Budget Home Bar

We had a great bar in the old house. Part of a 1960s walnut-and-chrome "wall system" (the old term for an entertainment center), it had swank appeal. But the wall system won't fit anywhere in this house except for a basement wall near the laundry room. Not exactly a convenient spot from which to pour a glass of my cheap sau-blanc or for Jason to fix a G&T.

My solution was to turn one of our dressers into a bar. I had admired a similar and more skillful project in a 2006 issue of Junk Market Style magazine in which Ki Nassauer had hinged the front of the top drawer so it dropped and turned it into a serving platform. I lack the woodworking skills to accomplish this, and, frankly, I lack the follow-through to find someone who can do it for me. So, instead I lined the top drawer of this old farm chest with cushiony grip liner for shelves and drawers ($7.50 per 4-foot roll at hardware and housewares stores).

The drawer is deep, so stemware fits in there, as well as a stacks of two pint glasses. Everything we use frequently fits snugly, and the shelf liner keeps the glasses from clinking when I slide out the drawer. The drawer is now quite heavy, so I slide it out carefully.


In the lower drawers, I tuck cocktail napkins, a basket of wine stoppers, and other entertaining implements.

The top of the chest is brightened by a small table lamp (the $16.99 "Stick Lamp" at Target), and a few liquor bottles. Anything I don't use often, like the vermouth for my father's martinis, is stored in an upper cabinet in the kitchen. I use an old silver tray (a flea market find), to hold the bottles. And I don't bother to polish it; the patina of old silver has always appealed to me.

There are definitely other cool bar-conversion projects out there, such as this one from my favorite Do It Yourself Ideas magazine: http://www.diyideas.com/quickprojects/FurnitureCabinets/furnituregallery_ss5.html. And there are even a bunch of how-to video on the web for turning an IKEA dresser into a spiffy bar. But none of them would cost as little as this one did. The only thing I bought new was the shelf liner. Not bad for $7.50!

I've gone Command Hook-Happy. These temporary hooks from 3M ($4 to $15 per set, depending on size, at Target and hardware stores, left) are the perfect tool for those of us with commitment issues. You stick them on, and if you don't like the placement, you peel off the wonderous adhesive with nary a trace.

Though we moved into an old house with plenty of dings, scratches, and nail holes, I'm still having a hard time making my own. This isn't something that has afflicted me before. Typically I don't have a problem taking hammer to nail to hang a picture or add a backpack hook. And I'm not terribly precise about it. If I put the picture in the wrong place, I simply pull out the nail, move the picture (so it still covers the old nail hole of course) and re-hang.

The trepidation I'm experiencing here could be brought on by the bill I paid to the painters who sealed up all the old nail holes and coated the walls with a smooth coat of fresh paint. As I consider where to place a print or wall-hanging, my mind drifts to the price of this perfection that I am about to ruin. And I've already ruined a few spots (left). Plaster walls foil me. I love the texture of them, and the sturdiness they bring to a house, but they're hell to nail into.

I'm also plagued by the fear that I'll clutter up these spaces. When I was moving out of the previous house, I was pulling nails and filling holes for an entire afternoon. That seemed extreme to me. I can't say I ever felt we had too much on our walls, but it was clear from the sandwich bag I filled with nail hangers that we had a considerable amount. I want this house to feel calm, soothing, and uncluttered. How to achieve that is the ultimate challenge, right? Feel free to let me know how you manage it. I can use some help here.

For now, I'm trying to be brave hanging a few pictures. In the kitchen, which we didn't have painted and which is pockmarked with loads of screw holes, I slung a huge map on the wall, with all the bravado of a drunken cowboy. I didn't even measure for the center mark!

And I'm sticking—temporarily at least—to my 3M hooks.

Icicles dangle from the house like an array of crystal drop earrings. You would think this would be beautiful, and it was for about the first two hours of the storm, but then the incessant drip, drip, drip outside my office window started to eat into my appreciation of winter's glory. As a homeowner, too, I am concerned about the damage all this weight and blockage is doing to my gutters, fascia, and roof shingles. We haven't lived here long enough to know where this home's tricky spots are. You know, the bedroom door that sticks in the upper corner, the corner of the basement that gets wet if the gutter isn't kept clear. That kind of stuff you learn as you live in a house.

But I'm discovering flaws. In quick succession, the water line on the fridge-water-dispenser stopped working, the dishwasher broke, and the tap in the basement bathroom froze. With the calamities comes knowledge: Don't count on water from the fridge when it gets cold (the appliance backs an uninsulated outside wall and the line freezes); rinse dishes thoroughly to prevent salad leaves from blocking the dishwasher pump; and keep the faucet dripping in the basement on cold days and nights. (That reminds me...)

We have such a love-hate relationship with our homes, don't we? They give us angst and worry, yet they also provide shelter, safety, security, and comfort. Our family has enjoyed many nice afternoons of this miserable winter in front of the fire reading or playing games. Yesterday, I roasted a chicken in the fancy Jenn-Air range and enjoyed the aroma as well as the results. My husband and I are surprised how quickly this house feels like home to us. Yet that sensation is tinged with dread. What will I learn today about this home's weaknesses? Thanks to Mother Nature, I'll probably find out sooner than later.

Update two hours later: Icicles just crashed through the plastic roof forming a cover over our grill area. Definitely not fun or pretty anymore!

Easy Pot Rack

Well, I think it worked. As function goes, it certainly fits the bill. I have handy pots in close reach. As looks go, it's so-so. And as the budget goes, it's a winner.

In my previous house, I was spoiled by a wall-mounted pot rack with loads of storage for lids, pots, pans, strainers, and utensils. It even had a shelf for my pasta pot and tea kettle. For a small kitchen with limited storage, it was a boon. The kitchen in this house has more cabinets and pantries and overall storage space, but I am conditioned at this point to have pots within reach, not behind doors. So in a small space adjacent to the kitchen where the fridge is located, I took over a skinny wall for hanging my pots.

Using Julia Child's Massachussetts kitchen (now installed at the Smithsonian and featured briefly in the movie, Julie & Julia) as inspiration, I started with a sheath of thin cork for the backing. It provides protection for the wall from the swinging pots. And it was only $7.50 for a 12-inch wide 1-yard roll. I used two rolls and adhered them to the wall with double-sided foam tape.

Next, I placed my biggest and most often used pan, a 12-inch saute pan, in the most prominent spot at the top. I marked the hanging hole on the pan's handle with a pencil, placed the hook, and screwed it in place. I used stainless-steel rope binding hooks, which I purchased at Ace Hardware for less than a dollar apiece. They lie flat against the wall and are slender enough to fit through the hanging loop on all my pot and pan handles.

After that, I placed my other pans (threading the lids onto the handles first), marked spots, and screwed in the remaining hooks.

Julia went one step further, outlining all her crockery, utensils, and tools with black magic marker so she would always return the right piece to the right hook. In my small space, and with only 4 pans, this isn't necessary.