Real Women Use Power Tools

My father, the Builder-of-Planes and All Around Handyman, taught me how to do just about everything. I can unclog my own drain (without Drain-O, thank you), build my own shelves, replace my own brakes (with his help and his jacks), hang my own pictures, drive my own moving truck, hang my own wallpaper (well, my mother's wallpaper), paint my own rooms, and in general fix most anything that breaks around the house. When Expat needed the nifty magnetic strip we bought for his kitchen knives hung, centered and level, over the sink, I did it for him. When we bought him a tie rack, he waited three weeks until I got around to mounting it to try it out. It's not that Expat can't do these things for himself, but why should he? He has a wife with a good eye, a steady hand, and not one but two levels, who is fearless with her electric drill.

So a month or so go when I decided that what I needed most in the world was a set of hooks for my hallway, I did what any DIY buff would do: I made them.

Making them was not, of course, my first choice. I did look into purchasing a set of said hooks at the local Targét, but a small set alone was going to cost $20, plus it weighed, like, 50 pounds all by itself and I'm sorry, my walls wouldn't be able to support that in this flimsy, drafty, 1970's vintage apartment. They'd be so busy holding the hooks up that I wouldn't be able to hang anything on the hooks for fear of sending the whole thing crashing to the ground, walls and all. No, I needed something lighter and longer, because I had a lot of stuff lying around the apartment—bags and coats and vests and scarves—and I knew from watching Clean Sweep on TLC that all of these things could be stored in some clever way somewhere useful to make my space more functional. And since I could really knock down the hall wall, gut the adjoining spare room closet, and insert 16 x 16 wall cubbies painted in bright turquoise for all of my things without seriously jeopardizing out security deposit, I decided to settle for a four foot 1 x 3 and eight hooks from the "See. Spot. Save" bins at said local Targét (four hooks per pack, $2.50 a pack—I bought two).

Just one problem: I didn't have a board.

Enter the trusty Church Choir.

For those who don’t know, one of my many jobs is that of a Church Music Director. I won’t go into the details now, but suffice to say that my music degree has finally come in handy for something other than weddings, funerals, and the occasional rendition of “Happy Birthday” in Italian. My Church Choir Members (CCMs) are all Parents with Houses and Garages, which got me thinking about My Parents and their respective Garages. And what do My Parents have in their respective Garages? Random piles of Scrap Wood.

I don’t understand the Scrap Wood/Parent Garage phenomenon in its entirety, and that’s okay. I’m perfectly willing to accept it on its terms. Like God and the Tooth Fairy. I don’t really know how it works, I just know that wherever there is a Parent Garage, there is most likely a Scrap Wood heap lying off to one side next to the mini van. Perhaps on Saturday mornings when the Garage is open and the Parents are distracted by Yard Work, the Scrap Wood slinks into the unattended Garage and settles along the right-hand wall for a little nap. Garages are cool and dry with Nice Firm Floors, just perfect for Scrap Wood naps. And, you know, maybe the Scrap Wood simply decides not to leave. At first, the Parents don’t notice and when they do notice, they don’t think anything of it because the Scrap Wood is just Always There. A fixture. A familiar sight. A part of the Garage.

So, I asked my Church Choir if, you know, any of them had a random Scrap of 1 x 3 that I could just have. For free. Because I am Poor and they are Good Christians and Parents with Garages. And of course one of the baritones (children ages 5 and 8) brought one to our next rehearsal. He’d had it in his Garage. He wasn’t sure where it came from—maybe the Last Owner left it.

And presto! Just like that, I had my wall hooks. I took a little time getting them ready—a little sanding for the splinters, a little paint around the edges, a few coats of gloss stain. But thanks to my fairly extensive, preexisting supply of Home Improvement Tools acquired through the years during other Home Improvement Projects, in just two short evenings and one hour on a Saturday afternoon, I had my hooks. I stained the board using long even stokes with a natural bristled brush and left it to dry overnight on the kitchen counter, resting easily on a Cookie Cooling Rack—who needs saw horses? I measured and evenly spaced the hooks along my board, drilling holes and screwing things together and using my Pier 1 coffee table in the middle of my living room as a workbench—who needs a garage? I found the studs with my trusty stud finder. I predrilled the holes and used the level when fastening the board-with-hooks to the wall. And before the cats even had time to get annoyed with all the ruckus, my hooks were up and mounted and holding all of the clutter that had been running rampant in the Fairly Small Apartment.

And Sparky stepped back and surveyed her Work and saw that It Was Good.

Now, if I can just get around to staining the bed we bought from Ikea four years ago . . . I just need a few more Cookie Cooling Racks.