I have routinely told people that Handyman and I are "serial remodelers". And I mean that in the scariest possible way. We cannot stop ourselves. Or perhaps more accurately stated: We are never going to be finished in our lifetimes!
We had a friend, who wound up in the construction business through no fault of his own. He came over to our place right after we moved in, (which was awhile after we actually bought it--because it was too icky to move into immediately), and Handyman took him around the house to show him "the plan".
His response...and I quote "It's big. You're screwed." Gut level honesty...what we all want in friends.
ANYWAY, to provide evidence of our commitment (in a sanitarium would probably be appropriate), I submit: Handyman is known, BY NAME, at Menards. I am not kidding. I have multiple witnessed occasions of this fact. He comes around a corner, orange vest (or whatever they wear) comes around the other corner, "Hey Tom! How's it coming along?"
And for myself: Yesterday I am checking out at local grocery, where I go EVERY SINGLE DAY. I was getting only cat food, and one of the cashiers said, "Did you get your kitchen done?" I know my mouth fell open, because I honestly don't remember ever telling her that I didn't have a kitchen. This in itself is a sign of my oncoming dementia, since I tell everyone we don't have a kitchen.
I told her no, but that we were putting up some more drywall this week. Stunned, I walked out. Is it obvious? I was only buying catfood. Not my usual Progresso Chunky Soup, tater tots and milk. Oh well.
And a book review: No remodeler, no matter how small should be without the terrific book, Gutted, by Lawrence LaRose. At first I read it through an intralibrary loan. But I knew, as I read, that I would have to have my own copy to put beneath my mattress. To whip out on days when there were feral cats in my sink. When Handyman refuses to get out of bed.
This book made us feel SMART! It made us laugh at what some fools will do to have their dream house. I wish I could have the Laroses over for dinner, someday when I have a kitchen...if they are still married. It's a great book and you don't have to be a nut-job like us to enjoy it.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Adventures in home remodeling.
This week's adventures are so numerous, I don't know where to begin...the feral cat? the plumbers? the stress? the food?
I'll begin with the cat...an unexpected zinger of excitement to get the blood flowing. Which is helpful when the kitchen remains not-fully-heated. We have a wooden screen door between the kitchen and the dining room. To make it extra-glam, we covered it with clear plastic--and duct tape patchwork where the cats have harrassed it.
This version replaced the original black plastic sheet that Handyman hung between the rooms in the beginning. Ugh. Are you kidding me? At that time, it wasn't cold. In fact, we hung it up so we could run the A/C. (I think the timeline is coming into focus for some of you.)
ANYWAY, I came in from the barn after morning chores, to find a large, black tomcat sitting in my kitchen sink (on dirty dishes), looking out the window. He was not excited to see me. I recognized him from last winter, when I chased him out of my hayloft multiple times, getting a little vengeful glee watching him spring off the barn porch roof into the snow below.
The girls actually saw him as a youngster several summers ago, and tried to tame him, but no luck--which is miraculous. My girls can tame just about anything. He is not thin and he is not neutered, and he is definitely not tame. I called out for Handyman, who was upstairs, but I wasn't sure he heard me, so I was making my way slowly toward the screen door to yell louder.
As I approached, "Zeus" (what the girls had called him way back when), leaped from the sink to the dish drying rack, sending my griddle crashing to the floor, and splintering it into multiple unuseable pieces. He then tried to spring straight up the face of the stainless steel refrigerator, and ALMOST made it, twice.
By then Handyman had made it to the scene and as he came in the door, Zeus had made it back onto the counter and onto the top of the refrig and was trying to dig through the insulation into the ceiling to escape. Handyman was hot on that, because if the cat made it up there, he would be loose in between the stories of the house, with no easy capture or release. So H. went for the big floor duster to keep the cat out of the ceiling, while I tried to make myself small and unintimidating by the washer.
