The Fixer Upper House and Garden

One Good Girl

Getting Allie to "smile for the camera" has always been a challenge, because she averts her big, brown eyes the second you snap the photo. But recently, M realized she can keep Allie's attention by holding a snack next to the camera. All she needed for this photo was a single Wheat Thin. Then M used Kodak's EasyShare software to turn the photo into a cartoon-like image. I love it!

One ... Half ... Inch

I expected to be blown away by the Costa Esmerelda counters after they were installed in my kitchen Thursday afternoon. I should have swooned, because the counters are graceful and lovely, with just the right depth of color and veining. But instead of swooning, I gasped in horror at the sight of a narrow gap between the island leg posts and countertop. While invisible to some, this gap is so obvious to me it's as if flashing arrows are pointing at it.

"What is that GAP?" I asked Edgar, the counter installation guy who is about the age I was when I graduated from college. "The countertop is too small!" Nervously, Edgar got out the order.

"Ma'am," he said politely, "These are the dimensions you signed off on when the counters were measured last week."

I looked at the order. The island counter was measured from the rail and not from the leg posts, which jut out a couple of centimeters beyond the rail. What this means is that while most of the counter has a one-inch overhang, the overhang at the two leg posts is only about one-half inch. The gap between the posts and the counter exaggerates this one-half-inch deficit.

Hysteria started lurching from my stomach. Or was that lunch?

I called Miguel.

"What is that GAP?" I asked Miguel.

He didn't seem too worried.

"Yea, I noticed that. We just have to push the leg posts up and it will be OK," he said.

"But what about the OVERHANG?" I asked, gripping the cellphone to my ear. "It's only one-half-inch at the leg posts!"

"It's supposed to be like that," Miguel said, trying to reassure me. "It's supposed to look like a farm table."

"It looks like a man who arrived at his wedding in tuxedo pants that are too short!" I cried.

Now Miguel was starting to get worried---not about the counter but about my state of mind. "It's not that bad!" he said. "I'll come by and take another look."

I called Husband.

"The counters are in and the island top looks like it shrunk in the dryer!" I wailed.

"It can't be that bad!" he said. "I'll get off early and take a look."

That day, Bert the GC, Carl the carpenter, Mark the kitchen designer, Miguel the architect and Husband the husband all came to the house to see the patient I mean the island counter top. None of them felt the overhang was an issue. They offered various solutions, ranging from using a scribe to fill the gaps to placing "buttons" at the foot of the posts so that the leg tops are flush with the bottom of the counter. They tried to assure me that once the gaps are filled, the overhang will not be an issue.

"But that's because you don't think it's even an issue with the gaps!" I said suspiciously. I calculated the height difference between Husband and me, which is about seven inches.

"You can't even see what I'm talking about!" I cried.

I demanded another solution. All reluctantly agreed that in addition to filling the gaps, we could adjust the island by pushing the legs in one-half inch at both sides. This sounds easy, but it's not without repercussions because the leg posts are already nailed into the floor boards, and if we move the leg posts forward a half inch, the holes in the floor might --- or might not--- be exposed. We also would have to cut and move the rails, exposing nail holes in the island that would have to be filled and stained. Plus, these adjustments would affect the symmetry of the overhang, making it deeper than one-inch at the rails.

I asked my brother-in-law Chip, who's a woodworking guy, to evaluate the island overhang, and he doesn't think it's a problem. My sister agrees, and my kids think I'm crazy to actually talk about something like: "The overhang? What's the overhang?"

Part of me worries that everyone secretly believes the overhang is a real issue, but that they don't want to say so because of all the work that's involved in fixing it. But then again, maybe it really is a non-event. Maybe I'm just too close to the situation. Maybe I'm just a little looney.

Either way: It's bugging me. Here are some more pictures:

from the left side:

from the right side, with a piece of wood shoved in the gap to show what it might look like when the gap is filled:

Everyday Matters

I'm looking forward to being reunited with my everyday china. It's an embossed, all-white Wedgewood pattern that I still love as much as Husband, chips and all.

It's early to be thinking about moving back and unpacking. M reminds me that I've been saying we'll be back "in three weeks" for the last six weeks. But even though the end date fluctuates with the weather, we can't help imagining where we're going to put the beds, and who is going to get which cubby in the mudroom, and where will the dog bowls go?

As wonderful as it is to think about living in The Fixer Upper House once it's all fixed up, these thoughts cause me some anxiety: I'm not sure what we'll find in the storage lockers that we stuffed after last summer's flood. I know the china survived, because the boxes it was stored in did not. Several hours after the flood, I unraveled every plate and saucer from mud-soaked wrappings, then I dried and repacked them snugly in brand-new boxes.

I suppose that's why I let myself think about the china: I know it won't be moldy. About everything else, I'm just not sure. We got rid of most of the books, linens, stuffed toys and clothing--every cloth or paper-thing that got wet, along with a lot of other stuff (as shown at left).  But given what zombies we were by the end of that day, I can't be sure that everything that went into storage was dry. In fact, I remember feeling queasy when I locked the last locker that night.  My thought? "Ew, mold."

If anything that went into storage was even just a tad muddy... Ew. I don't want to be there when the lockers are opened up. But I will be, of course, because I'm the shepherdess of the stuff.

I just hope the movers don't break my china.

Winter Daze

Today's snow is wetter than a dog's nose after a good sneeze. Here are some photos:

The house this afternoon (we're going to replace the shutters and I'm thinking 'hunter-green'):

Near the lake:

T and friend making a snow dog:

Built Ins

The silver lining to this grey day is that the carpenters have been working on the built-ins, which look great. Here are some photos of these works in progress:

The window nook:

The mudroom bench and cubbies (note the Dutch door):

Closeup of detail beneath mudroom bench:

It's really nice to see these French doors in action again. Husband extracted them from his great-grandfather's house in central Ohio shortly before the house was leveled and turned into a parking lot. We've been storing the doors in our basement(s) for 15 years.

