There were so many dreams and wishes I had for our house when we first made the leap of faith involved in order to undertake a project of such enormity, and the romantic air surrounding these promises for the future was thick with the smell of newly-sawed oak, fresh paint, and a hearty meal cooked in an immaculate new kitchen. The finished projects came tumbling from my imagination, and quickly overlaid the modern additions, peeling wallpaper, missing moldings, unleveled floors, and stained ceilings, until the defects were no longer evident to my senses.
As I proudly showed friends and family our new treasure, they cringed at the rot, the dust, and the years of slow decline. oblivious to their doubt and discomfiture, I would babble on enthusiastically about what we would do with this room or that bay window, eager to show off the vision of the future, so tangible and immediate inside my own mind. In my distracted way, I mistook their silent wide-eyed expressions to be those of wanderers having suddenly and unexpectedly encountered an enchanting land, and their sideling raised-eyebrowed glances to each other as mutual acknowledgement of the beauty all around them. In retrospect, I now realize that everyone just thought we were crazy.
Perhaps we were (are) and just haven’t realized it yet. I still don’t know if that is a blessing or a curse…
One thought that I had held onto from the start of the project was that this was the house that would keep me looking fit for the next couple of years, as certainly the work required to fix this house would have me climbing, lifting, and hauling. Visions of toned arms, tight abs, energy, and strength gave fuel to the growing flame of enthusiasm for the renovations ahead. What I failed to realize was the bruising, scratches, black eyes, and aching muscles that this entailed. Working on an old house is hardly the same as going to visit your handsome personal trainer in your clean, air-conditioned fitness center with safe equipment and a fresh shower afterwards.
It is known, among my inner circle, that I possess an autosomal dominant inherited genetic trait, not uncommon in the Mediterranean region, which scientists have identified as “Sicilian,” which runs in my family. It causes the individual who possesses it to be prone to a large appetite for home-cooked meals heavy in carbohydrates, seafood, meat, and fresh ingredients, while also having a proclivity toward beverages of grapes, heavily fermented, and heavily flavored. The gene also produces a strong affinity for socialization, especially where said food and fermented beverages are presented; with such gatherings often lasting hours, as the group plans for the next gathering of individuals, food, and beverages. This particular genetic characteristic often causes the clothes in my closet to shrink overnight, so particular care must be made to ensure that I get enough exercise to balance out the genetic marker. It was my expectation that this house would provide the level of activity required to allow me to live comfortably with my “Sicilian” genes. I could not have predicted better results, but not exactly in the way that I had originally envisioned.
Every good exercise program has a variety of workouts designed to stress different muscle groups in order to create a stronger whole. Interestingly, our home renovations also worked our muscle groups in different ways to make us stronger as well…
The shopping workout:
The primary result of the possession of an old house was the sudden lack of time for everyday activities that other people take for granted. Suddenly, you are required to cram into the meager hours allotted to you every week, the demands of your career, the tasks necessary for maintaining a household, and the requirements of family life. In addition, it is now necessary to engage in multiple trips to the hardware store, the electrical supply store, the specialty plumbing supply store, the architectural antiques warehouse, and the lumber yard. All of this extra work, and the actual act of restoration has not even begun.
While expending a lot of time, there are only minor amounts of physical energy involved. This, however, is the phase where a lot of the grey matter is exercised as you pore over plumbing catalogs looking for an old-fashioned style curtin valve, judge the condition of an antique porcelain sink and evaluate various shops who can restore the porcelain, measure multiple times to ensure the close-out sale lot of travertine you are about to purchase will actually be enough to cover the square footage you will be tiling. You spend so much time thinking about and evaluating each purchase, as well as learning about plumbing, electrical, carpentry, steam heating, and so many other subjects that by the end your head is spinning. From the outside, it looks fairly straightforward and easy, but when you have returned three times to the same store because you can’t get the part you purchased to actually fit, it is mentally taxing, often exhausting.
The demolition workout:
The actual renovations reel you in slowly, like a warm-up. At first you believe that you are actually in control of the plan, the schedule, the costs, and the hired help. You flex your muscles, grab the sledgehammer, and tell yourself how any trained monkey can do demolition, and you nominate yourself as the trained monkey for the task. Not only will it save money if you don’t have to hire out that portion of the project, but it will be “good for you” to do the work, what with the satisfaction of having accomplished something difficult, blah blah blah blah (insert your father’s words here).
Cast no illusions on this phase. While it often does not take much finesse, the demolition phase is hard, dirty, sweaty, messy, dangerous, and exhausting. Ironically it is also often extremely delicate work to disengage an unwanted later addition from an original part of the house without doing harm to the delicate original. Often there is much cursing involved, as well. Cursing always seems to precede actual separation, so the sooner you start cursing, the sooner you will have removed the offending housepart. However, if you start cursing too early, the separation will be accompanied by an unintended rending of materials resulting in breakage, or even loss, of a part you intended to retain. Therefore, the timing of cursing is a very delicate balance which can only be accomplished with much practice. We are still on the learning curve, ourselves. Oh, and plan on at least one emergency room visit for a tetanus shot after every demolition phase.
The planning workout:
While most professional renovation workout trainers would likely put the planning workout at the beginning, as a sort of warm-up exercise, experience has taught me to let others engage in that fruitless activity, as it produces neither a calorie-burn nor an actual useable product, and has the side effect of interfering with sleep to boot. No, the experienced renovation workout junkie will tell you not to do extensive planning until the demolition phase is complete, as all of the delicate lines drawn up, and material lists, and cost estimates will quickly be scrapped as you realize that you just removed a load-bearing wall. At that point, you will certainly feel the heart-pounding and quick breathing that accompanies that portion of the exercise program. You will fee the burn in your chest and the tightness in your abdominal muscles. Though most could skip this portion of the program altogether by hiring an engineer to review all of their plans, they would miss out on the excitement and exhilaration of this phase by doing so.
The staircase workout:
The generous windows of a Victorian home are the hallmark of the genre. In order to achieve such massive proportions, the interior of the home required an adjustment from their colonial ancestors, and so the ceilings were raised to ridiculous proportions. Soaring cavernous interiors were most desirable, and allowed for glistening chandeliers dripping with crystals layered like wedding cakes in their opulence. Interior doorways had windows above them because there was so much space between the top of the door and the ceiling that something was needed to provide additional height to visually even out the proportions.
Staircases became works of art with turned spindles, substantial newel posts, no longer there to only support the banister, but to declare the importance of the owner of such a staircase. Newel post lamps were placed thereon to light the way up the many many treads that would lead you up into the dizzying verticality of the second floor. Many many treads. And I mean tons of them. In order to accommodate twelve-and-a-half foot ceilings, it is a necessity of geometry and physics that the staircase include even more steps than the staircase of a modern or older vintage house. Landings, while allowing a staircase to fit into a more compact space, are, in actuality, a place for weary climbers to rest themselves temporarily before resuming their ascent.
While most people measure the value of a home by square footage, old-house-enthusiasts measure the value of a home by its staircase. There is nothing more disappointing than seeing the inside of a glorious painted lady only to discover the grand staircase ripped out in a previous slice-and-dice duplexing and replaced with an unenthusiastic combination of wood that does nothing more than make the second floor accessible. It’s like a beautiful woman who has absolutely nothing interesting to say.
Exterior eye candy can take you only so far; if the parts of the house you actually have to live with are uninspiring, you will quickly fall out of love with your house at the slightest provocation. It is those heart-stopping spindles, beautifully-grained treads, delicately humped curved banisters, and decorative swirls ending in a breathtaking newel post. Just when you feel like you can’t take any more and you take your first step toward bed, your hand feeling that warm wood beneath it, smoothed by generations of hands, the solid feel beneath your feet, and the play of light through the open spindles, you can’t help but feel as though you are caressing the soul of the home, and by the time you have reached the second floor, you are already thinking about how you will overcome this most recent setback, for the sake of the house. You are hopelessly in love, whether you realize it or not.
As anyone in a relationship will tell you, being in love isn’t easy. While those glorious staircases rising into the atmosphere provide the inspiration, they are also a main source of the perspiration. Victorian homes were not originally designed for electricity, for the most part. Electric lines originally only included the overhead chandeliers. Later, we created refrigerators, dishwashers, washers and dryers, and a myriad of other appliances and luxuries. Electric lines were added at various times and during a myriad of upgrades. As a result, most Victorian homes have a fuse box on practically every floor. Our house was no exception, and we finally upgraded all of them to modern breakers. Despite the upgrade, it still requires a long excursion extending over four stories; from one end of the basement to the other end of the attic between four separate breaker boxes to figure out why the dryer no longer has power.
In addition there is a general renovation rule that states that the more you get into the projects, the more your tools become dispersed among the various rooms and levels within the house, and the more difficult they become to locate, becoming hidden beneath rags and other flotsam and jetsam of the projects. There is also a related general renovation rule that the more urgently a specific tool is needed, the more difficult it will be to locate. The enormous pipe wrench needed to repair the suddenly leaking drain pipe will elude you for hours as you rack up the steps on your pedometer. Ironically, it is usually a tool that would have no other purpose than a single application that becomes the most difficult to locate. I mean, how often do you actually use a propane torch, yet when you open the drawer marked “plumbing” it is no-where to be seen. How it ends up in the attic where there currently is not a single running foot of copper pipe, is a mystery.
Putting down an everyday item, like a purse, a sweater, a set of keys becomes a memory challenge. After many long frustrating searches, you learn to pay attention to such minutiae. We once gifted our carpenter with a key fob that would beep in response to specific pattern of clapping so that he would no longer spend hours trying to find his car keys at the end of the day. He had thought he solved the problem himself by attaching a rawhide to his key chain; on command, his little dog would quickly trot off and return within minutes with the rawhide/keys for a treat. This worked well enough until the dog buried them in his yard one day. He knows with certainty of their fate, because years after his little dog passed away, his new dog found them and dug them up, proudly dragging the moldering and rusted bundle inside one Spring.
The Dietary adjustment:
No full lifestyle fitness program would be complete without addressing the foods you eat. Surprisingly, the home renovation projects have vast repercussions on the food you will eat, and the way in which you eat it. This is no temporary diet, this is a lifestyle adjustment!
Grocery shopping is suddenly condensed into a “quick run” both due to the fact that the money once earmarked for “food” has suddenly been shifted to “renovations,” as well as the fact that once you get to the grocery store you are usually so exhausted and scatterbrained that you can’t remember if you actually unplugged the heat gun or not, and the anxiety this provokes creates a sudden urgency to get back to the house. You end up never actually making it any further than the vegetable section. Considering that kale is cheap and keeps pretty well in the fridge; this seems like a logical impulse buy at the time.
Once you return home to find the heat gun limply hanging from the ladder rungs, and innocently unplugged, you certainly can’t waste the adrenaline accumulated on the drive home which is still pounding in your ears. This anxiety is well-earned. Anyone who has ever used a heat gun for any length of time has at least once had your plugged-in equipment suddenly start up again as you walk away from it. Even though you swear the switch is in the “off” position, it is stuck just enough in-between that it hums to life without anyone touching it. A simply terrifying experience, once you realize the potential repercussions. Now it would be best to make use of all of that unbridled angst, however, so you climb the ladder once again to take up the mask and scraper and take out your stress on the thick layers of paint hiding the glory of your detailed woodwork. This is just as well, as you will completely lose track of time in such tasks, so that dinner at 9pm no longer seems unreasonable. It is a most fortunate thing that you chose the kale, as the preparation time for a kale salad is les than 8 minutes flat. A win-win situation.
So you repeat the process, hoping no-one in the family will notice that kale salads are becoming the dinnertime staple. Besides, with the kitchen renovation now stretching into its third year, everyone has already gotten used to raw foods being served for dinner. After all, microwave “cooking” is highly overrated, with the exception of those addictive little edamame in the pods. Those are quite yummy fresh out of the microwave.
