I’ve been occupied lately getting ready for the next Big Scary Project on my house. This one involves demolition of one of the many ill-conceived and ruinously awful additions, foundation and under-flooring repair in one corner of the house, plus moving and completely reconstructing the bathroom.
The real work could begin as early as Thursday, as late as Monday, or could be postponed for months if Handyman Mike’s Perpetual Life Crisis doesn’t resolve in time for his work to be coordinated with that of The Only Plumber In Town, whose appearance is a privilege that must be arranged two months in advance.
That’s tricky.
The other tricky thing is that the bathroom is going to be moved by three feet — which means that much of the work will be done within the footprint of the existing room. Keeping functional plumbing and a modicum of privacy throughout will inevitably get interesting. Thank heaven for my emergency porta-potty, though I hope never to use it again as long as I live.
I was nervous about the scheduling for a while, especially as Handyman Mike’s Perpetual Life Crisis kept developing new aspects and his attitude toward carved-in-stone plumber scheduling seemed amazingly cavalier. But now I consider the whole business to be in the hands of the fates.
It will happen soon or it will happen later. I can only do my part and hope for the best.
Although there are other big projects to come over the years, the bathroom rebuild is the most important to me after last year’s miracle roofing and the initial patching of holes in the floors & such. The existing bathroom reminds me every day of what a slum I purchased here. And aside from its necessary functions, a bathroom is (to me) the most important room in the house for the small but scrumptious luxury of soaking in a comfy tub while reading a good book and nibbling California dried apricots and raw cashews. (The current bath has only a frighteningly dubious shower.)
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My part has included obtaining and staging all the materials and fixtures. Drywall and plywood lean against the living room walls. Bundles of insulation, doors, and rolls of vinyl flooring crowd the back bedroom.
An old clawfoot tub sits in the remnant of what used to be the bedroom closet. Sink, vanity, light fixtures, medicine cabinet, wainscoting, and plumbing parts lie about wherever I can find a cranny for them.
Over the weekend, I finished restoring the ancient clawfoot. I’m quite proud of the job I did. I replaced its missing feet, painted the exterior, cleaned decades of old adhesives and paint off its porcelain, and scrubbed out historic rust stains (not to mention ridding it of multiple dead spiders and at least one defunct mouse).
The tub came out of the old derelict bathroom originally in this house, where some former owner had glued it into … well, have a look:
Ugh, right?
I’d show you an “after” picture except there’s no way to get one without breaking my neck tripping over all the aforementioned construction rubble (plus supplies I’ve gradually been scrounging for other future projects). That’ll have to wait until it’s in its place in the new bathroom. But trust me, that old tub is pretty pretty now. Luckily it had no major damage to the porcelain interior, just a few pinhole pits and small, shallow dings that I can live with.
I’m also quite proud of my scrounging on this project. While the construction materials were bought retail (and the local lumber yard and I love each other dearly), every, single thing inside the room was either found or garage-saled — nice stuff at beaucoup bargains. The vinyl flooring, for instance, originally retailed for $36 a square yard and is charmingly retro-funky. I got 10 yards of it for five bux total when the flooring contractor went to jail. Nothing in the room cost over $5, in fact.
Well, nothing except the fancy faucets and other special plumbing for the clawfoot. Um, that’s another story. Do you know how hard it is to find functional Victorian-style fixtures on a trash heap in the woods or at a charity rummage sale?
Anyhow, I’m ready when the fates are. Given that I’m more of a neatnik than not, living amid the rubble is trying. But I keep telling myself, “Things will happen when they happen. And in the meantime … and forever … NO MORTGAGE.”
Wonderful project! Wish I wasn’t half a country away, would love to help with it. My father and I have restored a lot of houses and had to rebuild a bathroom in my daughters new place last year. Only part bought new was the toilet. I won’t reuse toilets. Dad had all the other bits and pieces, over the years we kept all the good bits of any house we worked on or demolished.
Sounds very good… as long as the two contractors don’t leave you in the lurch mid way. I finally found a reliable handyman here, and will slowly get all the jobs done, even though he is a bit expensive. He comes when he says he will, works hard – non stop – and very much seems to know what he’s doing. He hauls a full shop and tool shed on the back of his pick-up truck, and goes home at noon to eat lunch with his wife. Can’t beat that with a bundle of sticks. 🙂
Matt, thank you for being with me in spirit. 🙂 It would be nice to have your expertise in fact. But Handyman Mike and I will manage … cross fingers.
ML — Very glad you’ve found a good handyman. One who works hard and steadily is worth the extra. I’m not worried about Handyman Mike leaving me in the lurch — at least not without notice. One reason I hire him is that he rescued me when some other handyman left me with a big hole in a roof. My only worry (other than how to pay for this whole project and what weird sh*t will they find in the floor and … well, a dozen other things) is the coordination between Mike and the plumber. Timing is very tight. BUT … if it goes well by the end of the month I’ll have a REAL bathroom at last!
Sounds like your plumber needs some local competition. Or help, maybe.
Raw cashews…….yuk! Now some good Kentucky Bourbon on crushed ice – that goes nice with a hot tub. 🙂
Good luck. Looking forward to some pictures after.
Claire, my expertise and temperment is along of the lines of keep trying until it all works. Put a piece in, take a piece out, put piece back in, repeat as neccessary. Only part of handy-man work I truly loathe is anything that requires me to crawl under a building. I know what lurks beneath.
Matt, you’d truly hate this project then. Not only is there a lot of under-building crawling, but there’s almost no ground clearance in that corner of the house so it’s belly-crawling and lying on your back. AND thanks to someone’s long-ago hack work, some of the plumbing (NOT, fortunately, the blackwater lines) have been emptying under the house for years. So it’s a sea of mud and rot.
Yes, it’s bad. Be glad you’re not here.
Bob — Well, there may be a glass of wine or a bloody Mary on the table next to the tub, now that you mention it. No bourbon, though. To me all those whiskey-ish drinks taste like somebody already consumed, then ejected, them.
So you’re among the heathen that think mother’s milk ought to be used to tar a boat? 😉
Dana, if given the choice between boat tar and anything in the realm of whiskey or bourbon, I’d have to think really, really hard about which one I’d prefer to drink.
Dried apricots and cashews are half of my favorite lunch. Add a few dates and generous serving of feta, and I’ve got a lunch that’s fit for an asian potentate. And a surprisingly small plate of that keep me feeling satiated for hours.