A hotel-chic bedroom space-saver

Above: Create the large allure of a modern, romantic hotel suite, even if your bedroom – and budget – is on the short size.



It's so popular, I'm going to share it again: one of my favourite floor-space-gainers.

This one’s a cheap yet stunning storage solution for a bedroom that fits a queen bed…and that’s about it. In Vancouver, this is a typical bedroom of any new condo development.

Most of us who make do with bedrooms this tiny have a proportionally tiny décor budget, even if we fantasize about bringing some allure to this private place. This is where the Ikea “Lack” entertainment shelf comes in. Long and sleek in brown/black (other colours available), it’s sure to fit the space adjacent or opposite a queen bed, and still allow prancing-around room – or at least two feet between bed and shelf. But the best part is that when mounted on the wall, it clears the floor and its luxuriously expansive surface pumps up visual square footage.

The next step is to mount the unit on the wall at dresser height, feet removed (not yours; the shelf). Centre it between the corners or openings and when it’s level (if you don’t have a level – a worthwhile investment – use a marble) mark the underside of the shelf. A friend in the bedroom could help here, but like in many cases, books may be more reliable. Set the shelf on two stacks.

Attach the unit using at least eight small L brackets, which won’t be seen after the whole thing’s up. Try to position the shelf so that you nail at least one stud (no jokes, please), but if don’t have a stud-finder (no jokes here, either) use metal screw-in anchors, which only requires a screwdriver.

Top it off with a large rectangular mirror centred just above the shelf. I won’t go through the step-by-step process for how to hang a mirror; if you’ve managed mounting the shelf (oh, stop!) you can handle it. How you enjoy your bedroom mirror is your business, but I like it for doubling the shelf surface and the light of an attractive lamp, as well as bouncing light off adjacent windows.

If you’re thinking, “I can do that” right now and are itching to grab the tape measure to see if this idea fits your bedroom, you’re ready to take on this easy project. And at a cheap $164.99, it’s not exactly risky business.




(Reprinted and revised article originally published in 2006)

Downsized garden maximizes outdoor enjoyment

ABOVE: It’s possible to find the same joy in gardening on a tiny scale, using surprising containers, like these stainless steel cups that hold ‘hens and chicks’.



In the classic 1968 film, “The Swimmer”, Burt Lancaster takes a journey via other people’s swimming pools and discovers a whole new perspective.

It’s the same reason I take the lanes on my lengthy weekday walks. During the growing season, East Van alleys are alive with seniors of Chinese, Portuguese and Italian descent, toiling in their backyard soil, double-digging stinky steer manure in raised beds, setting in tender greens, staking up tomatoes or training grapevines.

Those chock-a-block kitchen gardens are nowhere to be seen in Shaughnessy, where the lanes are the main artery for landscape companies busy falling diseased mature trees or sculpting thick hedges into perfect geometry. Different universes, but we exchange the same nods or hellos.

I love passing by the wide range of city gardens, from the lush, professionally-tended gardenscapes in Point Grey, to the jumble of community plots in Strathcona. But this is the most interest I have in gardening myself – at least at this point in my life. After years of battling aphids/ white fly/ rust spot/ cutworm, ripping out choking crabgrass, schlepping around watering cans, and fighting with the cat to stop using the planters as a litter box, I’m now into low-maintenance summers.

For the last four years, I’ve been gradually downsizing my garden expectations and employing the same decluttering system I use indoors.

Like any decluttering project, small sacrifices must be made. I gave up the desire to be surrounded by a voluptuous, English-style border of flowers, but I’ve gained more square footage, and now view my plants as accents for a much more functional outdoor room.

I’ve ditched the annuals (they have to be planted every year) and anything that has an ugly season, like deciduous shrubs. Plants that need to be staked, like peonies or sweet peas, or require regular pruning, are history. My collection of pots and planters is down by half, and I’m not finished yet.

