My husband and I have this thing about closets. A bare, ugly, scarred-drywall closet is a no-go. For whatever reason, we share the belief that when the small spaces in a home are cared for and updated, it shows a level of maintenance and care that other houses lack. (That, and I’m an organizing fool. I love me a closet.)
The master bedroom closet in this house left something to be desired. Half open, half hidden under a sloping eave. One oddly low shelf, one pole mounted on chunks of 2×4, and one tension rod that fell down. All the damn time. Last week it fell for the last time.
(Ignore the rifle. And the circa-1980s kids’ popcorn popper toy that I cannot bear to part with.)
With everything taken out you get a sense of how big the closet actually is. That’s also the beauty of an organized closet – when the shelves/rods/whatever are haphazardly installed, you lose a crapload of usable space.
We replaced the old rods and shelf with rubber-coated wire shelves. They are my favorite as they don’t collect dust, don’t bow, and are inexpensive. With the top shelf nearer to the ceiling, two shelves now fit one on top of the other.
And there it is. This is my husband’s closet, in case you’re wondering about my suddenly very masculine attire. My closet is a whole other mess; I’ll deal with it in the future. Near future, hopefully. For that matter, this closet isn’t completely done, either. There are bare walls that could use new shelves or hooks or who knows what.
My other closet requirement is anal retentive, but I can’t help myself. All matching hangers. I spent a fortune on wooden hangers and don’t regret it for a hot second.
See you later!
Black Spruce Hound 