Small victories: Closing the clothing cycle

The ecofrugal life is not without its frustrations. One of them cropped up for me earlier this fall, when I discovered that my trusty lightweight coat — the one I've been wearing every spring and fall since 2009 — had developed a hole near the right shoulder too big for me to repair. (It was probably my purse strap rubbing on it for all those years that did the damage.)

Now, given that I bought this coat for a mere ten bucks at Goodwill and got roughly 25 seasons of use from it, you might say I have no real grounds for frustration here. But there was an additional wrinkle: after using the same coat for roughly ten years, I finally succeeded in finding a tailor to shorten the sleeves for me. This job cost me roughly $40, but it seemed justified given that the coat itself had cost so little to begin with and had served me so long already. I thought I'd probably be wearing it for another ten years at least, so it would be worth the expense to have it fit like it was made for me. And now, within a few years of making the investment, the coat had ceased to be presentable.

Adding to my frustration, I couldn't seem to find a decent replacement for it. True to my ecofrugal principles, I tried shopping secondhand first, but a search of two local thrift shops and several online ones turned up nothing suitable. I searched the sites of clothing retailers that got high marks from The Good Shopping Guide and Better World Shopper, but they either had no coats for sale or had none I liked as well as my old one. Some of them could have done an acceptable job, but they all would have cost me a minimum of $170, and my ecofrugal soul rebelled at paying that much for something that wasn't really what I wanted.

At the very same time I was having so much trouble finding a garment I actually needed, I was also having trouble getting rid of several that I didn't need. Some of these were in decent condition and could probably have been donated to the local thrift shop, but others were so old and worn they were fit only for textile recycling — something that we've discovered isn't that easy to do around here. There are a lot of places to drop off clothes in good condition for resale, but almost none that will take worn-out ones for repurposing.

With the help of the Helpsy website, I'd managed to locate a bona fide textile recycling bin within five miles of our house, but unfortunately it was in a direction we almost never go. We couldn't drop off our clothes there as part of our everyday errands; we'd have to make a special trip just for that purpose. So for a few months, these unwanted garments were just taking up space in a bag on my bedroom floor, and it wasn't until today that we finally got around to dropping them off. 

It was at this point that my frugal fashion luck started to change. Because, as it happened, the route to the textile bin took us right past the Goodwill store in East Brunswick — the very one where I'd bought my fall coat all those years ago. I'd mostly given up on going to this store, since its organizational scheme is such a mess that it's incredibly frustrating trying to find anything that fits. But since we were driving right by it, I figured it would be silly not to at least stop in and have a look.

The store was as disorganized as ever — so much that I nearly walked out empty-handed because I couldn't find the rack with the winter coats on it. But at last I located it and quickly started trying on coats right there in the aisle, not bothering to take them to the dressing room. And, amazingly, the third one I tried seemed pretty close to a perfect fit. The sleeves were a bit too long, but that was a flaw I could easily fix by just rolling them up. The price tag: $20, more than I'd paid for the old one (even accounting for inflation), but considerably less than any of the new ones I'd been considering.

So, after an unpromising start, this trip turned out to be the kind of ecofrugal victory that makes all the little frustrations seem worth it. In just one trip, I managed both to unload a bunch of garments I didn't want and acquire one I truly needed. My new-to-me coat is just as good as my old one, it cost less than one-eighth the price of a new one, and since it's secondhand, its green credentials are impeccable. And my old, unwanted clothes will now go on to new lives of their own. Perhaps some of them (the ones in good condition) will end up on thrift store shelves where they'll be just as great a source of frugal delight to some future buyer as this coat is to me. It's the ciiiiiiiiircle of clothes!

Small victory: A truly refillable roller-ball pen

In most ways, being an ecofrugal person makes my life simpler. There are a whole lot of things most people have to deal with that I simply skip over completely. I never have to pick up my clothes at the dry cleaner, because I won't buy clothes that aren't washable. I don't have to vacuum the house every week, because we don't have any carpets. I don't have to spend half an hour putting on makeup every morning, because all I normally use is a dab of concealer on any visible zits. And so on.

But every once in a while, my ecofrugal principles suddenly make my life a lot more complicated. In particular, this happens whenever something I own breaks or wears out...like a pair of shoes, or an old Roman shade, or a wristwatch. A normal person would know exactly what to do in this situation: just go to the store and buy a new one. But since I hate to see anything go to waste, I usually twist myself into knots trying to repair the old one first. Then, if it becomes clear that there's no saving it, I throw myself into a frenzy of research trying to find the most ecofrugal possible replacement for it.

A rather extreme example of this came up last month, when I found one morning that nearly every pen I owned had either dried up or disappeared into the Land of Lost Pens. These were all just cheap, disposable roller-ball pens; I'd actually purchased most of them at the local dollar store, since I've found that the pens available there tend to work just as well, on average, as the full-priced ones they sell at Staples and such. And of course, I could easily have just gone back to the dollar store and bought some more.

But even though I'd been fine with doing just that up until now, for some reason the idea of it suddenly chafed. Perhaps it was because so many of my pens had failed all at once, but I suddenly had this sense of being caught in an endless cycle of waste, continually buying these plastic objects only to use them up and throw them away and buy new ones. It seemed like there had to be a better way.

The problem was, I'd tried "refillable" pens before, and I'd generally found them lacking. There are roller-ball pens (the kind I prefer) that are billed as refillable, but what this typically means is that they have two parts: an outer shell, and an insert that contains all the actual workings of the pen itself: a shaft filled with ink and a ball that dispenses it. In other words, a "refillable" roller-ball pen is really just a disposable roller-ball pen with a nice outer case. Moreover, these inserts typically aren't noticeably less expensive than a whole new pen, and they're definitely more expensive than the pens I'd been buying at the dollar store. Spending more money to buy something that's only marginally less wasteful didn't strike me as particularly ecofrugal.

For true pen connoisseurs, the obvious solution to this dilemma is to use a fountain pen. These come in several different types, all of them more ecofrugal than a so-called refillable roller-ball:

• Cartridge pens take a disposable, self-contained cartridge filled with ink. You have to throw away these empty cartridges, but at least you don't have to discard the guts of the pen as well.
• Many cartridge pens can be used with a cartridge converter, which fits into the pen just like a regular cartridge but can be refilled from any bottle of ink. These converters don't hold as much as a regular ink cartridge, so they have to be refilled more often, but you pay less per refill.
• Some fountain pens have their own built-in filling systems, such as a piston or a pump, so you can refill them straight from the bottle. And most ecofrugal of all, some pens can be refilled with a syringe or an eyedropper. Because they use the whole body of the pen itself as the ink reservoir, they can go quite a long time on a tank. (There are also instructions online for converting a cartridge pen to an eyedropper pen.)