I now get my fill of gardening by watching my potted Japanese maple and ‘heavenly bamboo’ – each with bases of moss and ‘hens and chicks’ – change colour with the seasons. Or by giving my pair of boxwoods an occasional haircut to keep them round and formal, rearranging my hostas around the ever-changing seating area, and snipping bouquets from my lavender.

A high-maintenance peony and scraggly rosebush refuse to give up, but I no longer feel guilty; I look forward to their demise.



(Reprinted article originally published in 2006)

Vertical thinking yields more dining space

ABOVE: A small bar-height pedestal table and a pair of leather bar chairs turn a kitchen corner into a dining space.

One-room living isn’t just an option for first-time home-owners, it’s a reality for a growing chunk of downtown-dwellers whose options are a long commute to work or 500 square feet of personal space.

I’ve done my time on the one-hour each-way daily commute and have never regretted taking the small-space option, but there are challenges. For one-room dwellers without even a bar counter extending from the tiny kitchen, the first challenge that hits is: Where the %$#@ am I supposed to eat?

When even a small dining-room suite sucks up half the living/sleeping space, it’s time to think vertically - counter- or bar-height, in fact.

A very small table that would ridiculous at regular dining-table height gains ground when it’s higher than everything else in the room, which is typically about three feet. (Test that generalization with a quick scan around your own living room. See what I mean?) Breaking up the surface height breaks up monotony and captures new space, which is why I often place large vases of twigs and column-like floor lamps in rooms. The eye no longer settles on the 36-inch mark but moves around to catch the higher points.

It’s much easier to find a wide variety of bar-height tables than counter-height – which is a shame, because there’s less feeling of ‘perching’ at counter height, and some people find the feeling a little unstable to be truly comfortable. However, this sensation can be reduced by choosing companion chairs that are more substantial than spindly, like upholstered leather or faux leather, available from low-end multi-merchandise stores (London Drugs, Great Canadian Superstore) to high-end boutiques and showrooms (Liberty; Ethan Allen). Avoid chairs with arms if you want to squeeze out precious more inches and consider a thick tempered glass table top to reduce visual space. I recently found the perfect high-quality glass-topped bar table for a client’s traditional décor at Bayside Furniture (W. 8th near Granville) but more modern versions are widely available.

More difficult to find is the counter-height table, which I prefer because it can double as a standing workspace and can extend an existing counter. I ended up knocking one together using four Ikea chrome telescopic legs and a small countertop for around $150. Despite the rarity of counter-height tables, companion stools are easy to locate, because they’re designed to tuck into built-in counter overhangs – the downtown dining room.



(Reprinted article)

Reducing photo clutter a sensitive business

ABOVE: A pillar in this False Creek condo is the perfect spot for a vertical display of black and white photos in similar black wood frames, each reserved for one family member. When the owner is presented with more recent pictures from family – who all know she likes black-and-whites – she simply replaces the images and files the old ones in a photo box.





I've been meaning to grapple with the issue of what to do with all those photos we have, love, but can’t find a home for. Judging by the some 20 ancient photo albums crammed under my bed, I’m more willing to grapple with the subject than the actual things themselves.

(For those born in the ’90s, a “photograph” is a hard copy of a non-digital image created using something called “film” that produces “negatives.”)

We older folk are dearly attached to our ancient, non-archival quality albums of memories. They’re bulky and ugly, but we would grab them along with any kids and pets if disaster struck.

I’ve read many ideas for reducing the clutter of photos and albums, but most suggestions involve deconstructing the albums and filing the pictures in photo boxes – basically transferring a problem from book to box while destroying what have become artifacts themselves.

I once devoted my foyer as a family/friends wall of fame until it grew so unwieldy (due in no small part to the fact that many “helped” me collect more) that one day I tore down all the visual clutter of frames, filling several boxes.

