Tag: old houses

The interview ends with a worm.

We’re here with Hamish the Corgi and Miss Tibbit-the-useless-little-black-dog. It’s painting season again here at the WideEyedDomicile. The Bosses are up on the scaffolding along the northwest side this season, scraping and painting yet another architectural complexity.

We asked Miss Tibbit what she thinks of the house painting activity.

“Well,” she looked either thoughtful or vacant, it isn’t easy to tell, “it is really pretty boring. We just sit around in the yard. There’s not much to do.”

Hamish looked sideways at her. “That’s a negative attitude.” Tibbit snorted. “Look at them up there,” Hamish waved his nose upward, “they stay in one place for hours at a time and I can keep my eye on them.”

“Whatever,” Miss Tibbit seemed doubtful. She sniffed the air and “Hey, there’s a worm over there!” She spun on her hind legs and took off.

“What??” Hamish ran after her.

Another day, more of the house painted. We’ll check back in with the WideEyedHousehold next week.

June 17, 2016
High places

Miss Tibbit and I stood in the rain eating black raspberries off the canes in the backyard. I reached high, Miss Tibbit plucked the low ones with her front nibble teeth. Their pure, rain-washed fruitiness is soothing my stomach after a feast of lamb vindaloo and chicken xacuti, samosas and deep-fried paneer at the Taj Grill. I can hear the rain pinging on the steel frame of the scaffolding. We should be painting. Monsoon-like rains and passing lightening storms make it impossible.

Lion Stout from Sri Lanka at the Taj Grill. The WideEyedSpouse said it was heavy on the mocha flavors.

The scaffolding arrived a week ago on a big rig. It traveled across country for 22 days to get here. Twenty feet of bright yellow painted tubular steel and mini-girders. So cheery. So horrifyingly high. From July 2 to July 5 we spent the daylight hours perched on Level 1 (6 feet), Level 2 (12 feet), Level 3 (18 feet) scraping, washing, priming. The husband of each neighboring household came to see. From my aerie they all looked the same: wide legged stance, arms crossed over the chest, head tilted back, mouth a little open. I think the WideEyedHousehold looks a little otherworldly up there with gangling arms and legs working on the small 2 by 6 feet platform – reaching out, over, up, to deal with the house’s overhanding soffit and decorative exposed rafters. The high roof and architectural details looked so cool (“badass” the Spouse says) when we bought the place. I didn’t think about spending days and days with them.

The aerie in position.

One set of neighbors had a party over the weekend. From my post up high I could smell the bbq, drinks, and perfume. The women’s dresses were a swirl of color. Kids laughed and played. The men kept easing around the corner of their house to peek at the scaffolding. I painted on primer during their cocktails. I painted through their dinner. I painted as they sat, idling with wine into the summer evening.

WEF, up high – and the ground crew.

The WideEyedSpouse and I spelled each other in the high places. I don’t know what he thought about up there, but I started jealously guarding my time on Level 3. The breeze was nice. Voices faded to murmurs and traffic on the nearby Scajaquada Expressway rumbled at a deeper tone. Squirrels and birds chirping and chittering in the trees were my companions. I became nothing but arms attached to a paint scraper, or arms with a paint brush instead of a hand.

“I can’t believe you are painting your own house,” WideEyedNeighborP said. “What else are we going to do all summer?” I said, “Sit around on the patio and drink?” I think when we are done I’ll install the scaffolding among the back yard maple trees. My own industrial tree-house. It’s possible I’m becoming weird.

July 7, 2015
Old House | Freedom Thief

We had freedom once. We hiked. We rode mountain bikes. We visited antique shops and flea markets, clutching take-out lattes. We read the whole Sunday paper to fill the time before brunch.

But our lives seemed empty. So we bought a house and fixed up it. Then we moved. Bought another house and fixed it up. Then we moved, to the biggest, oldest house yet.