So in theory, a fountain pen should be the perfect choice for me. It's cheaper, it's less wasteful, and it makes you look like a real class act to whip out a fountain pen instead of a Bic Stick. There's just one problem: I cannot, literally cannot, write neatly with a fountain pen. I actually own two of them already, both received as gifts, and every time I try to use them I end up with ink all over myself. Maybe if I retrained myself to write differently, as this article suggests, I'd be able to manage it, but I suspect if I had to go to that much trouble just to use my new pen, I'd end up giving up on it and just buying some more cheap disposables.

What I really wanted was a roller-ball that could be refilled like a fountain pen. So I tried searching around on Google, and I found that there are indeed several pens that work this way. Many of them are a bit pricey, $20 or more, but I figured with what I'd save on the refills, spending a little more on the pen itself would be a worthwhile investment.

However, it turned out not to be necessary. When I dug a little deeper, searching for the best refillable roller-ball, I came upon this site for fountain pen enthusiasts, which offered several recommendations for Pilot V5 pens. These turned out to have very good reviews on JetPens.com, and moreover, they were only $3.20 apiece—barely more than you pay these days for a good disposable roller-ball at Staples. (They're also sold on Amazon.com, but the JetPens price is much better.) The V5 takes a cartridge refill, so it's not the most ecofrugal type, but it is easy to refill—and in case I decide later that I'm willing to do a little more work to save money and resources, at least one user says it can be converted to use an eyedropper. (Pilot also offers a "green" refillable pen that's made from 89% recycled plastic, but the refills it takes are the kind that contain the whole pen mechanism, not just the ink reservoir—so in my opinion, they're not actually as eco-friendly as the V5 Hi-Techpoint that I chose.)

Being a cautious consumer, I'd have liked to be able to go to a store and try this pen out before buying it, but after a quick search, I couldn't find any stores in my area that sold it. Still, I figured, at $3.20 apiece, it wasn't that big a risk to take. In fact, I went ahead and bought two of them, along with a pack of cartridge refills, figuring that if I had to pay for shipping anyway, I might as well get my money's worth. The whole order, including shipping, came to $13.35—less than half the price of many fancy refillable roller-ball pens that aren't any more highly rated than the Pilot. And this way, even if I manage to lose one of my nice new pens, I'll still have one to use.

So I am now the proud owner of not one, but two refillable Pilot pens, and I can honestly say they are everything I hoped they'd be. They feel solid and comfortable, and I can actually write a neat line with them. The only downside I've noticed is that ink in them is a little heavy, so when I fill out my bank register with these (yes, I still use a paper checkbook register, because I'm an old fossil), it bleeds through the pages and makes it harder to read what's on the other side. But since these pens are refillable, I can actually fix that problem by switching to a different kind of ink if I want to.

All this just goes to show that even on those rare occasions when my ecofrugal habits are a hassle in the short term, they actually guide me to better decisions that make my life simpler in the end. With these new, refillable pens, I should never have to worry again about having all my pens dry up on me at once—and I'll be spending less and wasting less, to boot. Admittedly, this isn't the kind of huge, life-changing move that will make a huge dent in my carbon footprint, like getting solar panels or switching to an electric car. But for me, eliminating any source of waste from my life—even a small one—is highly satisfying. Yes, it's only a small thing, but the ecofrugal life is a series of such small victories—each one bringing me ever closer to a truly waste-free life.

Household Hacks: Even easier DIY cat toy

So, remember how a couple of weeks ago I said I had come up with the world's easiest DIY cat toy?

Well, I spoke too soon. Brian has come up with another toy that is also made of reused materials and is even simpler than the my paper twists. Plus, the cats are even more enthusiastic about it. The only catch is, to get the materials for it, you have to consume five heads of garlic.

At our house, this is no problem. Garlic is a staple for us, and so we routinely buy several heads at a time. They come bundled up together in a little mesh bag, like this. Brian thought these little bags looked like they might be useful for something, so he took to saving them. He'd just roll them up into little balls like this, rather resembling a jellyfish, and toss them in a larger mesh bag (the kind onions come in) for storage.

At some point, it occurred to him that these little balls were the sort of thing our cats might like to play with. They were lightweight and slightly irregular in shape, so when you tossed them, they'd bounce and roll in unpredictable ways—which seems to be the best way to hold the cats' interest. But he hesitated to give them one, because he thought they were so small the cats might somehow manage to swallow them.

Recently, however, we picked up a bag of garlic that was much larger than the stuff we usually buy. It wasn't quite as jumbo-sized as the stuff they call elephant garlic, but it was definitely bigger than average. And consequently, it came in a bigger bag. So Brian decided this bag made a large enough ball that we could safely give it to the cats and see how they reacted.

The answer, as it turns out, was "with great enthusiasm." If you toss this mesh ball for them, they will chase after it even more eagerly than they do the paper toys. They especially love when it goes rolling in a vaguely off-kilter path down the hall, so they can go bounding after it. The best part is that when they catch up to it and snatch at it, the mesh often catches on their claws, causing them to snake them until it comes free—which, of course, sends it flying off again, so they can chase it all over. So all we have to do is toss this toy once, and they will amuse themselves with it for—well, not for hours on end, but at least for several minutes.

I tried to get a few pictures of the cats playing with this toy, but unfortunately, our cats just love the camera. As soon as it comes out, they become far more interested in that than they were in whatever they were doing, and so all you can get is pictures of them staring into the camera and trying to bite it. So you'll just have to take my word for it: they love this thing.

Better still, after observing how our cats play with this extra-large garlic-bag ball, Brian has concluded that probably there would be no harm in letting them play with the smaller ones, as well. So once they manage to lose this toy or chew it to pieces (they've already pulled a couple of small strings loose), we have several more to replace it.

And that also means that if you want to try this toy on your cats, you don't necessarily have to seek out an unusually large bag of garlic to make it. Just buy a regular bag of whatever size your supermarket carries, eat all the garlic, and roll up the bag like this: start by turning up one end, then roll it over a second time, and just keep rolling until you've got the little jellyfish shape shown above. Then send it skittering down the hall, and watch your kitties pounce.