Then my aunt, another album-building nut, decided no one would love inheriting her load of volumes displaying her many and various vacations and occasions, so she quit the habit, and ultimately, so did I. But it took a few internal battles before I wrestled my existing photo clutter into order.

I started by divesting myself of old photos by gifting pictures of friends and family, like the card featuring my sister as a toddler, for her 30th birthday. Now I do it regularly, retaining an ever-smaller (relatively speaking) selection for myself. I still love building albums, but I create them by subject that spans the eras, like “Grandma Flo” or “Camping” and deep-six the remainders. Yes, it hurts to throw out any photo, but am consoled knowing I still have the negatives filed by date in one large three-ring binder.

As for the gifts of framed photos of friends and family we all accumulate, well, just because I don’t display every photo doesn’t mean I love them less.

The final step happened when I joined the rest of the world in going digital. Now I back up all images on an an external hard drive every month, where they're in virtual files according to general dates and major subjects. I rejoice in no longer having to contend with more bundles of prints and negatives.


(Updated version of column originally published in 2006)

Small-kitchen reno adds room to spare

BEFORE AND AFTER: No amount of colour could disguise the lack of storage and work/cook space in the ‘before’ kitchen. After: splurging on a slim European fridge opened up space for more — and more accessible— cabinets and countertops, without increasing square footage.



I once read a list in GQ magazine of things a man must learn to do by the time he is 30. Carve a turkey. Tie a bowtie. Make a heartfelt toast. (Or was that a heartfelt speech?)

Trivial lists have a way of burning into my brain – unsurprising if you’re the organizer-type – and I’ve constructed my own. Do a triathlon. Go to Rome. Sing a solo in public – if asked. Tick, tick, and tick. I checked another one off Tuesday: survive my own major renovation.

It’s not the bills that wore me down ($16,000 is a drop in the bucket compared to the price of upgrading to a city condo with a beautifully functional kitchen) or the lack of running water for five weeks. It was the disruption of routine and the unpredictable jobs like scraping globs of plaster from the top of the computer, or patching up the chipped enamel in the bathroom sink that served as dishwashing centre. Or removing the stack of drying dishes from the toilet seat in order to… well, you get the picture.

But I’m not complaining. As I type this-column, I pause to take yet another thankful look at the expanse of gleaming acrylic composite countertop uninterrupted visually by a 30-inch slide-in, glass-topped stove and an undermounted sink. The new, slim German-made refrigerator tucks flush with the base cabinets and expands higher than a standard model. No more jumping on counters to reach basic everyday necessities. Or groping into the deep, blind-corner cupboards for long-lost items. (It took the demolition crew to unearth five cans of tomatoes.)

Contemplating a kitchen reno?

• Sell your worthy second-hand appliances easily on Craig’s list (vancouver.craigslist.org). Click on “Household” in the “For Sale” category to see how others are doing it, and also to view any new or near-new appliances.

• Shop around for the best prices on appliances, THEN see if there’s any incentive in buying them at once. Most appliance dealers will match competitors’ quotes. The usual comparison-shopping rounds include Midland, Trail, Coast Wholesale, Sears, and Edmond’s.

• Install low-voltage under-cabinet lighting, with dimmer. Task lighting is essential, and regular halogen lighting is too hot. If you like Ikea’s 10-volt lights, an electrician can eliminate the chunky transformers.

• If acrylic composite, stone-chip composite or stone is out of your budget, consider a shiny laminate with metal edging.




(Updated article riginally published in 2005)

Create outdoor room with function first

ABOVE:Pier One Imports' line of dark rattan furnishings in the ‘modern craftsman' style are answering the latest trend in outdoor rooms.





The merry, merry month of May is upon us, but the real harbinger of fair weather is the arrival of the Ikea outdoor furnishings flyer.

