Looks simple when all put together but a lot of work goes into these things.
I guess that’s why they bring a big truck. I think it was mostly the old insulation, and at least 98% rat free.
“Hooman, open the door so I can come in!”
I’m almost done. I’m so close that I’m giddy with excitement.
Demolition has been completed. The old paneling is fully abated.
Insulation has been exposed. Scratchy, itchy insulation. At this time, it’s 77% fiberglass and 23% cobwebs.
Beetles were discovered. Colorful, iridescent beetles, and they labyrinth of tunnels they ate through our framing. The beetles were killed, and their tunnels filled with caulk – not because it does any good, but because I felt like it.
Closet doors were assembled, and they definitely don’t look store-bought.
They fit perfectly. Which is really unusual for me.
Wood has been purchased, enough to finish all the trim in the house. There’s so much wood in my shop now I barely have space for it all.
Each board has been cut, marked and labeled. Some boards have been labeled more than once, as I
mis-cut pieces and had to make corrections changed my mind about what I wanted to do with them.
The windowsills are assembled. I have a particular style of windowsill that I like, which seems to require a few hours of assembly for each one I do. I swear, I am the undisputed master of doing things the hard way.
And as usual, cats were no help.
For some reason, some stupid, hair-brained, ill-conceived reason, I decided to use my existing stair treads instead of buying new ones. I could have bought nice, perfect, new stair treads But noooOOOooo. I had to use the crap that came with the house. It’s actually really good wood – old growth douglas fir, very tight grain, and it has a few knots and fissures but they are otherwise brick solid. A little twisted here and cupped there, but they’re old enough that they’re probably done moving. Something to be said for that.
Still, this is old, worn wood. It’s not like using old reclaimed barn-wood, nothing so romantic. These are more like some old pallet boards found beneath a dumpster behind an Arthur Treacher’s Fish and Chips. Seriously, I’ve seen driftwood on the beach in better shape than this crap.
To lend a little perspective, here’s a Before Picture:
There’s the stairs as we first saw them. Please note the ancient wood spindles, the bio-hazard carpet, the splintery old paneling, the wobbly handrail. I won’t tell you what it smelled like.
We’ve renovated a lot of the house since that time but for some reason I saved the stairs until last. Even though it’s a centerpiece of the house, even though we stare at it constantly, even though I climb up and down those god-awful things ten times a day. And I’ve had a lot of time to think of how I want the stairs done, which is why it’s such a mystery to me that I couldn’t come up with a better idea for stair treads.
I do like the wood grain on these. Lots of natural detail, and they polished up pretty well despite all the repairs I had to make to them. I had to do everything: wood putty, epoxy, dowels, wine bottle corks. Sadly, I had to sand a lot of the natural patina off of it, but there wasn’t much getting around that.
They did take the stain well. I have all next week to slather on polyurethane before I install them, so they should be well sealed.
I’ve dry-fit the posts and a few of the iron balusters in place and they’re looking great. It all looks so different. When these stairs are done, it’s going to be so nice that it looks out of place in this house.
The cut trim pieces look like serrated jaws. Just in time for Halloween!
The pictures on these magazines crack me up. You know, if my closet only had to store twelve items or less, it might look so picturesque too. Yeah, all I need to store is a pair of antique tennis rackets, a cyan volleyball, the world’s cleanest baseball, and a basket that has no use and serves no purpose.
Sorry, but my closet is not a shallow set of cubbyholes designed to hold yellow galoshes in singles. Mine is more like the Black Hole of Calcutta. The area behind where those coats are hanging? Astronomers call that the Event Horizon; beyond that point, nothing can escape, not even light.
The bare bulb is actuated by a pull string so worn and frayed that it quietly sobs “kill me” whenever you grasp it. No effort has been made to conceal those exposed wires, or insulate them, or even bring them up to code. There is no code in the Closet of Doom, only a deep, eternal blackness that smells like dog pee and cigarette smoke.
The pitted backside of the paneling is what rubs up against whatever clothes you deem fit to hide in here. You don’t store things in this oubliette as much as you just forget about them.
Definitely a tripping hazard.
Reluctantly, daylight creeps through the various cracks and holes from the outside, but the deeper down it goes, the darker it gets. The unwritten horror stories of HP Lovecraft are down there somewhere. I should seal it off for the safety of us all.
I’ve been staring at these awful stairs for years now, and the time has finally come for a little remodeling. Out with the paneling, in with new drywall. This is going to be a lot of work in a small tight space and it may not turn out like the front cover of anyone’s magazine, but anything will be an improvement.
Really hope this little path helps with tracking mud and pine needles inside this winter. There’s a LOT of landscaping left to do, but this is a pretty big step. We’re going to plant some ground cover in between the cracks of these pavers and I’m fairly confident they will do well. Heck, if we just wait a year we’ll have moss growing in there naturally.
When we bought this house, it came with a hot tub.
It was pretty gross. So bad, in fact, that we said we would not buy the property if the hot tub was on it. Seriously, it was a condition of closing in the purchase and sale agreement. Anyway, with the hot tub gone, we could get on with our lives and live knowing we would never have to see it again.
But as you can see, the hot tub left a semicircular hole in the deck. And truth be told, I would love to have a hot tub. A non-disgusting one.
Well, we kept our ear to the ground and soon enough our opportunistic selves discovered someone that was getting rid of a perfectly good hot tub. It’s rectangular, so I’m having to build up a similarly shaped foundation for it, and had to do some surgery to the deck to fit it. It’s got a long way to go but soon I’ll be soaking nicely while I gaze out to sea from the comfort of my deck.
Simultaneously and on the opposite side of the house, I got some pavers to make a path between the house and the garage. This adds synergy to my projects because the gravel I dig up to lay the pavers can be set into the rectangle where the hot tub is going to go. Efficient, huh?
I have a theory. I think that shovel sales on this island are significantly lower than any other place that sells shovels. The reason is our ground is so rocky that only a complete idiot would try do dig this dirt with a shovel. You have to break it up with a pickaxe one square inch at a time before the shovel can even touch it.
I also cleaned up the water fountain a bit. The birds love it.
Not even close to done. Still need to dig a trench between the garage and the house. Those pavers are 4″ thick so I really need to dig. They weigh about 60 pounds each. I know, what kind of idiot buys these things? They are such a pain to install in this kind of ground, especially with hand tools.
Eventually the path will go around in front of the garage and go to the house as well. I’m hoping it helps with the mud in the winter. We’re kind of sick of tracking it in the house like neanderthals.
A juvenile bald eagle, wondering why it takes us humans so long to build our nests.