Household Hacks: The world's easiest DIY cat toy

Our two cats are a bit picky about toys. We've tried all sorts of mice sold at the big pet superstores, and the only one they ever showed any partiality for was a little stuffed critter covered in black-and-white spotted fabric. Winnie loved that little mouse, but she kept batting him under doors and furniture where we'd have to retrieve him, and at some point he got completely lost. And, of course, the store no longer carried any like him, so we've never been able to find a good replacement.

The only other pet-store toy they really liked was these little spirals, which are just pipe cleaners encased in sheaths of colorful fabric. Both cats would bat enthusiastically at these, and run after them when they went skittering away across the floor; when they caught one, they'd lie down and clutch it in their paws and pull at it until it came uncoiled. It was very cute, and I appreciated the fact that it distracted them from gnawing on other long narrow objects that they might otherwise take a shine to, like my computer cables.

Unfortunately, they played with these toys so energetically that they quickly wore holes in the fabric covers, and the pipe cleaners came poking out. Once that happened, we no longer felt safe letting the cats play with them unsupervised for fear that they'd hurt themselves on the wire or even swallow part of it. (It may sound like we're just being paranoid, but several reputable pet sites, such as Catster, warn about this as a danger, and we have read horror stories about cats being rushed into surgery over a swallowed pipe cleaner.) I tried stitching the fabric back up, but they just tore it open again, and eventually we had to give up on the toys.

We tried to get more at the pet store, but they were no longer available, and we couldn't even find anything similar online. The closest we could find was this larger blue spiral, but the cats didn't seem to appreciate it like the fabric ones. It's made of a much stiffer material, and when dropped, it just lands on the ground and sits there; it doesn't bounce or roll in the same unpredictable way that made the pipe cleaners so appealing (like having real prey to chase.)

We made several attempts at making our own spiral cat toys, but they didn't work too well. Brian tried taking a piece of wire from a coat hanger, which he thought would be less hazardous, and sewing it up in a piece of scrap fabric—but like the blue coil, this toy was too stiff and stable to interest them much.

I thought a pipe cleaner might be okay if I could just wrap it up securely in one of those stretchy fabric bandages they use at the blood bank—but once I'd wound it several times around the pipe cleaner, it was too thick and ungainly to make a very good coil. Plus, Brian was still concerned that they'd manage to get the wire out from under the wrappings, so he didn't want to let them have it without supervision.

So one day, in a desperate attempt to come up with something to distract Winnie from the computer cables, I hit on the idea of trying something similar with a strip of newspaper. I just tore off a long strip from the edge, like this...

...and twisted it up into a long, thin string, like this.

I wasn't able to make this into a coil shape like the original fabric spirals, because it wouldn't stay put, but I found just tying it into a little bow made a lightweight shape that the cats enjoyed batting around. It seems to move in the same random way as the pipe cleaners, so they like tossing it, catching it, grabbing it, and generally amusing themselves without supervision. They also like to pull on the ends and try to untie it, but if they succeed, that's no problem; I can just grab it and tie it back up in a minute.

Needless to say, these little paper toys don't hold up all that well. After being subjected to claws and teeth for a week or so, they get pretty limp and ragged-looking, and they're not as much fun to play with. But that's okay; when they wear out, they can just go straight into the recycling bin (or the compost, if they're really torn to shreds) and I can easily whip up a new one in a few minutes.

So this is pretty much the ultimate ecofrugal cat toy. It costs nothing, it's made entirely from scrap material, and it can go right back in the bin when it's worn out, creating no additional waste. And if the cats don't love it quite as much as the spirals, they will at least occupy themselves with it long enough to let me get some work done.

Household Hacks: 7 easy household hacks for the bathroom

Brian and I have a disagreement about the word "hack"—specifically, its use to mean a handy shortcut for everyday life. Brian objects to it on the ground that it's overused, sometimes even in contexts where it really doesn't apply at all (such as these kitchen tips from XKCD.) But personally, I like it. To me, it conjures up images of Alexander cutting through the Gordian knot—a quick, direct solution to a complicated problem. Even the shortness of the word feels appropriate for a short, simple workaround.

Over the past few months, I've noticed that we seem to have come up with a lot of household hacks specifically for use in the bathroom. Some are for cleaning, some for grooming, and some for repairs, but all of them are specifically bath-related. So I thought I'd sum them all up in one post, as a sort of tribute to the Spirit of Hacking.

Hack #1: Clean hair from the sink drain with a plastic bag tie
Every so often, the drain in our sink gets a little sluggish. That's a sure sign that it's clogged up with hair (and usually bits of nasty grime that are clinging to the hair), and it won't run smoothly again until it's cleaned. We have a special tool for this purpose, known as a Zip-It: a long, flexible plastic shaft with little barbs on both sides. You feed this thing carefully down into the drain, and the barbs catch on the hairs so you can pull them back out. The Zip-It emerges from the drain trailing long strands of hair and associated gunk like seaweed off a lobster trap, which is disgusting, but effective.

The Zip-It is only $2.50 at Home Depot, and it's both easier and safer than those vile chemical drain cleaners, which eat through the hair with caustic chemicals that can damage your plumbing (and possibly you, if you splash any on yourself). But if you don't happen to have one on hand when a clog pops up, you can achieve similar results with a plastic garbage bag tie (the kind with rows of little jagged teeth on it, like this). Feed it down into the drain, and you can pull up the hairs from the top few inches of the pipe. It won't penetrate the pipe as deeply as the Zip-It, but it's easy to do, and it should clear away enough of the clog to get the drain running again.

Hack #2: Clean the tub with a dish wand
I used to drive myself crazy trying to get our bathtub clean. My go-to ecofrugal cleaners, vinegar and baking soda, seemed to have no impact at all on the film that clung to the base of the tub. I moved on to various commercial cleaners, including sprays, liquids, and powders; I experimented with different tools, going at the scum with a rag, a sponge, a scrubby pad, a brush, and even a special "shower scrubber" tool with an extendable handle and pivoting head, designed specifically for cleaning the tub from a standing position. (This was worse than useless, as every time I put any real pressure behind it, the head would just flip over.) No matter what I used or how vigorously I scrubbed, I could never get the tub completely clean. All I had to do was scrape my fingernails along the edge, and they'd come away with that whitish film under them.

