The Secret Garden

I've decided it's time for the secret garden to come out of my laundry room. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: wallpaper was invented by the Devil. I love it so much that I was lucky enough to inherit yet another room of wallpaper on wallpaper, yesssssss.

You know renovation has become routine when...

The dog doesn't even flinch at sawing, banging, clanking, or hammering.

In Awe of DIY Senseis

So obviously our TV is constantly set to either HGTV or the DIY Network.  At some point this weekend, there was a show on DIY where a homeowner was installing his own heater.  And I'm not talking just about the heater itself, I'm talking about the whole venting system that goes along with the heater.  For a very pregnant minute, I thought to myself, "Woooow, that's DIY on steroids.  I'm in total awe."  I have such an appreciation for this man, whoever he was, but also feel quite liberated in knowing that the pressure to do our own venting / heating is a non-issue.  We would never attempt to do that.  Never.  Instead, we have 2 guys here all week installing our new heating / venting for a sum of money that I'm positive the DIY Sensei did not spend.  But well done to the gurus out there who have far more courage and skills than I could ever hope or dream to possess.

Scrubbing Walls

I had very lofty ambitions tonight of painting the back bedroom.  I need an office, and that's as good a place as any to put it.  The problem is that the back bedroom has horrible lighting, unfinished wood panelling, awful hand-made "crown molding" (think pine trim on the top with hand sawed half moons in a pattern underneath).  At the very least, it needs a coat of paint, some light, and some general sprucing up before I feel like I might desire to spend hours upon hours in there.

I thought for sure I could tear down the molding and put up primer tonight.  "Yes!" I thought to myself, "Finally, something that I can accomplish in one go."

Not so.  Upon taking out the molding, I discovered 60 years of dirt, dust, and cobwebs (and, I may have found a couple of cocoons, but I'm telling myself they were merely accumulated dust balls).  So the need to physically clean the walls became quite clear.  And that's basically where my story - along with my night - ends.

I've never cleaned so many damn walls and ceilings in my life as I have in this house.  My hands are shrivelled and have adopted a sandpaper-like consistency.  I'm covered in cobwebs and smell like Pine-Sol. (I figure it was only appropriate to use Pine-Sol in wood paneled walls... right?)  I petered out before I got to scrubbing the ceiling, as close inspection revealed that cobwebs have also accumulated on that surface.  Soooo.  Maybe I can get a coat of paint on those walls by the end of the weekend.  Maybe.  In the meantime, I'm thinking I can probably shave my legs with my bare hands, that's how rough they are.

Out with the old, in with the new!

New Mantra: Fake it till you make it

Soooo, for those of you who have visited our house, you might recall the noticeable absence of a working shower. When we first moved in, we were a bit nervous about that, but were willing to keep an open mind to the romanticism of being forced to take luxurious baths instead. After 4 weeks, what we have learned that baths are no luxury when it's 6:30am on a Monday, you've slept through your alarm, the dog needs a walk, and you have meetings starting at 8am. And, my neck muscles have grown infinitely because constantly lifting the weight of my wet hair from a horizontal position in said bathtub has caused me to look as though I'm a football player on steroids. This bath situation had to be rectified.

The problem is that we're not ready to put in a shower. The vision is to install a new bathtub oppositive of where the current one is, and then knock out the current bathtub, along with the closet behind it, and create a big, happy, bathtub-free walk-in shower. Despite actually having the new bathtub, we still need to do the plumbing for it. Ergo, old bathtub can't be removed yet, ergo, we can't put in the dream shower. What's a couple to do?

The answer lies in a $44 fixtures kit, a $56 plastic shower enclosure, and some elbow grease (which apparently includes hammering, torching, taping, and cursing) to create a make-do shower situation. Sidenote: I do appreciate the Home Depot for having these options available, but it really is criminal for them to charge $56 on the crappy plastic shower enclosure. I hope their shareholders are happy, because I as a consumer am slightly gobsmacked.



This is clearly not the ideal showering experience, but it'll do for now. As ladies have been rumored to say for centuries, sometimes it just makes sense to fake it.

Progressive Progress

I was informed tonight by my mother that I have been "horrible" at keeping up with my blog. It's not that I haven't thought about it. The issue is that Blogger told me I can't upload any more photos. So, you'll have to deal with just text until I can figure out this slight snafu.

We've done a lot. A full 1/3 of the bathroom is tiled with slate (note - it's a bad, bad idea to start with slate if you've never laid flooring before. Not exactly an easy learning curve), new bathtub has been purchased, new vanity is being restored by moi, and today we can triumphantly state that we have mastered one of the sexiest things that had to go into this house: asbestos removal. And by "mastered", I mean that we paid someone to come in and take it all out. Ooh la la. I already feel like I can breathe better.

Tonight, what I'd like to talk about is project management. There's an added layer of complexity when you're doing a big house renovation with your spouse through your own labor. So far, we've managed to work through it fairly well - he does his jobs and I do mine. Occasionally our paths cross and we work in tandem on something, and it's fun. But this afternoon felt altogether different. Let me set the stage: with the asbestos-laden venting now removed, the last and final obstacle to us placing our new bathtub in its final resting spot has been lifted. I'm very excited about this, but I also feel like, tonight, I'd like to take the night off. So I casually suggest to Luke that perhaps we (i.e., "he") can just remove the posts that had surrounded the vent (those which were in the way of me and my bathtub vision), and we call it a night.

That was an hour ago. He removed the posts, fine. But then he started to get concerned that there was too much weight in the ceiling without those posts, and that the ceiling would tragically come down. Not caring too much about the ceiling, but caring greatly for the wellbeing of my new toilet and bathtub, I take an active role in brainstorming how to fix this. And by active role... well, he, in his work boots and work goggles, with hammer in hand, is cleverly figuring all of this out, while I am sitting on the floor in flip flops enjoying a glass of red wine, writing this blog, and providing critical moral support. I think I better go make him dinner, something involving lots of meat and very little tofu, before he twigs on to this evening's interpretation of "project management" and gets angry at me.