IKEA items used:
- A red HELMER metal cabinet unit
- Black legs from a TROLLSTA side table
- Knobs from a HEMNES chest of drawers
- Knobs from the LINNARP display cabinet
1. I stripped the drawer unit out of its handles and the small caster wheels underneath.
2. Then I made some stencils out of paper to help with the intricate design.
4. Then I sawed a piece of pinewood plank to fit underneath the drawer, so that I have something to secure the legs on.
5. I screwed the plank to the metal cabinet through the existing holes at the base of the HELMER (but from the inside of the unit) and then I screwed the legs on top of the plank from the outside.
6. After that I painted that plank with the same white and gray design as I did on the top of the unit.
7. To make this a unique piece I wanted mismatched knobs and handles, so I took what I had in my drawers.
Now Helmer is ready to join the circus!
~ Maria Thöyrä, Gothenburg, Sweden
You may also like these other designs on the HELMER metal cabinet
Stunning chinoiserie motif on the HELMER. See how it’s done here.
Warm up the metal with leather. See the upgrade here.
Yesterday was the 40th anniversary of Elvis Presley's death, so I thought I'd feature some appropriate cakes. However, I realize many of our younger readers may not be familiar with The King. So listen up, whipper snappers! Picture an older, more talented, better looking, Southern Justin Bieber wearing a white, bedazzled jumpsuit.
Also, he may or may not be dead.
Maybe don't picture that part.
Right. All together now? Then let's get started!
This is Elvis:
Rawr! Ffft ffft...
...is not Elvis. I'm thinking either Ray Liotta or Wayne Newton.
John claims this looks like Jimmy Durante. It's like I don't even know who he is anymore. (John, I mean. Jimmy I had to wiki.)
I'm going with Liza Minelli.
Oh! Wait! I know this one!
The Brawny paper towel guy!
And finally, Elvis:
Queen Amidala. Or maybe one of the guys from Menudo. (Thanks, John!)
No, no, I'm staying with Amidala.
Thanks to Paula H., Diana C., Connie B., and Chrissy K. who are all, collectively, nuthin' but hound dogs. And oh! The crying! ALL the TIME! Enough, already!
Ah thank you. Thankyouverramuuuch.
Update from john: The Munsters! The last one looks like the kid from The Munsters! I knew it was something with an "M" from my childhood.
Letter from the editor
There are times when journalists and editors have to tackle subjects that are difficult, complicated, and even deeply contrary to their own personal world view. We go in anyway, because that is our mission and our purpose. We go in anyway, because that is our personal and professional directive, similar to a doctor or nurse that cures the sick no matter who they might be.
It is what we do.
While The Wild Hunt was once a successful news blog, it has developed into a recognized news agency with a small team of dedicated and professional news writers who work by the ethical standards expected of objective journalism and who have a passion for their work as members of our collective communities.
We do our best within our resources to go the full distance, even if that means setting aside personal feelings or going into uncharted territory, in order to get as close to the center of a very difficult and even painful story.
Reporting on Charlottesville was one of these times. The process was not easy for both me as editor and for Cara Schulz as the writer.
Personally speaking as a woman of Jewish heritage, I found that the weekend events triggered my own family-based traumas, and I had a difficult time keeping my “ear to the ground,” so to speak, in order to support Cara in her work. Seeing the swastika and hearing the antisemitic rhetoric chanted over and over was terrifying, recalling the many warnings I had heard as a child.
To echo the words of Jonathan Korman, do I have time to let the bread rise?
But I am also a professional journalist and an editor. As such, it is my belief that in order to empower our readership, especially in times of crisis, and to serve a greater purpose in our collective communities and our world, I must set that aside my own fears to bring you the highest quality, ethically-based reporting as my news team can accomplish.
We will not waiver in this mission. For us, it is not only a job but a passion, a spiritual calling, a service, and a craft.
I want to personally thank every one of our readers for visiting us daily, for supporting our wholly independent efforts, and for sharing our articles.
May we find peace and unity in the beauty of our differences.
The Wild Hunt
The world we live in is not always peaceful… and maybe sometimes we kind of like it that way, whether we like to admit that or not. Author Anna Smith Spark has thoughts on the act of violence, and how it animates the story of her novel The Broken Knives.
ANNA SMITH SPARK:
The Court of Broken Knives is a novel about violence.
When I started writing the book, I didn’t have a plot or a world or a cast of characters in mind. What I had was a scene.
A group of men.
I’ve always been fascinated by violence: How one might respond to the opportunity for violence. What doing violence might feel like. And that’s what The Court of Broken Knives ultimately became about.
I was brought up reading the great myths and legends, the old stories of heroes. The Iliad. The Eddas. Beowulf. Gilgamesh. The Tain. I loved these stories. Read and reread them, immersed myself in them, told myself stories set in their worlds. But what I came back to, as I got older, was the realisation that for so many of these stories we are not reading about good versus evil. We are not reading high fantasy, the last desperate stand where evil is vanquished and the Dark Lord is overthrown. We are reading about violence for its own sake. The act of winning, of killing one’s opponent and glorying in one’s triumph, is the victory. The hero is ‘good’ because he wins.
And yes, ‘he’. These are acts of masculine violence. More women have perhaps fought in battle than we realise, yes, granted. But, historically, organised violence has been the domain of men. Armies and battle hosts have been male places. Places from which women have been excluded. And that in itself is worth thinking on.
Let’s look for a moment on the Iliad. The Iliad was written down over two and a half thousand years ago. It was composed perhaps three thousand years ago. It is the first and greatest masterpiece of European literature, the foundation stone of western culture. It is a book entirely and totally about war. A very large number of people die in the Iliad. Graphically, horribly, and without even the consolation of heaven awaiting them. The whole reason for the war is shown to be futile.
But war is also the whole basis of the Iliad’s society. The leader of the Trojans is called Hector. He’s spent ten years killing Greeks for the sake of a woman who ran off with his little brother. He’s seen most of his brothers die, and his wife’s entire family die, and he knows, deep down inside, that he’s going to die himself. In one of the most moving scenes in the poem, he says farewell to his wife and child before going out to battle, and he knows and we know and they know that he’s not going to come back from it. And this is what he says:
When [their child is grown and] comes home from battle wearing the bloody gear
Of the mortal enemy he has killed in war-
A joy to his mother’s heart.
(Homer, Iliad, trans. Robert Fagles, Penguin, 1990, book 6, lines 568-574)
Coming home from battle still bloody with his enemies’ innards. That’s the greatest joy a woman can want for her children. That’s what makes you absolutely the top chap.
The Iliad is not a celebration of war. But is not a rejection of war, either. It makes one terrible, horrifying, entirely obvious point:
Winning at war feels great. And that’s a strange and exhilarating experience to write about—particularly someone who has not ever fought.
Reading about war is enjoyable. Writing about war is immensely enjoyable. And I strongly suspect, from everything I’ve ever studied about history, that actually doing war is even more enjoyable than reading or writing or watching it. Warfare has been pretty much a constant of human history, and those who are good at it have generally occupied the top social and sexual desirability spot. Some war is morally justified. Most war is not. We’ve always known that. Right back to the Iliad. And yet we do it. We have always done it. We probably always will.
We do it because winning at war feels great. I wanted my characters to have the same feelings as Hector: to understand simultaneously that war is bloody and horrible, but also glorious and exciting and fun.
I do not say this because I think war is a good thing. It is a terrible thing. A horrifying thing. A thing of utter shame and grief.
But I say it because it is a true thing, and a thing that I wanted people to remember in The Court of Broken Knives.