I turned for help to my pals at the Dollar Stretcher forums. One of them enthusiastically recommended "Ajax grapefruit scented dish soap," applied with a long-handled brush while the tub and tiles are wet, and another suggested a mixture of Palmolive and sudsy ammonia in a spray bottle. Not having either of those brands on hand, I decided to try grabbing an old dish-scrubbing wand filled with generic dish soap and applying that to the wet tub right after my shower. This worked much better than anything else I'd tried. At first, I followed up with a vinegar-and-water spray to rinse all the soap residue off, but eventually I got the idea to add equal parts dish soap and vinegar to the scrubbing brush and apply everything all in one go, then rinse it off.

This is now my regular weekly routine for cleaning the tub. I keep the dishwand hanging at the ready on the towel bar, so once a week, I can just grab it right after I turn off the shower and give everything a quick scrub before rinsing it. That way I don't have to mess around getting into grubby clothes specially for cleaning. I have since seen blog posts saying this vinegar-and-dish-soap concoction works in spray form as well, which might be even easier...but since it took me so long to find a method that worked, I'm not inclined to mess with it.

Hack #3: Remove stains from porcelain with oxygen laundry booster
A few years ago, we switched to a walnut-based cat litter from Blue Buffalo. In most ways, we love it: it clumps firmly, doesn't track as much as the wheat stuff, and controls odor so well that we have never had to change the litter once since we started using it. We just keep scooping out the clumps and adding more litter, and the box keeps not stinking. This makes it a much better value than any other brand we've tried, despite its high cost per pound, because none of it goes to waste.

There's only one problem with it: the walnut fragments tend to leave a darkish stain on the inside of the toilet bowl. My usual cleaning method—vinegar-water spray and a quick scrub with the brush—had no effect. Once again, I tried upgrading to stronger cleaners, including some with chlorine bleach, but to no avail. Brian tried going at the stains with steel wool and was able to get them out temporarily—but that just ended up scratching the porcelain, so fresh stains soaked in faster than ever.

So when I got a coupon for a free carton of OxiClean, I figured it couldn't hurt to try that too. Cleaning bathrooms wasn't one of the listed uses for this product, so my hopes weren't high. But to my amazement, after I'd sprinkled it on and let it sit for a while before brushing and flushing, the stains had faded to near-invisibility. I now repeat this routine once a week, and the porcelain remains in a state of near-pristine whiteness. And I've discovered, after some experimentation, that cheaper brands of oxygen-based laundry booster, such as All, do the job just as well.

Hack #4: Strop your razor on your forearm to maintain its edge
I've mentioned this hack before in my Saving on Shaving post. As this post at Tools for Woodworking explains, stropping a blade isn't quite the same thing as sharpening it on a stone; it's more like smoothing a surface with sandpaper, gently abrading away nicks and scratches. I've seen tips on how to prolong the life of your razor blade by stropping it on a leather belt, a leather-soled shoe, or even an old pair of blue jeans—but the simplest method of all is this one, which I discovered on LifeHacker. You simply give the blade several backwards strokes against the bottom of your own forearm, which you can do right in the shower before you shave.

This method, combined with regular drying and lubrication of the blade, worked well enough for me to keep the cartridges on my old Rite Aid razor going for months on end. Sadly, that razor gave up the ghost last year, and I've yet to find a really satisfactory replacement. I tried samples from both Dollar Shave Club and Harry's, and their fancy four-or-five-blade razors just didn't give me as smooth a shave as my old, obsolete three-blade razor (not to mention that the one from Harry's literally fell apart on its third use). So for now, I'm using an el cheapo MicroTouch razor, which claims to be able to go a month on a single blade without any special interventions. I'm continuing to dry and hone the blade regularly, and while I can't exactly claim to be impressed with the results it's giving me, it is at least holding up pretty well.

Hack #5: Fix a running toilet with a drinking straw
I discovered this trick back in 2013, when we had a problem with our toilet. Basically, the flapper kept getting stuck open because the chain would either get stuck underneath it or snag on it so it couldn't close. Shortening the chain didn't work (it ended up too short, so the flapper couldn't close at all), so I adopted a trick from Wikihow: I detached the chain, fed it through a soda straw, and reattached it. This worked only partially; the rigid chain-and-straw unit was now forcing the flapper closed too quickly, before the bowl had fully filled. So Brian adapted the hack by cutting the straw in half at the middle, allowing the chain to bend. This fix worked so well that even after we eventually replaced the flapper, we reinstated the straw on the chain to keep it from snagging again.

Hack #6: Adapt your toothbrush holder with coat hanger wire 
Brian devised this toothbrush hack back in 2014, when I was trying a new brand of toothbrush that wouldn't fit in our old-fashioned toothbrush holder. This toothbrush holder dates from a simpler time when all toothbrushes had straight, smooth handles, and today's chunky, molded hand-grips just won't fit through the holes. And since it's built into the wall, replacing it isn't really an option, and leaving it unused seems like a waste.

So I hit on the idea that the way to make the toothbrush fit in the holder would be to add on some kind of construct that would allow it to slide in from the side. After a little trial and error, Brian managed to achieve this by bending a piece of coat-hander wire to make a loop that would fit around the handle, then threading the ends of it through the hole in the front, under the bottom, and out on the other side. As built, this dingus can only accommodate one bulky toothbrush, but you could modify it to add a second loop on the other side if you wanted to hold two at once. Or you could just run a second set of wires through a different hole.

Hack #7: Fix a trash can that won't close with a felt pad
Ever since we adopted our two mischievous kitties back in 2015, we've kept finding new things around the house that need to be cat-proofed. Our cat-safe vase is the most notable example, but we've also had to replace a couple of wastebaskets because the cats would either chew on the wicker basket itself or fish things out of it. The worst culprit was the bathroom wastebasket, which contained enticing strands of dental floss that the cats viewed as wonderful toys. We, on the other hand, viewed them as potential garottes for unsuspecting feline throats, and we were determined to keep them out of the kitties' paws. So we bought a small covered waste bin, the kind with a lid that you can open by stepping on a pedal.

This sort of worked, but there was a problem: sometimes the lid would get stuck in the open position, allowing the kitties to go Dumpster diving for dental floss. We tried shimming the can up in the back so it would naturally tilt forward and force the lid closed when you weren't actively stepping on the pedal, but that didn't seem to be enough. So Brian tackled the problem from the other direction; instead of forcing the lid down, he decided to force the foot pedal up.

His repair is simplicity itself. He cut a couple of strips from a felt pad, the kind you put on the bottoms of chair legs to keep them from scratching the floor, and stuck them to the lip of the trash can underneath the pedal. Now, when you step on the pedal, it lowers enough to open the lid, but it doesn't go all the way to the floor, and as soon as you remove your foot, it pops back up again, closing the lid.

