A Place to Call My Own

...or, Ryan's somewhat-disturbing lack of a man cave.

When on the hunt for a new home in our newly-beloved Kansas City, I had but one criterion: it must have a space that would be mine exclusively. A place where women and children only enter when invited. A place where I can do anything I please, from drinking and staring at the wall semi-comatose, to watching a movie, to futzing with something mechanical in nature.

A man cave, as such a space is commonly called.

A man's own space can be many things, depending upon what he likes to waste time doing. Here's what I require in a man cave:

• A desk with a large-screened desktop computer. This doubles as entertainment center when a movie is on the agenda.
• A comfortable piece of furniture in which I can sit and read. And read. And read. A big couch, probably, in case of nap attack.
• A sizable work bench on which I can fix a computer or rebuild a head.
• A stocked beverage center.

There are other nice-to-haves, naturally, but that's the basics. I don't require things like pretty finishes, a commode, or even carpeting.

Difficulty: our home has no ready-made man cave, and converting any existing space into a man cave may take some work. Let's have a look at my potential options.

The garage. Right now, it's full of all the crap that we swear we're going to find a place for soon, really soon -- we swear, okay? Despite being full of crap, it has potential for future use as a man cave. The problem will come if we ever ... I dunno ... want to put a car in there. Also, no ventilation whatsover, apart from that huge door. Hot outside? Hot in the garage. Cold outside? Cold in the garage. Let's move on.

The basement. Yes, it's also got a lot of stuff we swear we're going to find a place for, but that's not its largest demerit. That'd be the washer and dryer, which see plenty of use in our abode. They're awkwardly placed on opposite sides of the room (who does that?), where the connections for each are located. Sure, we could pay a professional hammer-swinger too much money to move one or the other, but it could also be made to work as-is.

You see, I've already got my exercise equipment down there. All it lacks is a desk and a couch. I'm sure I could find a suitable place. I don't mind the sound of the washer, dryer, or furnace, and if I really needed a closed-off space -- I'd get some 2x4s and some sheetrock and make a closed-off space.

Because what's more manly than a man cave that is raw, unrefined, and barely-useable? An unfinished-but-furnished basement is the kind of thing that beards, chest hair, fist bumps, busted knuckles, and kegerators are made of. If I want decor, maybe I'll take a stab at painting the beams white so it isn't so gloomy, or perhaps the corner could be adorned with a nice engine block table.

Yeah, that's the ticket.

My name is Ryan, and I declare that this shall be my man-cave.

Landing, sitting room, or what?

Our house originally had two small bedrooms downstairs and something kind of undefined upstairs.  I'm not sure if it was used as a bedroom or an attic, but I'm guessing that one portion of the 2nd floor was finished, if not when the house was built in 1940, then pretty early on in its life.  Then sometime later, there was an addition that vastly expanded the master bedroom, as you'll see in some later post when I've finally cracked that whip and gotten Ryan to clean up.

Notice that we haven't quite figured out what to do with this room.   It is merely a hallway into the master bedroom.  For now.

The stairs are extremely steep and are certainly not up to code.

See wood finish #427.  Seriously, none of the wood in this house even remotely matches.  It's not even so bad it's good. It's just bad.

And the floor up here is not in great shape.  There's evidence of some last minute repair and paint all over this house, and I think they didn't even bother with drop cloths.  We're thinking of painting the floor up here.  Or if I can booze Ryan up enough, maybe "we" (read: he) will refinish it.  Or even better, we'll put in wall-to-wall brown shag carpet! On the walls, too! Someone stop me, I'm on a roll.

Anyway, I should tell you that this house has no linen closet.  But it does have this interesting built-in at the top of the stairs.

And the previous owners used it for...guess what? linens.  How do I know this?  Carroll (aforementioned previous owner) or his wife Ella labeled the drawers, and the heirs were kind enough to leave the labels.  In case we didn't know what to do with the storage, I'm assuming.  Thanks, y'all!

