon had a working ramp installed.
The shelves I built in front of it are so strong I can store really heavy things like motorcycle engines (I have a few waiting to be rebuilt). To prove how strong the ramp was, I called my wife out and had her watch me jump up and down on it.
Since I've put on an extra 10 or 15 pounds over the holidays (at least), this may not have been the smartest thing to do (though I know I've done much stupider things in front of my wife). Still, the ramp held and it's working just fine.
Of course, now that I had a real functioning stairway storage area, I had to freshen up the dusty and cobwebby unpainted stairwell itself. So this meant more money for primer, paint, wood filler, and all the labor to paint everything in the stairwell — ceiling, walls, stairs, and handrail.
I know a lot of us get quotes from contractors from time to time for various remodeling and home-improvement jobs. Invariably these quotes are rather high, but the thing is, this kind of work just takes so much time and, as we all know, time is money.
I mean, even if you get on a roll and really hack away at it, there are waiting times for glue to harden and for paint to dry that you just can't avoid. Plus there's a limit to how long you can work while still working safely. One should never play around with tools if one is too tired to work safely; it's as simple as that.
So now the job is done and I'm showing it off to my brilliant RPI mechanical engineer future son-in-law. I demonstrate how the pulley works by moving the ramp up and down, etc.
He looks at me and says with a straight face: "You know what you just did? You built yourself a Murphy bed!"
Well, go figure, in a way I really did. All I'd have to do is put a pillow on one end of the ramp and I could just sack right out.
Of course, if I do that, I'll have to add those safety rails you put on kids’ beds so the little ones don't roll off; taking a header off the ramp and down into the basement would be quite the story on the local TV news but not much fun at all.
Actually, all I need to do is add a flat-screen TV over the door and I'd have a mini Man Cave, or, in my case, a Man Stairwell. Hot-diggety-dog!
All kidding aside, with a full basement, a walk-up attic, and a shed, there is no reason I should have needed any more storage space, but, like many, we have a serious clutter problem that sorely needs to be dealt with. It's not time to get a big green Dumpster and just toss everything out (at least I don't think it is), but we're way overdue in sorting and getting rid of our clutter.
I'm hoping my new super-organized and efficient Man Stairway/Murphy Bed with kick start us on the road to de-cluttering, once and for all (and I hope I finally have one place in the house where I can safely put something and not have it be disturbed).
Note: If you see me sleeping on the folded-down ramp, please don't close it up like the Three Stooges did all the time. That's only funny when it happens to someone else.