This hack went through a couple of iterations before he got it to work. First he tried one layer of felt, but that wasn't enough to push the pedal back up, so he had to add a second layer on top. And he initially tried sticking the felt pads on with just their own adhesive, but they didn't stay put, so he ended up pulling out the big guns and sticking them on with epoxy. Now those pads aren't going anywhere, and those kitties aren't getting their paws on any more dental floss.


So there you are: seven simple hacks for the smallest room in the house. If you know of any more ecofrugal hacks for the bathroom that you think deserve a wider audience, please feel free to share them below; I'm always looking for more ideas.

Closing the gap...in my pants waist

I don't know if it's just me, but I can never, ever find pants that fit me properly. Invariably, if they're big enough to fit over my hips and butt, they're way too big in the waist. The last pair of pants I bought was a heavily marked-down pair of Lee Comfort Fit pants from Burlington Coat Factory, which proudly touted its "no-gap waistband." Ha ha, that's all I can say. Does this look "no-gap" to you? (And before you ask, no, a smaller size wasn't an option—they were all way too tight in the thighs and backside.)

For a while, I tried to wear these and just put up with the huge gap at the rear. It wasn't too bad when the pants were fresh out of the dryer, but after they'd been worn once or twice, it started to get truly annoying...and since they're the only really warm pants I have, throwing the pants in the wash after every wearing would have left me shivering until the next laundry day. So I started looking into ways to alter them that wouldn't tax my extremely rudimentary sewing skills too heavily.

Now, in the past, I've been able to take in the waistband of a pair of pants using a method outlined on the Colorful Canary blog: just fold over a pinch of fabric along each side seam and stitch it down. But I quickly determined that wouldn't work with these, because the fabric was too thick and the seams were quite heavy already. Adding an extra fold of fabric on each side would have left me with huge, knobbly seams that wouldn't fit neatly at all.

So I started searching for other methods. The simplest way I found was to insert a piece of elastic into the waistband, as shown here on It's Always Autumn. This is kind of similar to the improvised fix I did with my thrift-shop walking shorts, but it uses a thicker piece of elastic that can handle the heavier fabric of the pants. A more complicated method involved sewing darts into the rear of the pants, as shown at Cotton and Curls. This looked like it might possibly produce a smoother fit, but it might also be beyond my very limited abilities.

So over Christmas vacation, I consulted with my mother-in-law, who's a much abler seamstress than I am. She agreed that with these pants, the elastic method would probably be more practical, since the placement of the pockets would probably interfere with the darts. She even kindly provided me with a piece of heavy elastic for the purpose. Armed with this, I was ready to tackle the pants as soon as I had the time, which turned out to be this weekend.

My mother-in-law advised against trying to rip out and sew up part of the pants seam the way Autumn did. With these thick seams, she thought it would be easier to just cut a small slit in the fabric on each side, the way I did with my shorts, then feed the elastic through and stitch it down. So, somewhat nervously, I did this—carefully positioning the slits behind the belt loops, so they wouldn't be too visible when the repair was complete.

Then I pinned a safety pin to one end of the elastic to give me something to grab onto, fed it into one of the slits, and maneuvered it through to the other.

Next came the hard part: adjusting the elastic to the right snugness. First, I pulled on both ends of the elastic until the pants felt fairly well-seated on my waist. Then I pinned them in place and tried sitting down and standing up several times to make sure the fit was smooth. I knew I'd only have one chance to get this right, so I took my time with it.

Once I was satisfied with the fit, I began the process of stitching down the elastic. I ran my needle repeatedly through the elastic and both layers of fabric, in and out, all the way along the width of the slit...and then back down again, and up and down one more time, until I was sure it was securely stitched down. Once I had it secured, I snipped off the extra elastic...

tucked the end into the slit in the waistband...

...and stitched the slit closed.

Then I did the same thing on the other side and put on the finished pants to try out the result. Look, Ma, no more gap!

Okay, it's not perfect—you can see a hint of puckering in the waistband from all the extra fabric—but it's a vast improvement from the way the pants fit before. The waist is still loose-fitting enough to be comfortable and to allow me to tuck in a shirt, even a fairly heavy one. In fact, I suspect I could have pulled the elastic even snugger, but I was afraid of overdoing it. Maybe next time I try to take in a pair of pants this way, I'll be a little bolder.

For now, though, I have a pair of pants that fits acceptably well in both the waist and the hips—which is something I literally couldn't buy in any store.

A successful tinkering check

In Dungeons and Dragons, there are two ways to repair something that's broken. You can use magic (such as the Mend spell), or you can make a "tinkering check," using your own knowledge and aptitude to try and cobble something together to make it work. You roll a die, then add a number that reflects your "tinkering skill," and if the total is above a certain number, you succeed in fixing your damaged thingamajig.

Of course, this is a lot easier to do in the game than in real life. In the real world, your success or failure doesn't depend on a die roll: you have to use your ingenuity to figure out a way to fix the thingamajig, and then put some actual effort into making it work. But, by the same token, when you succeed, it's a lot more satisfying than simply rolling well on a die. You know that you've fixed this thing by your own cleverness and the sweat of your brow, and that thanks to your efforts, you won't have to spend money on a new one.

Here's an example of how my husband, the Master Tinkerer, successfully tinkered a small item today. This little device from the drugstore is used for splitting pills, so you can take a smaller dose if that's all you need. Brian calls it my "pillotine." It has two parts: a base with a V-shaped plastic next that holds the pill securely in place, and a hinged lid with a blade attached. You raise the lid, tuck the pill into the V, and bring the lid down, THWACK—and if all goes well, the pill splits neatly in half.

I used this successfully for years, but recently I started taking a magnesium supplement that's a fairly large, fairly hard pill. Splitting several of those apparently put undue stress on the pillotine. One morning when I brought the lid down, instead of the pill giving way beneath the blade, the little plastic support in the base gave way beneath the pill. Turning it over, I found that it had cracked right below the place where the pill sits, and I wouldn't be able to use the gadget again until I found some way to shore it up.

