Libba Wolfe

Libba Wolfe's column appears twice monthly in Extra.

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There was more than one good reason to behave yourself on New Year's Eve. You needed to be clearheaded to sort through all the newspaper ads for organizational tools for the new you.

Will I start fresh with a color-coded system? Big tubs or little ones? Clear or opaque? Stackables, wheels, labels? It's so exciting to think this may be the year we'll have a path through the attic.

After a quick shopping trip, I lugged the new tubs upstairs.

I know the rules. You have to be ruthless. Get rid of anything you haven't used in a year. Ha!

I have a tub filled with MatchBox cars and horse statues. I have all my children's blocks, my blocks, my Mama's blocks; they're 83 years old.

If I ever use the yoga mat and exercise ball I found, I'll be able to wear the suits I packed up. And who knows, I may need a pair of daffodil yellow high heels someday.

I found a pile of scrap lumber way too good to throw away. I shot right out to Lowe's. A very patient man there gave me a lesson on drill bits and angle brackets.

I'm very proud of the rack I built to organize my husband's photo mats and frames. It's a little wobbly, but it works.

Many houses ago, in one of these yearly organizational fits, I decided that a wall of built-in bookcases was the very thing. I was appalled at the carpenter's estimate of $800. Nothing fancy, straight up and down, how hard could it be?

I signed up for a carpentry class with the city schools' adult program.

I lived for Tuesday nights at Patrick Henry. I learned the difference between paint-grade plywood and stain-grade after I bought the wrong, more expensive kind. I learned to use a rip saw and a circular saw. I learned that safety goggles aren't supposed to look cute and you can't round off when you measure.

Construction was done in class with a teacher. Installing was done at home, alone. When I was putting up the final units, standing on a kitchen chair and trying to slide the top shelf in, the wood got stuck. It wouldn't go in, it wouldn't come out. I knew it would splinter if I let it go. I stood holding that shelf over my head for two hours till the nursery school carpool dropped my son off and he could run for help. I learned that an eighth of an inch is crucial in woodwork.

The entire time I worked on the project, I was terrified the whole thing would someday collapse. If one nail was good, wouldn't two be better? Three?

I used thousands. If a giant magnet ever passes that house, the bookcases will pop right out.

By the time I finished, I knew $800 was a deal. Two semesters of tuition, baby sitters every Tuesday night, the lumber, all those nails, a station wagon when the wood wouldn't fit into my Pinto. That bookcase costs right at $15,000.

And I'm not including the new rugs and slipcovers to complete the room.

While working on the attic, I'm planning how to get the trash cans and recycling bins organized and out of sight. My plan involves concrete. That makes me nervous. Will this be another "how hard can it be" gone awry? Are there do-overs with concrete? I've got to talk to that nice man at Lowe's.