I love perusing through 50s magazines, but there’s one detail that has started to disturb me. I understand that the ads of the day wanted to portray a feeling of happiness. After all, a new dishwasher = happiness, does it not? Continue reading “Fun with ads from the 50s”
Last Monday, I got a call from my contractor that said he could start as soon as we could give him a check for materials so Menards could deliver sometime this week. One problem: we’re waiting on the bank. Actually, we were waiting on one final estimate. In fact, we waited for that estimate all week! Finally I just wrote down a number that was at least twice as much as the job would actually cost (shower install) and gave the numbers to the bank. Now, we wait.
I really hate having the A/C on 24/7, but I do so for my husband’s sleeping comfort and for the kids. Oh, all right, I guess I don’t exactly want to be sleeping in a room clogged with 80% humidity, either. But it makes me feel like such a wuss. It’s almost as I can hear one of my Swedish ancestors while he shakes his head, muttering “WE didn’t have air conditioning when we lived in the log cabin, and we survived just fine.”
Then I realize that my Swedish ancestors probably would have sawed off their right arms in order to enjoy A/C in the middle of a Midwestern August, and it makes me feel better.
(Now, if I can only get my ancestors to quit talking to me, I can shake this guilt complex once and for all.)
When I’m not agonizing over flooring, I’m agonizing over lighting. Realistically, lighting shouldn’t be such a big deal, because lighting is undoubtedly more easily changed out than flooring. But still … my greatest fear is that I get all these cool lights installed and then I look around and think, “Whoa … what was I thinking?” Worse yet, I fear that I have someone over to visit after the remodel and they do that stone-faced look while saying, “Uh, it’s …. different.” Not that I have any friends who would do that, but still, the fear is there. Continue reading “Show me the light”
The other day I documented all the evidence that the former owners of this house had PINK on the brain. Continue reading “Pink Panic, Part II”
I hate looking at design idea books. Oh sure, they’re nice for oooohing and aaaaahing over, or mentally collecting names of products you’d like to use (but can’t afford), but they’re just impractical for someone like me. Y’know, someone who has cabinetry from Sears with early American hardware. It’s Continue reading “Remodeling for the rest of us”
When we first moved into this house, the plan was easy: fix it all up in 6 months and transform it into a house we love.
And eight years later, here we are! Just beginning the major improvements to this place.
Oh, there have been other things, of course. The basement was tiled so we no longer had any more water problems, the roof was reshingled, the bedroom was recarpeted to remove the PINK carpet that plagued this home, and numerous other minor details. Now we’re ready for the big stuff, and I’m kind of scared. Continue reading “One man’s style is another man’s ugly”
I expected something different. After prying up the existing vinyl flooring, I have discovered that my horribly decorated bathroom has burgundy tile, black trim, and, underneath the current floor, this: Continue reading “A completely schizophrenic bathroom”
Although the majority of our renovations center around the kitchen/dining room area, we also plan on doing something (we don’t know what) to the bathroom. I’ve always hated this wallpaper — too cutesy country, with a bunny ‘n’ basket border.
A couple weeks ago my 4-year old found a small little loose bubble along the seam. Doing what most 4-year olds would tend to do, he pulled until he had loosened a great big flap of wallpaper. His brother, of course, noticed in good time and wasted no time hopping in the Tattlemobile. I thought about giving my youngest son permission to keep going until all the ugly stuff was stripped off. That wouldn’t be child labor, would it? I mean, he’s my own son, and he loves me, and I’d be giving him permission to do something that he thought was naughty.
Then I remembered that once the old stuff was off, I had to figure out what to replace it with (and scrape off the scrappies, etc.), so I told my son he did a very bad thing, and sent him off to play.
Underneath the wallpaper exists pink paint. When I saw that, my mind started thinking “Cool retro pink bathroom!” And that would be entirely possible, but the plastic tile isn’t pink. It’s burgundy with a black border. Although I’m aware that a 50s bathroom may very well mix burgundy, pink, and black, it doesn’t seem to fit here. Now the question remains: what’s underneath this floor?
Later, because my husband expects me to be neurotic about what’s original in this house, I am going to find out. I’ve got a crowbar, and I know how to use it.
And if it turns out to be old tile with possible asbestos, then expect me to do exactly what a did about 7 years ago to an entryway: rip said tile out without a care. This is what you get from a new homeowner so focused on a task that the possibility of asbestos did not exist.
To this day, I’m not sure if that tile DID have asbestos in it. Let’s just say that if it was there, then this blog may run for a shorter time than originally planned.
One of my biggest fears will come on the day that the custom countertop guy comes to install the Silestone. Why? One thing I never realized before is that the former owners had the new (ugly) tiled countertop dropped over the old countertop.
You know what I love most about this picture? See the “Early American” arrow cabinet hardware? See my earlier post about said cabinet hardware? Now do you see why my mind is flirting with the possibility that my kitchen may have looked like this back in 1953?
I know, I know, the Silestone is beautiful … and whatever’s underneath is surely ruined beyond repair from the new countertop existing (and being adhered too) the old one. I just can’t help but wonder.
I’m thinking I should be conveniently out of town when the countertop guy comes a’callin’. I don’t even want to know what I’m missing.