Lost my dog; love, Caroline…

Crate

Well, this isn’t a drawing at all. It would be quite impressive if it were, or if I could convince you it were — but somehow I don’t see good odds for that.

As it is, it’s not particularly impressive (or finished, for that matter), but it’s worlds better than having my worldly possessions (or at least the artistic chapter thereof) spread about helter-skelter on a damp carpet. Yes, damp — I may set aside another day to complain about that, but for now suffice to say that it’s damp and it’s totally not my fault.

I picked up (and by “picked up” I mean “found while searching for other things on Craigslist and ultimately went to Des Moines to purchase”) some ancient wooden milk crates that frankly look like tiny treasure chests, and now I’m working on making them respectable. They’re the slightly-irregular cheap kind, as opposed to the strapping young pretty ones that could still potentially crate milk if they really wanted to, so I’ve had to take great care. Well, take great care or shave big chunks of milk crate off here and there — which is to say, there are several big chunks missing from my milk crates now.

I had to snip out some of the wire caging in the middle so various objects (pencils and paper here, seven seasons of Buffy and some music CDs in another) would fit decently, then I had to wrap everything in three-dollar Walmart duct tape so there weren’t hideous rusty sharp bits sticking out all over. Duct-tape-wrapping, by the way, is a skill that takes a few (equally hideous-looking) tries to perfect. The second crate looks worlds better. Except for the fact that it’s returning to the earth as we speak; I swear it wasn’t quite this crumbly when I bought it.

I still need to cannibalize some cardboard from the back of a notepad or something to make proper dividers for the pencils — my shamefully large collection of tiny pencil nubbins (most of which, perhaps not surprisingly, are for the color black) has its own cheap plastic hotel cup to keep it from spilling everywhere, but the others still need a little more structure lest they slip through the grating. I should probably also get something to replace the flattened-out 15-cent paper folder that’s serving as the bottom of the crate, and the ship-in-a-bottle-style disassembled and reassembled granola-bar box that’s making the “floor” of the pencil side higher than the paper side.

WAIT WAIT WAIT THIS MEANS I STILL HAVE GRANOLA BARS. I just dumped them out in a basket so I could use the box.

Time for a midnight snack.

(and no, my name’s not Caroline and I have no dog — but The Milkman by Carol Foskett Cordsen is adorable and you should read it)

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