I presented this problem to Brian, and he took the pillotine down to his la-BOR-atory to work on it. At first he considered just filling in the whole space below the damaged plastic part with a wedge of wood, but he realized that if he did that, any pressure applied to the pillotine lid would probably transfer through to the base and leave gouges in whatever surface it was sitting on. So instead, he started looking for something flatter he could glue to the existing plastic base. After rummaging through his collection of objects that appear, to the untrained eye, to be random useless junk, he found a small metal bracket about the right size to tuck into the base of the pillotine. He bent this into the appropriate shape with pliers, glued it to the plastic base with epoxy, and clamped the whole mess shut while it dried.

After several hours, we removed the clamp and gave the pillotine a test run. Rather than start out with one of the extra-tough magnesium supplements, I selected a different type of supplement, with a more elongated shape, which is usually a little easier to split. I lined it up in the V, brought down the blade, and THUNK! It split satisfyingly into two nice, equal pieces. We'll still have to test it once more on the tougher pills, but for now, it looks like it's as good as new—better, in fact, since its new metal base can hold up to more punishment than the original plastic one.

Now, to some people, this might seem like a lot of unnecessary trouble to go to over a gadget that only costs six bucks to replace. And sure, I'll admit that it would have been easier just to throw it out and buy a new one. But I think even for something as small as this, repairing it yourself is worth the effort, for three reasons:

• It's less wasteful. Why send the pillotine to languish in some landfill, and buy a whole new one made from virgin materials, just because one tiny piece of it was broken? By repairing it, we were able to salvage all the perfectly useful parts—the plastic case, the hinged lid, and the metal blade—rather than spending money and natural resources on brand-new ones.
• It's more satisfying. There's no skill involved in throwing an old gadget in the trash and buying a new one. But repairing it by the exercise of your wits and your hands is both an interesting creative challenge while you're doing it, and an achievement you can take pride in when you're done.
• It keeps your tinkering skills in shape. By practicing regularly on little items like this, you can keep your wits and your hands in top condition. That way, when something big breaks that actually would cost big bucks to fix, you can feel more confident about repairing it yourself, because you've had plenty of practice. Or, to put it in Dungeons and Dragons terms: the more successful tinkering checks you make on small items like this, the higher your tinkering skill becomes, and the better your chances of succeeding at repairing the castle's catapult in time to do battle with the invading army of orcs. 

Admittedly, most of us don't have to battle armies of orcs in the real world all that often. But battling the high cost of living is a challenge we all share, and the more you sharpen your skills, the better equipped you are to deal with it.

Household Hacks: How to repair Roman shades

Two weeks ago, I wrote about the difficulties we'd had repairing several things that had broken around our house. When our patio door broke, we had to get the glass professionally replaced, a job that ended up taking more than three weeks. Replacing our broken shower diverter knob was a job we were able to do ourselves, but it took us several trips to the home center and one unsuccessful purchase. And as for our tablet computer, it looks like we're going to have to replace the whole thing—or else decide to do without it.

More recently, however, we had a case that actually went the other way around: an item that we thought we'd have to replace turned out to be repairable. So I thought I'd share this story to show that sometimes a repair job does have a happy ending.

When we first moved into this house, over nine years ago now, we needed some window treatments for the kitchen. That room faces out onto the street, and we discovered that with the windows bare, passersby tended to glance in at us while we were eating, as if we were some sort of exhibit at the zoo. So we wanted something that would give us some privacy, but would still let in daylight even when closed, and could also be opened fully whenever we needed to open a window for ventilation. And, since it's a kitchen, it also had to be fairly simple and non-fussy. So we went to IKEA and picked up a basic pair of Roman shades in a lightweight fabric for just $8 each.

These served us well for several years, but after repeated use, the strings that rose and lowered the shades became weak and started to break. Brian kept tying knots in them to repair them, but eventually all those knots started to interfere with the operation of the shades. It was difficult to raise and lower them, and pretty much impossible to keep them level.

Now, normally, we'd just try to fix these by replacing the strings entirely. But Brian thought it might not be worth it in this case considering the condition of the shades. Over nine years of use, they'd developed a number of small rips and stains, and Brian thought it was only a matter of time before we'd have to replace them anyway. So he figured we might as well just shop for new shades now, rather than trying to repair something that was already on its last legs.

So we started searching for a new set of shades that would meet our needs. At first, we thought we could just get another set of Roman blinds, similar to what we have now. But when we checked out the selections during our recent trips to Home Depot and Lowe's, we realized you can't pick up something like this for eight bucks nowadays. Apparently at some point, someone decided that simple Roman shades like ours, with the strings exposed in the back, posed a strangulation hazard. So now there are two kinds of Roman shades: hidden-cord models, with the drawcord tucked between two layers of fabric, and cordless models, which have little magnets attached to the slats that are supposed to hold them up. The hidden-cord models, in addition to being pricey, are a lot more opaque than what we have now, so they'd make our kitchen a lot darker—and the cordless ones, as we discovered when we checked out a set at IKEA, don't always work very well. On the floor model, at least, the shade kept tumbling back down when we tried to hook it in place. And even if it had worked perfectly, the placement of the magnets would limit the use of the shade; it could only be raised or lowered to certain fixed positions determined by the placement of the slats. So there would be no way to adjust it to fit the height of our windows.

We considered other types of window treatments, but they all seemed to have serious drawbacks. Venetian blinds can be set to block the view or let in the light, but not to do both at once. Lightweight roller shades would work, but they're not very attractive. Honeycomb shades would be suitable, and they'd also help to insulate the windows, but we quickly realized our cats would shred them. Inexpensive matchstick blinds had the same problem. And sheer curtains might have worked, but they didn't seem very appropriate for a kitchen. I had the idea of trying to make curtains out of a loose-weave burlap, a rustic style I'd seen once on a decorating show, but Brian thought those would quickly turn into cat toys as well.

At this point, we started thinking that maybe it would be worth trying to repair the old shades after all. Sure, we'd still need to replace them eventually, but at least we wouldn't have to be in any hurry about it. With the old shades in working condition, we could take our time about searching for a replacement that could do exactly what we wanted at a reasonable price. We weren't sure whether restringing the shades would work, but we figured it was at least worth a try.

So we set out to try and find some suitable string for this job. The local drugstore and grocery store had some string for sale, but none that was thin enough to fit through the holes in the shade. The dollar store also had some that might have worked, but it looked rather flimsy and likely to break or fray. So we headed to the nearest Michael's, where we examined a wide variety of string selections in different materials, including cotton, nylon, and hemp. We eventually settled on an $8 ball of waxed cotton string, which looked narrow enough to fit through the holes and sturdy enough to hold up to the strain.

