Maybe by Easter I’ll be finished
We’ve been remodeling our downstairs bathroom.
The word, remodeling, however, is not the most fitting description of the gigantic undertaking of ripping out the guts of a bathroom and making it look spanking new all the while still utilizing its features.
No, no, no. A much more appropriate and apt description would be root-canaling. And any of you who’ve suffered with bathroom remodeling will agree. That is, if you did most of it yourself.
Now, if you have the funds to bring in a gang of 40 neo-technicians (that’s the new politically-correct term for undocumented precitizens (which is a new politically-correct term for illegal aliens)) who will swarm all over the room and have it redone in two hours; more power to you.
Most of us suffer through a longer remodeling effort, however, one probably of the same duration as the gestation period of an elephant.
Rita messed ours up, one upstairs and one down. So we (in this context, “we” is the politically-correct term for wife) decided to redo all three, two up, one down.
Some of you might remember a couple years back when I related my misadventures of putting down flooring in the upstairs bathrooms. This time, I wasn’t about to fool with the floor downstairs. The rest of the room, I figured I could handle, but when I put this floor down 30 years ago, I glued it.
At the time, I was given all sorts of advice at school on how to lay the vinyl floor glue it; don’t glue it; glue it in spots; don’t glue it in spots.
So, I did the latter. I glued it in spots, and I didn’t glue it in other spots.
Regardless, I wasn’t in the mood this time to scrape, scrape, scrape that floor. (Reminds me of that old song, “Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette.”).
Now two years ago when I bought the flooring for the upstairs bathrooms, I almost had a stroke when they quoted me a price. I remember remarking in all seriousness, “I just want it for two tiny bathrooms, not the whole house.”
Just as I know when my dentist enters the room, he always holds the 14-inch needle behind his back, I knew when I looked at the samples this time that the prices would be much astronomically higher. I prepared myself for the shock.
Now, you might think I’m stretching the truth here, folks, but my legs grew wobbly when I saw what I was going to have to pay.
You might wonder just why it took me so long to get all three bathrooms finished. It isn’t that I’m lazy. Oh, no. I like to plan.
You’ve got to have a plan so you’ll know where you’re going. And you must always seek expert advice about each facet of your plan.
Sometimes, it takes awhile to run experts down.
For those of you who don’t plan, let me give you a hint. Planning usually takes longer than the actual process. That’s the beauty of planning. Before I learned to plan, I was one of’those “measure once, cut once” handymen. I can’t begin to tell you how much material I ruined. Then an “expert” told me to “measure twice, cut once.”
Now, that‘s planning.
However, I did run into a small problem.
You see, I built our house, from framing in to completion.
Consequently, you might find a wall here or there a tad out of plumb, or a corner a couple degrees under or over 90.
Normally, that wouldn’t hurt, but when you’re putting up wainscoting, base mold, trim and ceiling mold, then cutting a fitting takes a little extra time.
In all fairness to me, however, our buddy, Ike, slowed the thing by a few weeks. I had to put up some trellis work, heft a fence upright until I can get it replaced, and brace a couple trees on the outside chance they’ll take hold before another storm.
I finally started wall-papering the bathroom, but I couldn’t get it to match. So, now, I’m waiting for someone to come in and float the wall. Who knows, maybe by Easter, I’ll be finished.