Four years ago, when my wife and I bought our first house, we bought a fixer-upper because we were hoping try our hand at renovations and, hopefully, make a profit when it came time to sell and move. For some people buying a house is a huge, largely permanent, decision. For us buying a house was just the only reasonable alternative to renting an apartment, even if it was going to be more troublesome when we inevitably moved again. Buying a house, even a small crappy split-ranch that hadn't been updated since the 70's felt more comfortable. It was exciting to know that I could learn how to renovate as I went. However badly I might botch a renovation it was nice to know we wouldn't have a landlord breathing down our necks.
Well, I did actually end up learning my way around some basic renovations. Luckily I never truly botched a job and had to call in a professional. By some miracle I've progressed from feeling an overwhelming sense of dread and uncertainty whenever I pick up a new project, to feeling confident about most improvements. However, being young, uncertain, and fairly broke, the renovations these past four years have progressed slowly. I'd get home from work and want to spend time with my wife, or relax with friends. When I reached decent stopping points it was hard to work up the motivation to start the next exhausting leg of a project. Inevitably that would mean pouring my entire weekend into a frustrating learning experience so that I could return to work unrested and sore. As you might imagine there was quite a bit of procrastination going on. That's not to say that I couldn't work quickly. For instance, when there was a desolate flange where our old toilet once was, and my bowels threatened a reenactment of Mt. St. Helens, I learned how to install a toilet with surprising celerity. Yet situations like that also added to my sense of trepidation. Before I had accumulated the experience I have now I approached each new step with a mixture of fear and enthusiasm. I was always anticipating the possibility that I was going to fuck something up beyond my ability to fix it or, worse, my ability to afford it. Thanks to some mixture of luck and ingenuity though that was never an issue.
These days renovations are a different story. I don't think I've ever felt so satisfied doing renovation work as I have lately, and it just took a change of circumstances. When the decision came to finally sell the house I knew it was time to finally finish working on our bathroom. To put the bathroom work in perspective when we first moved in the tub was tiny, the walls covered in terrible 70's green and gold fleck paneling, the vanity was decrepit, the fixtures cheap, oh and the toilet was at an angle because the floor beneath it had begun rotting. The bathroom was going to be our big project. My wife and I grabbed crowbars and attacked the bathroom like Gordan Freeman at a headcrab convention. By the time we were finished the bathroom was a husk; bare floor and stud walls. In the first year when we had more money to burn we managed a substantial amount of work. I replaced the floor, bought drywall (but then let it sit there for a long time), replaced the toilet, replaced the tub with a larger and roomier one, and even updated a lot of the plumbing and fixtures. Then things got tighter and the purchasing slowed, and so did the work. Over time we bought a vanity and a faucet for it. Eventually I worked up the courage to start trying to attach the drywall which, due to my negligence, was now warped and dusty. More time and much savings later we bought real flooring and I sucked-up and began my first frustrating attempts to apply plaster. There was a lot of down-time between each of those projects though, frequently months.
Then about a month ago it all changed. My wife and our new addition, a baby boy, decided to stay with family a while. She was going to look for work in the area we planned to move to. Meanwhile, I was to concentrate on finishing up projects so the house could sell. I honestly expected the whole process was going to be a drag; all work and no play. I didn't think that being alone and coming home from a job I was ready to leave a year ago was going to leave me with much energy to accomplish anything. Historically my response was procrastination and exhaustion when I took the time to do more renovation work. I surprised myself though. This was the first time ever I've ever actually lived alone; no wife, no room mate, no family staying with us, not even a dog. I didn't have companionship to look forward to when I came home anymore, just alone time watching shows or playing games. I found the difference in working on renovations versus my usual pass-times was really just a matter of engagement.
Working on the house quickly became a daily routine and it was engrossing. The renovations required most of my attention but seeing the changes and the progress was satisfying. I didn't feel the same sense of restraint anymore, nor did I feel like I was wasting my day. I didn't have to worry about whether the bath-tub was currently unusable, or the house cluttered with tools and drywall dust. Who was I going to inconvenience beside myself? For the same reason I felt more confident about each new project I tackled, and I had further reassurance from my accumulated experience. I was no longer a complete beginner on the ground floor, I had reached a point where I was starting to see patterns and understand the processes. I didn't have to crack open a book and reread the same passage 14 times in order to be sure what I was doing was right. When I decided to tile around the tub I did some light research, bought what I needed, read the instructions, and knocked it out in a day. When I had to install drywall around the tub walls and plaster them, well, I had already done it once. And when I realized that there was no insulation in the entryway walls? Some profanity followed by a resolve to tear it down, fill it in, and patch it up.
It's almost an addiction. You go to the Home Depot, or Lowes, or local hardware store and you fill up your freight cart with all this new shiny stuff, all these colourful tools, bring it home and make something. It's like arts and crafts for grown-ups, except you don't hang it on the wall afterwards, it is your wall. Inevitably, each new project demands a new tool. Just when you think you have everything you could ever need you discover something necessary, or at least leagues more convenient. Buying tools begins to feel for all the world like buying a new toy. I hate to admit to such a ubiquitous stereotype but I'm starting to really like tools to the point that some might wind up on my Christmas list. It's not the tool itself, it the potential represents.Well...also the fact that the right tool typically means you're being spared a substantial amount of effort/suffering.
Even now I am still in the midst of renovations but it's nice to look back and see some progress now. My bathroom which has looked mostly unfinished for years now has a fully functioning shower and tub (the tub has been functional for years, just not the shower), the goddamn walls after what seems an eternity are mostly smooth (I hate working with plaster), the walls are painted, the vanity is finally hooked up, the flooring installed. I mean, it's pretty much complete barring superficial details such as a radiator cover, trim, and some shelving I want to install. Each day I look at another list I've drawn up and cross more and more off, even as some of my previously small projects expand a bit. After all that work it's nice to see, on paper and off, that all your time and effort is paying off.