This year’s onslaught of brightly coloured plasticky patio accessories scream for our attention but do we really need a decorative neon green bug-screen food dome or hot-pink plastic marguerita set? No, we don’t. However, most of us could use a bit of help to make the best of the little outdoor space we have. (If you don’t have any exterior space, get your outdoor fix by toting a portable barbecue, well-stocked picnic basket and sturdy fold-up lounge chairs to any of the surrounding beachfronts for regular al fresco dinners.)

Before you buy on impulse, think about the probable use of your patio or balcony. Are you likely to entertain here? Do you want to play barbecue chef or do you just need a personal retreat for reading a book or catching up on some Z’s? Is it a logical spot for morning coffee or does it really shine at sunset with the aid of martinis?

With so little space inside, your outside space may be best used as an extension of the living room. Outdoor rooms represent a lucrative chunk of the home furnishing business. Suddenly there are weather-resistant (“-proof” is another thing altogether) sofas, coffee tables, armchairs, drapes – virtually any item you might have in your living room. So entranced are we about adding another room to our homes, we’re including patio-table-top propane heaters and electric fireplaces, if only to stop our Torontonian friends from reminding us that we never get the warm nights like they have Back Home.

But unless your outdoor space offers deep shelter from the elements, you’re limited to the kind of furnishings for your outdoor room. Anything other than cast aluminum and resin will rot and rust and disintegrate in no time. That’s life in the coastal rainforest region for you. If you had a nice big home in the ’burbs, you could just fire the lot of it in the garage or basement after summer ends, but in the city, you use it or you lose it.

One relatively new option showing up everywhere from Superstore to high-end patio furnishing showrooms is the rattan-look 'resin' (aka plastic) woven seating. I've test-drove two armchairs for two years under all weather, including heavy snow, and they still look like new.

Meanwhile I’m still looking for a truly rain-proof area rug. Suggestions, anyone?





(Revised article originally published in 2005)

You get what you pay for

ABOVE: The vacuums advertised in the 1959 Ladies' Home Journal were dead-heavy brutes built to last.



I’m a member of the Indignant Consumer set. You know us by our grim stance as we hand over our credit cards. We exude suspicion and fatalism as we purchase a new fridge. We suck any sense of novelty as we’re shown all the smart features on our brand new iPhones.

It’s not our fault; we were brought up at a time when we expected our dishwasher/car/washer-dryer to last 20 years, back when a uniformed BC Tel employee would come to our homes to exchange our free-use family phone if it failed working after a decade. Yes, it’s a sense of entitlement, but is it too much to expect to be entitled to, say, a new vacuum cleaner that doesn’t explode?

That’s what I was mumbling at the TV as I watched the news about that local mother who was attacked by her stick vacuum cleaner last month. Her rechargeable made-in-China battery had exploded, burning her flesh, firing shrapnel into the drywall and launching the stick part of the vacuum clear down the stairs.

I immediately marched my own stick vacuum to the computer like a naughty child to the corner. My model number was not listed at the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission website, but looked identical to a heap of the 320,000 potential bombs. I called the 1-800 number, gave all the particulars and was informed that my model was not part of the recall. I hung up, momentarily relieved, but as the skepticism indicative of my kind kicked in, I called back. “Unfortunately your product is part of the voluntary recall,” the new voice read from his script. I am triumphant in my defeat.

My home, like most homes, bears evidence of an increasingly shoddy global manufacturing industry. The 30-year-old rubberband-beige American Standard toilets are stalwart and dependable water hogs. The 15-year-old stacked washer-dryer and dishwasher remain reliable. The two-year-old microwave oven-fan hood combo has been repaired once under warranty after a smoky short-out, but continues to rattle threateningly when in use. The iMac was exempt from the global recall for catching fire but gets frighteningly warm. The six-month-old MacBook Pro has already been replaced once and crashes regularly. The new iPhone has been serviced twice for voicemail malfunction.

As for the new Electrolux Ergorapido 2 In 1, I’m suddenly pining for my old 1950s canister model Electrolux about the shape and heft of, well, a real bomb.