My biggest worry for those fleeting seconds was that Zeus would become Cujo and launch himself into Handyman's face and then what would I do?? There was a quick Will Ferrell-esque vision of the cat on Handyman's head, and they're spinning around and he's screaming and I'm whapping them with the broom...but then I figured I'd better get serious. If Handyman were to be injured, the kitchen would be even more delayed! I might have to start hanging drywall myself...and then my mind went directly to crazy-quilting, which I love...
...perhaps not the best drywalling technique.
So I opened the back door and Handyman pretty much swept the cat off the refrigerator. He headed straight for the open doorway. Whew! H. followed him out and opened the big garage doors to let him vamoose!
The griddle was a small tragedy...as it served as my frequent stovetop. I still have my sister-in-law's electric skillet, which will have to stand in more often now.
I'll begin with the cat...an unexpected zinger of excitement to get the blood flowing. Which is helpful when the kitchen remains not-fully-heated. We have a wooden screen door between the kitchen and the dining room. To make it extra-glam, we covered it with clear plastic--and duct tape patchwork where the cats have harrassed it.
This version replaced the original black plastic sheet that Handyman hung between the rooms in the beginning. Ugh. Are you kidding me? At that time, it wasn't cold. In fact, we hung it up so we could run the A/C. (I think the timeline is coming into focus for some of you.)
ANYWAY, I came in from the barn after morning chores, to find a large, black tomcat sitting in my kitchen sink (on dirty dishes), looking out the window. He was not excited to see me. I recognized him from last winter, when I chased him out of my hayloft multiple times, getting a little vengeful glee watching him spring off the barn porch roof into the snow below.
The girls actually saw him as a youngster several summers ago, and tried to tame him, but no luck--which is miraculous. My girls can tame just about anything. He is not thin and he is not neutered, and he is definitely not tame. I called out for Handyman, who was upstairs, but I wasn't sure he heard me, so I was making my way slowly toward the screen door to yell louder.
As I approached, "Zeus" (what the girls had called him way back when), leaped from the sink to the dish drying rack, sending my griddle crashing to the floor, and splintering it into multiple unuseable pieces. He then tried to spring straight up the face of the stainless steel refrigerator, and ALMOST made it, twice.
By then Handyman had made it to the scene and as he came in the door, Zeus had made it back onto the counter and onto the top of the refrig and was trying to dig through the insulation into the ceiling to escape. Handyman was hot on that, because if the cat made it up there, he would be loose in between the stories of the house, with no easy capture or release. So H. went for the big floor duster to keep the cat out of the ceiling, while I tried to make myself small and unintimidating by the washer.
My biggest worry for those fleeting seconds was that Zeus would become Cujo and launch himself into Handyman's face and then what would I do?? There was a quick Will Ferrell-esque vision of the cat on Handyman's head, and they're spinning around and he's screaming and I'm whapping them with the broom...but then I figured I'd better get serious. If Handyman were to be injured, the kitchen would be even more delayed! I might have to start hanging drywall myself...and then my mind went directly to crazy-quilting, which I love...
...perhaps not the best drywalling technique.So I opened the back door and Handyman pretty much swept the cat off the refrigerator. He headed straight for the open doorway. Whew! H. followed him out and opened the big garage doors to let him vamoose!
The griddle was a small tragedy...as it served as my frequent stovetop. I still have my sister-in-law's electric skillet, which will have to stand in more often now.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Pretty much a toss-up!
I have an OLD newspaper cartoon in my daytimer, that I have carried around for almost a decade. It was such a perfect representation of my lifestyle, that I cut it out of my parents' newspaper as well, so I could have two. One for me and one for the side of my refrigerator.
The cartoon shows Satan standing next to two portals. Each has a sign over it; one reads "Eternal Hellfire and Damnation", the other: "Living in Your House While You Remodel". Satan is looking at the poor soul next to him and says, "It's pretty much a toss-up, don't you think?"
It still makes me smile, a little.