Even though they don’t complain, I often see family members looking longingly at the six-burner double-oven commercial Wolf range sitting forlornly in the middle of the unfinished room with a debris-covered clear plastic sheet draped over its hulking form. The hump of the raised griddle forming a halfhearted shrug of dusty indifference.
The weekends you used to spend visiting with friends, eating out, exploring craft beer breweries, and taking leisurely strolls around the neighborhood, ending at the ice cream shop, are now spent on urgent house projects. Instead of leisurely enjoying a coffee and bagel on a Sunday morning, the early morning hours find you frantically scooping wet leaves out of overflowing gutters to stem the sudden and unexpected flow of water into the basement. Your schedule overflows with meetings with the plumber, the electrician, the roofer, and the architects. Vacations you used to spend in interesting historic towns, casually exploring the neighborhoods along the bricked sidewalks and cobblestoned streets, and sampling the local fare, instead turn into “work-cations.” While I believe that the word is not new, I’ve never heard anyone but myself use it when talking about their upcoming time off. They are a useful opportunity to have an entire nine days to devote to a longer-than-a-weekend-warrior project on the house. Even with that argument, however, I have yet to successfully convince another person to give a “work-cation” a try.
Even small projects will affect your new dietary lifestyle. While time and tides wait for no man, neither does mortar mix, so you work frantically to install tile as the entire batch slowly begins to dry out, skipping lunch in order to get the entire batch done at one go. Grouting tile also works on a schedule more urgent than the demands of your complaining stomach or dropping blood sugar. By the time you have the last of the haze completely wiped off, your arms shaky with the effort, your liver has released a fresh load of sugar into your bloodstream from its reserves and you feel strangely sated, satisfied to wait until dinner to eat. You find yourself cleaning and sorting, scrubbing and organizing, losing track of time, missing meal after meal after meal until those skipped meals become the norm. Handfuls of peanuts, almonds, and cashews become entire meals in themselves as you grab a handful and go on your way through the half-finished kitchen.
Long-Term workout plan
Fortunately, these old homes are the homes that keep on giving. You will never have an end to the projects, as the scope of your original restoration will keep growing and growing the longer you live with the house. It will take hold of you and demand that you work harder, be stronger, and stretch your endurance to its maximum. It is a most demanding workout coach.
In the event that the house was not in too bad of a condition when you started, or that someone already did most of the work before you purchased your home, don’t dismay! The opportunity always presents itself to purchase the home across the street, or next door, or on the next block. Wherever it is, your next project already awaits you, ready to give you those toned muscles, flat stomach, and that strength that you desire. And if you’ve already done some work on your current house, you already have the beginning of what it takes, so all you have to do is jump in with both feet and get started on your new lifestyle.
Carla Minosh
While I am new to Blogging, I have always enjoyed sharing the stories of my crazy life, so this is simply another medium to share, and hopefully entertain and enrich others. Perhaps you can feel thankful that your life is so steady and predictable after reading these, perhaps you can appreciate the insanity and wish you had more of it in your life. Either way, the crazy tales are all true (to the best of my spotty recollection) and simply tell the tale of a life full of exploration, enthusiasm, curiosity and hard work. I hope you all enjoy being a part of the journey.
I am restoring an almost 9,000 sq. ft. home built in 1894, and agree with everything you wrote! The whole post made me smile in recognition.
Oh, and Project 2 house looks fabulous. Congrats! It is SO nice seeing all the white paint gone.
I just discovered your website and am now hopelessly lost in your realm. Your stories, artistry, vision, humor, histories, and photos have me wanting more and more and more. And your prose beautifully captures your experience and is worthy of a multi-layered, multi-generational best-seller, straight to film. (And in the role of Carla Morish, the great Diane Lane?) I feel like I'm reading a novel and am perpetually caught up in its cliffhanger. But every time I turn the page another page has been added to the book. And so I read, sometimes gasping in awe at dreams brought to fruition. Bottom line: You took something near death and breathed life back into it, in all of its vigorous, regal glory; and in the process you have brought love and beauty to all of us fortunate enough to have discovered you. Thank you, Carla, for all you do and for all that you share.
That's Carla Minosh, of course. Crazy fingers.
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