Snow Day?

If schools are closed due to snow on a day when there is no school due to parent-teacher conferences...is it really a bonus day off? I'll leave that for you to ponder. Here are some pics of this morning's snowfall. Milo:

Allie:

Girls drying Milo off:

Hard Labor?

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be unconscious during childbirth, which was a common practice a generation ago. What was it like to be the inert center of all that purpose? To be absent when your infant entered the world?

Why, you may wonder, is she writing about this? It's because the kitchen cabinets are being installed, and my house is buzzing with more activity than triage in a women's hospital. After a long, hard labor...the baby is crowning! And where am I? I'm at Starbucks. As it should be, mind you, as it should be.

Alas, like all good childbirth stories, the installation of my cabinets is full of drama, but I'm not going to write about that...today. I might write about it later, if the baby is born with two heads and no feet. For the moment, here's a photo of upper cabinets that were installed today, followed by shots of the cabinets being delivered (from an Amish barn) to my suburban front door.

In the kitchen...

Off the truck...

And through the door:

Getting Chopped

A few important things got chopped off this week!

When she was 5, C decided to grow her hair for "Locks of Love," a charity that uses donated human hair to make wigs for kids who've lost their own hair (www.locksoflove.com). This had significance for our family, since C's cousin has had alopecia for many years (now 14 and confidantly bald, he's the most handsome boy in his freshman class!)

C looks good too, with her new grown-up haircut. It took five years to grow her hair so long--she was at Little Leisure preschool when she started. She donated 10 inches of light-brown hair with lovely blond sun-streaks. Here are a few more shots of C's haircut, followed by a photo of something else that got chopped down.

A bit later:

The next picture is of our house--we chopped down two arborvitaes this week, to make way for a storm-drain that must stretch out to the street. Note to fellow gardeners: No, I don't feel bad about taking out the trees. Begone with them! They were overgrown, too close to the house, and not even remotely indigenous. I can hardly wait to dig out those two ugly evergreen bushes!

Set In Stone

I bought my tile today: several hundred ceramic, porcelain and marble polygons from four retailers. Some people buy everything from one store. I'm not one of these people. This is partly because I needed different materials and designs for several rooms. It's also because not one store had everything I wanted for the price I needed. For example, I priced my job at several "stone and tile" stores that could have accomodated my entire job---from the hand-made fireplace tiles (pictured here) to the kitchen counters to the cheapo-porcelain 12x12s for the mudroom. But there was always a problem: at one store, the sales staff was snooty. At another, quality was great but prices were high. Another dealer offered reasonable prices but boring material.

I never said I was easy to please. And for what this stuff costs, you shouldn't be either.

So I shopped around a lot. Husband and budget necessitated that I seek the best prices, but I also shopped for quality material and interesting designs. And for the record I will say that when I was on the fence, I leaned in favor of sales people who were helpful and interested in my job.

I liked Beeta, who runs the desk at Stone Habitat in Mundelein. Her store has a great selection of marble and granite; she was helpful; she negotiated; and the price was right. I bought my kitchen counters (Santa Cecelia granite and Soapstone), fireplace hearth (Soapstone), and master bathroom counter and tiles (Italian carerra marble) from Stone Habitat. The installer, Joe, came to the house to measure before I made my decision. In fact, Stone Habitat and Expo were the only ones who sent installers to take accurate field measurements for the quote (Expo wanted to charge $200 for this service, but I wouldn't pay it). Stone Habitat sells stone and only stone...so I bought my marble and granite there and for ceramic I went elsewhere...

For ideas and selection of ceramic tiles, you can't beat Expo. Its tile department is expansive, brightly lit, and with moderate to higher prices. (I was surprised how bad the lighting was in many tile stores.) Getting someone to help you is a challenge--some of sales reps at my local Expo seem like they've been working the prison night shift for too many years. But a young rep named Katherine was a great help to me. I did the kids' bathroom at Expo: white ceramic subways with glass mosaic accent tiles the color of a Fresca bottle that's been in the ocean for 30 years; 2x2 octagonal white ceramic floor tiles, and Corian "whitecap" counter tops. Worth noting about Expo: its installation quote was outrageous; Donald Trump must buy his tile there. I bought the material, but not the labor. Also worth noting: they're having a tile sale--20% off. This helped a lot. Worth worrying about: I suspect delays.

I got my mud-room flooring at a heavily advertised chain called Century Tile. Originally, I planned on using brick-colored Marmoleum, but I went with 12x12 porcelain tiles that look like natural slate, per my decorator Jean's suggestion. These "NK-17" tiles are very durable (comes in handy with 2 dogs) and cost less than $4 a square foot. They'll be ready for pick-up tomorrow.

Because I shopped around and negotiated everything, I was able to splurge on the fireplace surround in the family room. I'm going with the handmade tiles pictured above from Motawi (www.motawi.com), which I bought at The Fine Line Tile Gallery in Chicago. They're expensive, and the installation is, too. But it's worth it.

Floored!

Yesterday was one of those dreary, wet and muggy days that make me wonder why anyone would chose to live where I'm living. I went to the gutterless house in the morning, fearful the melting icicles and slush had seeped into the new basement overnight...they had not! The house was drier than the Arizona desert, and just as dusty. The floor guys were already at work sawing and buzzing, and they made great progress. Here are some shots of the house as of today, Wednesday:

One view:

View from another angle:

And another view: