My bedroom was originally a renovated garage, with no real closet and bath, so about four years ago I decided to have our rehab guy (he’d rehabbed a house for us in Ft Pierce) put in a cork floor, a real closet, and small bathroom with shower, sink, and toilet. Our guy promised a week-long job.
Six weeks later I was still sleeping on the recliner in the living room. Four years later the tile in the bathroom wasn’t finished; the door wouldn’t close; the drywall wasn’t finished; wall plates were missing; the shower didn’t have a drain and had a dismal shower head; the door molding inside the bathroom had been tacked on lightly and fell on us at the slightest provocation; the closet and outside bathroom molding hadn’t been put up at all; the sink was dangling from the wall; he’d left holes gouged in the ceiling from his various maneuvers; and he was long gone.
We’ve been living in a construction zone for four years. How often did we think, “If only we had a real towel rack!” The various annoyances grew from a rumble to a roar, especially when we cleared out the shed and re-discovered the tiles, closet doors, molding, drywall paste, and paint.
Chelsea began agitating to finish the job. I wanted to write. Then Tyler arrived. On his first tour of our room (he’ll be taking it as soon we leave), he suggested that we could finish it up, assuring us, “Wouldn’t it look nice; it’d be so easy!” Telling us that he’d brought all his tools, and that he’d worked in construction a bit, he offered to help with whatever we needed.
To give the short version of a few weeks of intense work, we now have new towel racks; we patched all the holes; we got the molding all cut to size and put it up, including taming that pesky bathroom molding; we got a new shower head with a hose; we have a shower drain; we have a wall plate for the shower head where it comes out of the wall; the bathroom door closes easily and stays shut; we did all the drywall paste and painted the walls and molding (we even painted patches that had been there since 2001, carefully matching the original paint); and all the wall plates are up.
Back in 2004 when the project first began, excited about having a closet, I had measured and cut to exact sizes of enough wood pieces to create a set of shelves in an alcove next to the closet. They sat for four years collecting dust. Those shelves are now painted, installed, and cheerfully holding our cycling gear.
Unrelated to the original rehab, my room still sported a back exit door with a full set of jalousie windows. Over time the aluminum framing disintegrated, causing the individual panes of glass to slip and slide. It took a special twist of the elbow and wrist to close the door tightly without causing the glass to slip all the way out.
Clearly the roommate who was here during our absence (or some of her guests), didn’t master that twist of the wrist. We came back to find at least one pane of glass broken and missing, with several others on their way out. Using duct tape, bits of cloth, and other creative ideas to keep the remaining glass intact was nothing more than waging a losing battle.
We finally resorted to inserting cardboard for the missing panes, but the cardboard doesn’t do too much to prevent the temperatures changes. When it’s a steamy 105 outside, our room was reliably at least 10 degrees warmer than the rest of the house. When it’s 38 outside, we saw bedside temps of 49-51 inside. And it’s intimidating watching the breeze blowing merrily through the billowing beach towel we finally tacked up over the opening as a last ditch effort.
Fixing the door has been an issue of time and money, money and time. When we’ve had one it seems we haven’t had the other, nor do we have the skills for a do-it-yourself project. The door is a special size, so replacing it would be very expensive. Besides, the door we have now is wooden, but it’s sturdy as can be.
The room is on the northwest side of the house, with the south side exit covered by a deep porch, so we get insufficient light in here. My dream has been to replace the jalousie windows with a pane of glass, providing a great deal of additional light and a huge improvement in temperature control.
My dream has come true. Chelsea and I carefully removed every trace of the old frame; measured carefully for a piece of glass, found a local glazier to supply the right piece of glass, and got Tyler’s help to put it in. The end result is a lot more light, a stable temperature flow, and a much quieter door. We love it.
Tyler was a definite help throughout the long project – he pitched in to help at a few critical points, like drilling the tile for the towel racks, helping put in the door glass, drilling the screws for the shelving, getting the bathroom door to shut properly, and pounding in the molding strips.
The rest of the huge project Chelsea and I did completely by ourselves. Are we proud of ourselves? Oooohhh, yes!
With the room looking so good, the next step was a good cleaning. Cleaning clears the mind and the emotions, and allows room for creativity to blossom; that’s what I wanted before settling down to months of writing.
When I think of sitting down to write, I am reminded of a Billy Collins poem I love: (Billy was a Poet Laureate of the US)
Advice To Writers
by Billy Collins
Even if it keeps you up all night,
wash down the walls and scrub the floor
of your study before composing a syllable.
Clean the place as if the Pope were on his way.
Spotlessness is the niece of inspiration.
The more you clean, the more brilliant
your writing will be, so do not hesitate to take
to the open fields to scour the undersides
of rocks or swab in the dark forest
upper branches, nests full of eggs.
When you find your way back home
and stow the sponges and brushes under the sink,
you will behold in the light of dawn
the immaculate altar of your desk,
a clean surface in the middle of a clean world.
From a small vase, sparkling blue, lift
a yellow pencil, the sharpest of the bouquet,
and cover pages with tiny sentences
like long rows of devoted ants
that followed you in from the woods.