We bought a "fixer-upper", an "as is". We were young, foolish, and at the pinnacle of the housing bubble. We sold our little bungalow near a small university for more money than we thought it was worth. But dag-gone if some yuppie couple didn't agree to pay us that much! So we took it and headed for the hills.
Well, not exactly the hills. It's pretty level here in the middle of the midwest. We headed for the country. Well, not exactly the country. There is a Target in less than 8 miles. And a Wal-mart, and a Menards (Praise the Lord!), and a Barnes & Noble...and a Bed-Bath-And-Beyond.
We bought the butt-ugliest house in the nicest part of the circle we had drawn on our map, using a tupperware lid. We made a circle for how far we were willing to drive into town. And every Sunday, we went house hunting. For a year. I lost count of the realtors who gave up on us. We looked at OLD houses, suburban houses and farm houses.
And one day, we found it. It had an abandoned car in high weeds next to the driveway. And an old corrugated metal shed full of appliances. It smelled strongly of mold and pets. It was u-G-L-Y. But it had land, and as my mother-in-law so famously told me, "Sweetie, they don't make land anymore."
It wasn't old, or suburban or a farm house. The MLS listing sheet said Cape Cod. Wasn't that either. What it was, was way off the road. Lots of mature trees, with flat grass land to the front, 6 whole acres of it.
Built in '73, with the original '73 windows, siding, trim and shag carpet. The original powder blue counter tops, and a red toilet. The only thing it had going for it on the inside, was wide-plank pegged hardwood floors, almost everywhere.
Even better than that, there were NO neighbors in sight. Surrounded on three sides by farmland and a creek, with an old orchard to boot. I know it sounds ridiculously perfect, in lots of ways. And it is, which is why we were willing to suffer through this process.
The owner had mysteriously bad measurement skills, and an incredibly high perception of himself. We had Divine Intervention on our side.
We would need it...
The cartoon shows Satan standing next to two portals. Each has a sign over it; one reads "Eternal Hellfire and Damnation", the other: "Living in Your House While You Remodel". Satan is looking at the poor soul next to him and says, "It's pretty much a toss-up, don't you think?"
It still makes me smile, a little.
We bought a "fixer-upper", an "as is". We were young, foolish, and at the pinnacle of the housing bubble. We sold our little bungalow near a small university for more money than we thought it was worth. But dag-gone if some yuppie couple didn't agree to pay us that much! So we took it and headed for the hills.
Well, not exactly the hills. It's pretty level here in the middle of the midwest. We headed for the country. Well, not exactly the country. There is a Target in less than 8 miles. And a Wal-mart, and a Menards (Praise the Lord!), and a Barnes & Noble...and a Bed-Bath-And-Beyond.
We bought the butt-ugliest house in the nicest part of the circle we had drawn on our map, using a tupperware lid. We made a circle for how far we were willing to drive into town. And every Sunday, we went house hunting. For a year. I lost count of the realtors who gave up on us. We looked at OLD houses, suburban houses and farm houses.
And one day, we found it. It had an abandoned car in high weeds next to the driveway. And an old corrugated metal shed full of appliances. It smelled strongly of mold and pets. It was u-G-L-Y. But it had land, and as my mother-in-law so famously told me, "Sweetie, they don't make land anymore."
It wasn't old, or suburban or a farm house. The MLS listing sheet said Cape Cod. Wasn't that either. What it was, was way off the road. Lots of mature trees, with flat grass land to the front, 6 whole acres of it.
Built in '73, with the original '73 windows, siding, trim and shag carpet. The original powder blue counter tops, and a red toilet. The only thing it had going for it on the inside, was wide-plank pegged hardwood floors, almost everywhere.
Even better than that, there were NO neighbors in sight. Surrounded on three sides by farmland and a creek, with an old orchard to boot. I know it sounds ridiculously perfect, in lots of ways. And it is, which is why we were willing to suffer through this process.
The owner had mysteriously bad measurement skills, and an incredibly high perception of himself. We had Divine Intervention on our side.
We would need it...
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