The old stuff went in the upper cabinets, probably because of the rather rough shape those cabinets were in.  We'll have to figure a repair out later.  The drawers below housed everything else:

Interestingly, we found similar labels in the kitchen.  But aside from these windows into Ella's detail-oriented nature (thank you, Carroll and Ella, for having the AC serviced every 6 months and documenting it religiously. That thing, despite its age, is in great shape and kept us cool when it was 109 a couple of weeks ago!), we also discovered some cool treasures.

Take a look at the lower left.

This card is about as old as I am.  I have done some research on Carroll--I'll post later on that--but I want to say that I feel honored to live in his house.  

And this Barbie pamphlet is a helluva lot older!  What a fun find!

Three or four of these were lying around, too.

Not sure what ate this piece of paper (is it a check??), but the pest guy did find other evidence of critters in the house.  I'm hoping said critters have found new homes.  Or if they're still around, I wish they'd make me a dress and sing a few songs.  Preferably at the same time.

So the next step is making this room gorgeous.  We'll start by painting the built-in.  Updates to come.

Driving Traffic

No, I'm not talking about traffic on I-35 (by the way, traffic in Kansas City is like a dream.  It's much slower than Atlanta, less congested than Baltimore/Washington area, and not as frightening as it is in New Orleans).

I'm talking about blog traffic.

Of course, I'm not advertising anything on my blog except my own charm, wit, and beauty, so why does it matter if only a few people a day accidentally click on my link (if they're on google, we all know they're looking for Mr. Sutherland, anyway...I bet he has a cottage)?

It's more fun, that's why!

Other blogs do give-aways to build their "memberships".  They require that you follow the blog, then post on facebook about it, tweet a little, and do the funky chicken for a chance to win whatever glorious things they've got lying around.

Perhaps that's unfair. The items aren't lying around. They've made them or convinced a sponsor to gift the item or even better, had a sponsor suggest such a gift. I'm not jealous.  Screw that, I'm insanely jealous. I want more followers. I want sponsors. I want sponsors who'll GIVE ME STUFF.

So I'm hosting a give-away.

But unlike the talented bloggers whose sites I frequent (and I mean that sincerely. I spend hours a week reading about how to distress furniture, turn soup cans into craft storage, transform that plastic step stool into a wooden library ladder--seriously, they're miracle workers), I'm gonna give away something lying around the house.

Now I just have to look for it.  Whatever "it" is.

Wait! I actually need to compose my give-away rules first.

1) You must be a follower of The Kiefer Cottage. Do it.

2) Leave a comment.  For every comment, you get two reward points.  When you reach 5000 points, you can redeem them for a 1% cash-back reward.  D'oh! That won't work. That's for credit cards.  Perhaps for every comment, you get one entry.  Seems fair.

3) Post a video of yourself dancing.  That'll equal one entry.  You'll get 1000 entries if you dress up like Jennifer Beals dancing to "Maniac" in Flashdance. {Mer, I'm talking to you, FYI}

4) Send me a notarized letter certifying that I am the best accordion player you've ever heard and that I should be featured on Star Search.  If you do that, not only do you bypass all the other rules, but you win.  You win whatever I choose to give away as well as my undying love, and that's worth at least 50 cents of street cred. Word. 

{They don't make Star Search anymore? $#%$$%%!  Okay, I'll settle for a Colonial Penn commercial.  Huh? Ol' Ed is off in ClearingHouse heaven?  Pooey. No wonder my fan mail keeps getting returned.}

Hmmm...looking at these rules, I'm not sure if anyone will enter. So I think I'll go look for stuff to give away instead.

An 80% eaten container of Whole Cashews.  Retail value?  $4.  Still has the lid.

I'm thinking food items should still be sealed.  Moving on.

Barely used Medela PISA breastpump.  Barely used as in used for four different babies.  All users were related, so that makes it clean.

Unfortunately for you, it's not mine to give away. Plus, I'm not finished with it.

A HUGE basket of clean rags!  Can be used in all situations!  Save the Earth and stop using paper towels!

Again, I still use these.  I'll miss them too much to give them to you.

No-spill bubbles.

Katie Bel has vetoed this idea.

OH! I know...