The most difficult part of the job, as it turned out, was getting this string off the ball. For some reason, it had been wrapped in such a way that neither end of the string was on the outside of the reel, and when we tugged on a loose bit, we just kept pulling out bigger and bigger loops of string that flung themselves out all across our kitchen. Eventually we managed to extract one loose end, and then we were able to get down to the actual job of restringing. And since a picture is worth a thousand words, I'll let the pictures I took do most of the job of explaining how we did it:

First, we laid out the entire shade on the table. As you can see, the strings run up the back from bottom to top, running through the fabric at each seam.

Then we cut off the original strings. We just cut them loose at the bottom and then pulled them clean through. We also cut off the two knobs that went on the ends of the drawcords, saving them so we could reuse them with our new cords.

Next, I threaded my largest needle (I think my sewing kit said it was a "sack needle") with the new string and started running it up through the shade, from bottom to top, making use of the holes that were already there.

 

I ran it out through the metal loop at the top and across to the second loop closer to the edge, where the drawcord would come down. I pulled it all the way down to the second pleat in the shade, so we knew we'd have plenty of cord to work with even when the shade was fully lowered.

Once I had the string to the length I wanted, I ran it through the knob we'd saved...

...and tied a knot to hold the knob on. As soon as I was sure it was secure, I cut off the extra string dangling past the knob.

 
The whole time I'd been doing this, the string was still attached to the reel. But once it was fully strung, Brian cut it off at the bottom and knotted it around the slat at the bottom of the shade to hold it in place, cutting off the excess.

Then we simply repeated this entire process on the other side. The only difference was that when I got to the top, I had to run the cord all the way across and thread it through both metal loops. That way, pulling on the two cords together raises both sides of the shade by an equal distance.

And once we had the first shade finished, knobs and all, we hung it back up and repeated all these steps with the second shade. The whole process, start to finish, took us probably half an hour.

The repaired shades aren't as good as new, of course. They're still stained in places, and they still have one or two small tears that haven't been repaired yet. But at least they work now, and they should hold up just fine until we finally manage to find something else we like. On the other hand, in light of our success with the strings, maybe we should actually take a crack at mending the tears and getting those stains out, as well. If we can get them looking decent again, we'd much rather keep them than spend money on a replacement that probably won't fit our needs nearly as well.

Battery update

A few years back, I took a survey about our household battery use and was distressed to discover that:

1. We owned a lot more battery-using devices than I'd ever realized; and
2. None of those devices was using rechargeable batteries (aside from built-in battery packs).

Even though we owned a set of rechargeable AA batteries and a charger, we were still using alkaline batteries in all our devices that used that battery size. The reason: nearly all our devices were either infrequently used or very low drain. This made them impractical to use with old-school NiMH batteries, which drain away their charge much faster than an alkaline battery, both in storage and during use.

At the time, I vowed to fix this. Noting that some, though not all, of our rechargeable AA batteries were the new low-self-drain (LSD) type, I pledged to start using those in more of our devices. And to this end, I bought a new set of LSD batteries and a new "smart" battery charger at IKEA. With these on hand, I reasoned, we'd never have to buy alkaline batteries again.

So when, a few months ago, we were invited to take that same household battery survey again, I felt fairly confident that our battery usage would look better this time around. And in some respects, it did. For instance, we had ditched some of our old battery-using devices, such as Brian's beard trimmer, which we'd replaced last year with a corded model that we hope will hold up better. And yet, when it came to actual numbers, we were still using just as many battery-powered devices in 2016 as we were in 2013. And the number of our new LSD rechargeable batteries in use was...zero. Every single one of our shiny new batteries was just sitting in a damned drawer.

Trying to puzzle out what was going on, I looked at the numbers in more detail. According to the survey, we had 14 devices that used AA batteries, containing a total of 30 batteries among them. However, about half of these were used only occasionally—from once a month to almost never. And of the other seven, about five were continuously running devices with very low drain, such as clocks and smoke detectors. So it was clear why we weren't using our new rechargeable batteries in these; they simply hadn't needed new batteries at any time in the past three years. The alkaline batteries in them were still good, and there was no point in pulling them out and tossing them before they were spent.

But still, this left three devices that took AA batteries and were actually used regularly: our wireless mouse, keyboard, and TV remote control. We use all of these three to four times a week for watching TV, since we watch mostly through the Internet with our media spud. So surely these, at least, must have needed new batteries at some point. Why weren't we using the rechargeable ones?

The answer turned out to be that, after three years, we were still working our way through a backlog of partially-discharged alkaline batteries. We hadn't bought any new alkaline batteries, but Brian was trying to squeeze the last few drops of power out of our old ones before discarding them. Well, I could hardly blame him for that. After all, having bought the disposable batteries in the first place, it would surely be a waste to throw them out if they weren't used up. But we'd nearly used up our supply of these old alkaline batteries, so when those ran out, then it would be time to load up our gadgets with the rechargeable ones, right?

Well, it turned out there was a slight sticking point there too. Apparently, after his experiences with the old NiMH batteries, Brian was leery of using rechargeable batteries—even the new LSD ones—in our remotes. He'd found rechargeable batteries so unreliable in the past that he feared if we loaded up our devices with them, they might stop working at any moment, leaving us with no way of watching our shows until we loaded up a freshly charged pair.

So, to set his fears at rest, we charged up a set of our new rechargeable AA's—which shouldn't have needed it, since they come pre-charged, but we were just making sure—and popped them into the keyboard and mouse, keeping the old alkaline batteries they'd been using in reserve. And as it turns out, they did perfectly fine. The keyboard, in fact, is still running off that same set of batteries several months later, and they haven't even needed a recharge. The mouse, it's true, has been a little testy, complaining several times that it was out of juice when the batteries in it were still fresh from the charger. But then, it often did that with the old alkaline batteries too, so it's possible this mouse is just really finicky about the placement of the batteries. In any case, swapping in a fresh rechargeable out of the drawer seems to work fine.

Emboldened by this success, we decided to try the rechargeable AA's in a few other places as well. We put a freshly charged set in one of our smoke detectors, relying on Michael Bluejay's claim that the LSD batteries work okay for this purpose, but it turned out not to be the case for us. Within a matter of days, the smoke detector started chirping, claiming its batteries were low. So we decided to go for the next-best option and replaced the alkaline batteries with longer-lasting lithium batteries. They cost more, but they can probably keep the detector going for years (probably the rest of its life, actually, since these things are only guaranteed to last ten years). So we'll spend less in the long run, throw out fewer batteries, and be spared the inconvenience of changing them.