Well, I did actually end up learning my way around some basic renovations. Luckily I never truly botched a job and had to call in a professional. By some miracle I've progressed from feeling an overwhelming sense of dread and uncertainty whenever I pick up a new project, to feeling confident about most improvements. However, being young, uncertain, and fairly broke, the renovations these past four years have progressed slowly. I'd get home from work and want to spend time with my wife, or relax with friends. When I reached decent stopping points it was hard to work up the motivation to start the next exhausting leg of a project. Inevitably that would mean pouring my entire weekend into a frustrating learning experience so that I could return to work unrested and sore. As you might imagine there was quite a bit of procrastination going on. That's not to say that I couldn't work quickly. For instance, when there was a desolate flange where our old toilet once was, and my bowels threatened a reenactment of Mt. St. Helens, I learned how to install a toilet with surprising celerity. Yet situations like that also added to my sense of trepidation. Before I had accumulated the experience I have now I approached each new step with a mixture of fear and enthusiasm. I was always anticipating the possibility that I was going to fuck something up beyond my ability to fix it or, worse, my ability to afford it. Thanks to some mixture of luck and ingenuity though that was never an issue.
These days renovations are a different story. I don't think I've ever felt so satisfied doing renovation work as I have lately, and it just took a change of circumstances. When the decision came to finally sell the house I knew it was time to finally finish working on our bathroom. To put the bathroom work in perspective when we first moved in the tub was tiny, the walls covered in terrible 70's green and gold fleck paneling, the vanity was decrepit, the fixtures cheap, oh and the toilet was at an angle because the floor beneath it had begun rotting. The bathroom was going to be our big project. My wife and I grabbed crowbars and attacked the bathroom like Gordan Freeman at a headcrab convention. By the time we were finished the bathroom was a husk; bare floor and stud walls. In the first year when we had more money to burn we managed a substantial amount of work. I replaced the floor, bought drywall (but then let it sit there for a long time), replaced the toilet, replaced the tub with a larger and roomier one, and even updated a lot of the plumbing and fixtures. Then things got tighter and the purchasing slowed, and so did the work. Over time we bought a vanity and a faucet for it. Eventually I worked up the courage to start trying to attach the drywall which, due to my negligence, was now warped and dusty. More time and much savings later we bought real flooring and I sucked-up and began my first frustrating attempts to apply plaster. There was a lot of down-time between each of those projects though, frequently months.
Then about a month ago it all changed. My wife and our new addition, a baby boy, decided to stay with family a while. She was going to look for work in the area we planned to move to. Meanwhile, I was to concentrate on finishing up projects so the house could sell. I honestly expected the whole process was going to be a drag; all work and no play. I didn't think that being alone and coming home from a job I was ready to leave a year ago was going to leave me with much energy to accomplish anything. Historically my response was procrastination and exhaustion when I took the time to do more renovation work. I surprised myself though. This was the first time ever I've ever actually lived alone; no wife, no room mate, no family staying with us, not even a dog. I didn't have companionship to look forward to when I came home anymore, just alone time watching shows or playing games. I found the difference in working on renovations versus my usual pass-times was really just a matter of engagement.
Working on the house quickly became a daily routine and it was engrossing. The renovations required most of my attention but seeing the changes and the progress was satisfying. I didn't feel the same sense of restraint anymore, nor did I feel like I was wasting my day. I didn't have to worry about whether the bath-tub was currently unusable, or the house cluttered with tools and drywall dust. Who was I going to inconvenience beside myself? For the same reason I felt more confident about each new project I tackled, and I had further reassurance from my accumulated experience. I was no longer a complete beginner on the ground floor, I had reached a point where I was starting to see patterns and understand the processes. I didn't have to crack open a book and reread the same passage 14 times in order to be sure what I was doing was right. When I decided to tile around the tub I did some light research, bought what I needed, read the instructions, and knocked it out in a day. When I had to install drywall around the tub walls and plaster them, well, I had already done it once. And when I realized that there was no insulation in the entryway walls? Some profanity followed by a resolve to tear it down, fill it in, and patch it up.
It's almost an addiction. You go to the Home Depot, or Lowes, or local hardware store and you fill up your freight cart with all this new shiny stuff, all these colourful tools, bring it home and make something. It's like arts and crafts for grown-ups, except you don't hang it on the wall afterwards, it is your wall. Inevitably, each new project demands a new tool. Just when you think you have everything you could ever need you discover something necessary, or at least leagues more convenient. Buying tools begins to feel for all the world like buying a new toy. I hate to admit to such a ubiquitous stereotype but I'm starting to really like tools to the point that some might wind up on my Christmas list. It's not the tool itself, it the potential represents.Well...also the fact that the right tool typically means you're being spared a substantial amount of effort/suffering.
Even now I am still in the midst of renovations but it's nice to look back and see some progress now. My bathroom which has looked mostly unfinished for years now has a fully functioning shower and tub (the tub has been functional for years, just not the shower), the goddamn walls after what seems an eternity are mostly smooth (I hate working with plaster), the walls are painted, the vanity is finally hooked up, the flooring installed. I mean, it's pretty much complete barring superficial details such as a radiator cover, trim, and some shelving I want to install. Each day I look at another list I've drawn up and cross more and more off, even as some of my previously small projects expand a bit. After all that work it's nice to see, on paper and off, that all your time and effort is paying off.
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