It must be painted. I do understand that there are professionals who do these things for you. For buckets of ducats. But the WideEyedSpouse and I sort of want to see what is happening on the house. Get a sense of coming maintenance. And, we want to run the 35 foot boom lift and stare down at the neighborhood from our lofty position.

Yesterday we started.

We scraped. I washed with pre-painting detergent. No, I’m ok, it only burned a little when it dripped down my arms and off my elbows.

We painted. Creamy white. Deepest blue. We painted until 12 minutes after sunset, knowing that rains were coming and hoping for the necessary 1 hour dry time before the deluge. I worried over this and the Spouse told me, “The rain never comes from that direction anyway.”

After one day of painting, the WidedEyedHouse is about 1/20^th done. The torrential spring rains are, as you might expect, lashing against the newly painted walls. The paint is holding steady so far. The members of the WideEyedHousehold are huddled inside, nursing blisters and sore muscles and bruises. Desperately avoiding thoughts of 19 more 10 hour days of scraping and painting in the hot summer sun. Dreaming of lattes and brunches and aimless weekends.

May 31, 2015
One year and three months in the bathroom.

The WideEyedHousehold spent the last fifteen months without a bathroom door, shower, sink, or toilet more or less sequentially. This embarrassingly long duration of inconvenience was, of course, the fault of unadulterated laziness and winter ennui. In recent days we bootstrapped ourselves into finishing the job.

More than one year ago, the WideEyedSpouse got to picking at the paint peeling off the 104 year subway tiles (see: 6 Days in the Bathroom). He peeled up the cheap sticky tiles and cleaned pink mold from the antique hexagon tiles on the floor. He stripped spray paint from the tiles around the radiator. I stripped nine to fifteen coats of paint from the woodwork, primed, and repainted. I scraped and sanded the ceilings and walls, primed and repainted. We replaced the tub faucet and shower surround. I bought a new beveled mirror for the old medicine cabinet. I broke it. I bought another one and some glass for the shelves inside because I thought that would look nice. It does.

We found a 100 year old Empire reproduction bureau to stand in as the vanity. It had a 1930s St Louis bus token in it. And an envelope taped to the bottom of a drawer. We shook with excitement. It was empty. After months of looking at all, at ALL of the sinks online we bought the sink and faucet.

An exhaust fan went in, which necessitated some filthy attic labor. Blown in insulation has flaws.

We tore out the cheap vanity and whacked it with a sledge in the back yard. It exploded. We sorted through 500,000 used bathroom tiles at the Reuse store to find the 23 that were antique subway tiles. I think the Spouse caught the plague there. We tore out the (cracked) toilet. The old one had been held in place by insulfoam. If you know something about toilets, you’ll understand that the WideEyedDiningroom below was one scary flush away from…something unpalatable.

We scrubbed the tile walls with vinegar. We remasticked loose tiles, placed new (old, resued) tiles where some had disappeared over the years. Grouted. Miserable. I scrubbed the floor with an Oxyclean solution. It took days. I don’t like to think about what came up and I hope my gloves were thick enough. We remasticked loose tiles, placed new (old, resued) tiles where some had disappeared over the years. Grouted. Miserable.

The new toilet went in and it has a dual flush button: low water and more water. What luxury to not have to creep down the night dark steps to the halfbath. The new vanity, all waterproofed with coats of Waterlox, went in. Yes, I turned the fan on in a dog hairy and dusty room while the new varnish was drying. Let’s not talk about that. The Spouse remodeled the drawers to fit around the plumbing. I bought a tissue box caddy on etsy. I made curtains.

It sounds so simple, just listed out like that. It wasn’t. It stunk. Mostly it stunk. Shopping online wasn’t terrible. But the rest of it was filthy, even unsanitary, grueling, meticulous labor. Although it sure is clean now.

The moral of the story: don’t start peeling paint (or wallpaper for that matter) no matter how tempting the little loose bits look.

April 25, 2013