Brian also discovered that his emergency lantern, which normally runs on D cell batteries, had a set of adapters that would allow it to use AA batteries. It won't run as long on these, of course, but then, it doesn't get used that often anyway. So he slipped three of our rechargeable AA batteries, in the adapters, into this lantern, and when we tested it last night, they were still lighting it up just fine. And if we do have a prolonged power outage and run down these batteries, we still have some D-cell alkalines in a drawer as a backup.

So, as of now, all our rechargeable AA batteries are in use except two (and those two are on standby to get swapped into the wireless mouse when it starts complaining). We don't have alkaline batteries out of our lives completely, at least not yet, but we shouldn't be needing to buy any more of them. As the batteries currently in use start to die, we can replace them with rechargeable ones. When we no longer have enough rechargeables to power everything, we can just spring for another batch. (IKEA now offers a low-power rechargeable for only a buck per battery, which should work fine in our low-drain devices.) We could also pick up a set of AAA cells, which will fit in our current charger, to use in the alarm clock and the few other devices that take this size.

Down the road, we might even be able to start using rechargeable batteries in bigger devices, the ones that take C or D cells. I recently worked on the battery report for ConsumerSearch, and I found that Energizer is now offering a rechargeable that comes in these larger sizes and does pretty well in professional tests. On the other hand, it might not be worth making this switch, since we would need a new charger to accommodate these larger batteries—and most of the devices we have that take them aren't used very often. On the whole, we might be better off just getting some more battery adapters so we can use our rechargeable AA's in them, and keeping D's on hand for backup.

But at least I know that, next time we're asked to fill out this battery survey, I'll be able to say yes, we are using rechargeable batteries, thank you very much.

Household Hacks: DIY magnet board

For years, I kept a 2-by-3 foot cork bulletin board over my desk. I kept all sorts of odds and ends on it, some for reference and some just for decoration. It had notes about the schedule for the public library, useful websites and phone numbers, cartoon clippings, fortune-cookie slips, amusing photos, a list of movies I wanted to watch, instructions for what to do if the Internet goes out, and a copy of the ecofrugal word cloud I made four years ago.

There were four items in particular on the bulletin board that I used and updated regularly:

1. An ongoing list of all our expenses for the month, which I use for budgeting and general reference
2. An envelope stuffed with credit card slips, which I save to check against my monthly statement before paying it
3. My to-do list, which changes daily
4. A list of article ideas for this blog

Since these four items were regularly pulled off the bulletin board to be amended, I kept them secured with easy-to-remove pushpins rather than thumbtacks, which need to be pried up with a fingernail. Repeatedly pulling out and replacing these pins gradually wore away the cork near the bottom of the board, but we just flipped the board over to expose a fresh area of cork for pinning, which we figured would hold up for another year or so.

Why then, you may ask, am I referring to this bulletin board in the past tense?

To which I respond: cats.

Our two new cats are adorable, soft, and playful, but they are also little troublemakers. They get into absolutely everything that isn't nailed down. I've already had to replace the flower vase on our kitchen table with a cat-proof version, and we've also had to remove or rearrange various decorations to either keep them out of the cats' reach or make them less appealing. And a couple of weeks ago, the cats—particularly Winnie—started setting their sights on my bulletin board. I think it was the shiny pushpins that caught her eye, because she kept hopping up on my desk and batting at them. I had to remove her several times, but I couldn't keep an eye on her every minute, and she eventually managed to knock one of the pins loose.

Since I didn't want sharp pointy objects rolling around loose where either we or the cats might step on them, I decided to try replacing them with thumbtacks, even though they were less convenient. Unfortunately, by this time Winnie had become obsessed with the objects on the bulletin board, and rather than mess with the thumbtacks, she simply grabbed the paper itself with her teeth and pulled it loose—sending the thumbtack flying in the process.

At this point, I came to the conclusion that there was no way to make the bulletin board cat-proof, and I would have to replace it with something else. Brian suggested a magnet-board, since the cats probably wouldn't be strong enough to dislodge a fairly strong magnet—and even if they managed it, a loose magnet wouldn't be nearly as much of a hazard to our feet as a loose pushpin. He'd seen something along those lines for around $10 at IKEA, but since our nearest IKEA is about 35 minutes away and costs $5 in tolls, we decided to try Staples instead. They had a selection of magnetic dry-erase boards in various sizes, but they were pretty pricey; to get one the size of my old cork board would have cost nearly $50, not counting the magnets.

So Brian's next idea was to stop by a home center and pick up a piece of plain sheet steel. He figured we could build a frame for it out of plain wood molding, bolt the whole assembly to the wall so the cats couldn't pull it down, and have ourselves a DIY magnet-board for much less than it would cost to buy one. Unfortunately, this plan didn't work out either. Home Depot, to our surprise, didn't actually have any sheet metal; Lowe's did, but it wasn't well labeled, so it took us a while to figure out the prices. Eventually we deduced that a 2-by-3 piece of thin sheet steel would cost around $30. Once you tacked on the cost of the wood molding and the magnets, it wouldn't actually be that much cheaper than the Staples model, and it would take a lot more work.

At this point, making the trip to IKEA was starting to look like a more reasonable option. So we headed home, where Brian, seized by a sudden inspiration, dove down into the shop and started rummaging through the piles of scrap material. There he unearthed a flat steel object, about 16 inches by 20, bearing the label "stove/counter mat." It had been down there when we first bought the house, and Brian squirreled it away thinking it might come in useful some day. And now, that day had come.

Brian located the wall studs, drilled a couple of holes, and bolted the mat securely to the wall. I then raided our stash of magnets and found enough to secure the most essential pieces from my old bulletin board to the new magnetic board. This new board is still mildly interesting to the cats, but not nearly as fascinating as the old cork board, and so far, they have had no success at all pulling anything off it.

This improvised magnetic board isn't nearly as large as my old cork board, so it doesn't have room to store all the items I used to keep on it. Some of the less useful items, and all of the decorative ones, have had to be stashed away. But since these aren't items that need to be taken down and put back up regularly, Brian has promised to find a way to fit them all into frames and hang them up next to the magnet board—which will also fill the awkward gap on the wall between this smaller board and my wall-mounted ukulele hanger.

Then all we'll have to do is figure out some way to keep the cats from sitting directly in front of my computer monitor while I'm trying to work, and we'll be all set.