Kitchen Renovation Homestretch

Because Once in a Lifetime Isn’t Enough

We’re about 98% complete on our new kitchen renovation. It’s been a long road since we had our demolition party in February, but the hard work (mostly by others) and investment is paying off.

The cabinets are beautiful. The honed granite counter tops are awesome. The island, black with a teak counter is superb.  Jason did a great job with the bead board around the window (Getty's new favorite lookout perch) and in between the beams in the ceiling. 

It's a kitchen anyone would love to have.

Last weekend, we installed the baseboard molding and put in the baseboard heat. All that’s left is to hook it up, get the pot filler installed and call Mark to come back and finish painting.

There’s something to be said about standing back and saying, “Wow… we’re almost there.” It’s an equally scary statement. Despite best intentions, it’s August, dare I say the end of August, and we’re still not done.  Sure, there are only a few things left, and by and large, they are left for the contractors to finish, but knowing there are only a few things left instills fear into my heart.  Our old (literally – 1868) house in New Jersey always had “only a few things left” to do. In the seven years that we lived there, we restored it back to its original grandeur and it seemed like, well, we really were, always renovating. It was a labor of love, yes, but a labor nonetheless, and we were never able to get to a point where we could walk into a room and say with certainty, “It’s done.” All of those “few things left”, and a few additional things that weren’t even on the list, got done in something of a mad scramble when we put the house on the market and moved to Massachusetts.

It looked terrific when it was done. I wish I could have enjoyed it.

And now we’re here, in the throes of another renovation we swore we’d never do, down to the completion wire.  I really like this house, and actually think we’ll get it done this time.  I certainly hope so. We’ve got three bathrooms and a garage to do next!

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(Sheet) Rock and Roll

I realize that it's been quite some time since I posted, but I just couldn't fathom writing about electrical wiring, gas lines or insulation with any eloquence. But sheet rock, well that's a different story!

Sheet rock in our otherwise empty shell of a kitchen was a milestone. It gave us walls were there were none. It was a blank canvas to paint. On Sheet Rock Day, as it has come to be known, Jason and I arrived at the house at 7:30 with anxious anticipation. We would no longer have to look at wires threaded through ceiling beams or copper pipes where my new cook top and pot filler will be. It meant the  floors could be installed, then the cabinets, island and the shiny new appliances soon after. It was the tangible start of the count down to moving into our new house.

The crew arrived early, much to our surprise. The van pulled down our driveway, the side and back doors flew open and in short order, the crew piled out.  It was like watching clowns pile out of a Volkswagon bug, without the floppy shoes and red noses.With scant instructions to the crew chief, Jason and I climbed back into his truck and headed off in search of more coffee. He sighed contently and smiled,"Well, by the end of the day, we'll have a sheet rocked kitchen." I looked at him with wonder and amazement. One day? Really? I remember laborious days of sheet rock installation in our old house, the taping, spackling and sanding. I remember the man maneuvering about on some stilt-like legs (there really is more of a connection to circus clowns than I realized!) to reach our 10 foot ceilings. There was plastic taped to every doorway and a fine white powder on every surface (or so it seemed) when it was done. But, this was going to be complete in one day? It seemed impossible.

Impossible, I learned, was possible. They were using "blueboard", a very thick, very heavy board that goes up with ease and is skim-coated with a thin layer of veneer plaster. No taping, no stilt-walker. While the do-it-yourselfer can install drywall, usually with much fuss, mess and expletives, the blue boards is best left to the professionals. The plastering, more than the installation itself, is not for the faint of heart. And when it's all said and done, the veneer plaster makes the walls moisture and abuse resistant.

In between benign errands, we stopped back to check on progress. At 10:00, the walls were nearly complete, at 12:45, the process of plastering was underway, and at 3:15, they were gone. We stood and surveyed the room, which could truly be called a room now. It had walls. It had a ceiling. It was easy to visualize where my shiny new appliances will be installed.

In the weeks since, we've had the kitchen painted and the new floors have been installed, sanded, stained and sealed. The fiberboard ceiling tiles in the eating area were replaced with bead board and it, along with the exposed beams, were primed and painted. There's still a lot more to do, but it's coming together quite nicely.

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Deja Vu All Over Again

In response to my last blog post, my Uncle Bill pronounced me married to royalty, but royal was the last thing I felt on Sunday, covered in dust, plaster and paint. Instead, I was feeling the realities of renovation, especially in my back!

After spending six years restoring our 1868 Victorian home, Jason and I swore up, down and sideways that we'd never take on another restoration or renovation project. Then we moved to Massachusetts.  The "Man Cave", as I affectionately called the quaint Lincoln condo Jason lived in during the week, was great for a man and his dog, but when I arrived with my shoes (and not even all of them),  we knew it was time to look for a bigger place.

With a gloriously empty nest, we didn't need as much room as we had in New Jersey, but we weren't ready to downsize completely. When we started looking for a place up here, I bee-lined to Concord, but reeled from sticker shock. Love the town, adore the eclectic shopping experience, and you can't get much more historic. We found a great pizza place, but came up empty in the real estate department. Jason left the searching up to me, but he had one unwavering requirement - a two car detached garage or enough space to build one. He's got a lot of big boy toys.  My agent, Muriel and I traversed Middlesex county looking for something not too big, not too small, with a nice sized yard and an easy commute, a big, modern kitchen and at least three bedrooms (so the kids could visit, but not stay), and of course, the garage.

It was a more daunting challenge than I expected.

I'd estimate that Muriel and I trooped in, out and around at least sixty homes in numerous towns. On line searches eliminated dozens and dozens more. The handful of open houses I visited didn't improve my luck. It was frustrating to say the least. But in the end, it was a wrong turn that put us on the right path.

Anyone who knows me knows I have no sense of direction. I can get lost going around a circle. One Sunday, while Jason was golfing, I went out to visit a few open houses and missed a turn. As I drove down the street following the recalculated directions barked by my GPS, a Coldwell Banker sign caught my attention, and so did the house. I remembered seeing it during one of my many online searches, and remembered eliminating it from contention. But wait, was that a two, no, three, a three car garage?  I turned around and did a slow crawl past. A nice shuttered colonial on a large piece of property, and it really had a three car garage! I couldn't remember why it didn't make the list, so I went home and fired up my iMac and launched trulia.com.  The listing only noted a two car garage and the pictures didn't show the third bay. Then I remembered, it was the kitchen.... a lovely (read: horrible) 1960's kitchen, despite the marketing rhetoric that described it as an "updated kitchen with granite counters".  I repeated our mantra over and over, "No more renovations. No more renovations. No more renovations.

And then I called Muriel.

The house had character.  It had good bones. It had three garage bays. It sat on two acres. "It has potential," I told Jason when he asked. "I know what that means," he promptly retorted. But he agreed to see it, and long story short, we bought it, bad kitchen, pink master bathroom, knotty pine office and all.  

Four weeks into the renovation that was never supposed to happen, we've gutted the kitchen down to studs, with a little help from our friends.  The cabinets will be ordered this week and the new appliances are stainless steel. The electrician is scheduled and we're looking for a plumber. A new french door will replace the eight foot, 1980's era sliding patio door and we're investigating some vintage industrial pendant lighting for above the island. And when the kitchen is complete, trust me, that pink master bathroom is next on the list.

Yes, there's a list, but it's not a long list, really....just two bathrooms, a new laundry room, paint, lots of paint, some ceiling fans, a bluestone patio, new hardwood floors in the basement, reseed the lawn, new roof, oh, and we've got to do something about that knotty pine office.

Hhhmmm, feels a little like deja vu all over again.

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