Irritated child.  Perfect.

{Wait, what's that you say?  I can't give away my child on the interwebs?  What if I say she's really good at cooking?  And she can climb onto the kitchen counters to retrieve Fudge Stripe cookies?  Plus, she's still not potty-trained!  Who wouldn't want such a child??....Okay, I'll keep her...She just told me she loved me, too, and I can't live without that grouch.  We're too much alike, except that I don't poop my pants.}


So it looks like I haven't quite thought this through.  Just so you know, that's very rare for me.  I'm never impulsive. Anyway, you'll have to wait on my give-away.  Soon enough, though, I'll have perfected my rules and found something you'll be rioting over.  The Internet police will be forced to shut down my site temporarily because there will be so much traffic.

If you can, wait patiently.  In the meantime, send me your dancing videos.

A Humble Confession or Why I love Kansas City

Prepare yourself because you will not hear these words very often from me.

I was wrong.

Although I wasn't born there, I was raised in Memphis, TN, and always loved Corky's BBQ.  Wet ribs, pulled pork, hot rolls, fudge pie.  Worth every minute of the sometimes 60 minute wait to be seated. (By the way, if you're a Rendezvous fan, that's ok. I'll still be your friend)

When I moved to Kansas City last year, I thought, I'm sure the BBQ is okay in KC, but it will never be as good as Corky's.  Never.


I was wrong.  (SEE??  You've heard it TWICE now.  Before you get too excited, I won't be saying it again anytime soon unless you count my assertion that parachute pants are happily coming back into fashion...I am probably not right about that either)

Tonight I finally got to try Oklahoma Joe's pulled pork sandwich.  What the hell took me so long? The gas station where the restaurant is housed is just around the corner from my new home in Kansas.  I have no excuse except that all the other places I've tried were just okay, so maybe I wasn't too excited about trying another BBQ place.  But my goodness was I missing out.

I haven't tried the ribs yet, so Corky's hasn't lost its champion status there.  But the pulled pork at Oklahoma Joe's was the best I've ever eaten.  Didn't require a drop of sauce, although I enjoyed that, too.

It made me wanna slap my momma.

Duke's-no-more

This is not a food blog. It could be, but it's not. There are so many that I love on the webs--they do it better than I could--so I will not even try to build one.

But today, I have to talk a little bit about food. Pretty please?

The topic?

Mayonnaise.

Those who don't like it may stop reading now.  Or you could go try some, reaffirm your distaste for it, and then come back tomorrow when I'm not talking about mayo. Or you could finally realize that it IS quite delicious!  Quick aside: I rarely condemn a food as inedible for life.  Instead, I'll try it again to see if my tastes have changed. If I hadn't adopted this strategy, I would never have come to love asparagus,  or yellow squash, or spicy mustard.  And what would my life be without these foods?? empty. meaningless.  small.


Mayonnaise has few ingredients.  Egg, acid, salt, oil. Duke's  has been my favorite for many years. Alas, here in Kansas City, I haven't seen it, so I've just purchased the cheapest.  And we always have it in the house.

Today, though, there was near tragedy as I realized, after having already boiled eggs and potatoes, that I was...out of mayonnaise.  [What's wrong Mommy? Why are you crying your eyes out?  Why haven't you showered today?  because we're out of mayo, sweetie.]

So I made some.  And it was divine.  I used this recipe.

Added it to my eggs and potatoes.  Sprinkled in some dill (My friend Janna over at The Momtourage gave me nice glass spice jars years ago when we were still kickin' it at the Red Cross together.  Thanks Janna and Andrew!).

By the way, I think dill is totally underrated.  Der-rih-shush! As my daughter Katie would say. Oh, and this is not the original dill that came in the jar.  It would be like 8 years old, and I won't touch herbs older than 7 years.  Sheesh.

The end product was fantastic.  However, potato salad just isn't that pretty.  Or at least mine isn't.  Of course, neither is mayonnaise, but that's beside the point.  It was tangy, creamy, and downright sinful.  Wonder if it would taste good on a Satan Sandwich? With a little sugar, I bet so.