We’ve finally finished transforming the mudroom.  We no longer have a mudroom.  It is now the Entry Way.  The floor is solid and level.  The cracks are gone.  The worn-out linoleum is gone.  There is baseboard all around the room.  Yes, it has been pronounced as “good” by the one who matters.

The scene looking left as you approach the entry way

It was a lot of work, but together Sylvia and I [a little bit] got it done.

From the house side looking toward the garage

The stand has been around for years.  My parents had it, and I think they got it from Mom’s folks.  We loaned it to our son for his daughter, Briana, to use.  Barbara (her mother) painted it a pretty purple for Briana to use.  Now it’s yellow–than can happen when you have left over paint.  Right, Sylvia?  Here’s a detail from the top shelf that’s not clearly visible in the wide shot.

Guilty!

I prefer to think of it as a “personalization.”  That’s so much nicer than “mutilation.”  I was probably about eleven years old and had a folding knife in my pocket.  It started with the little notch on the left and proceed on with the larger carving on the right.  What followed was “instruction,”  which must have been efficacious as the infraction was not repeated.  The result is that the stand has precious memories for me.  (Time in its tender mercy has washed any memory of “correction.”)

The plumber has arrived and I need to wrap this up.