Saturday, August 26, 2017

Renovation as Metaphor

Having spent much of my life supported by physical order and the knowability of structure, I have said - at least 100 thousand times: I am not the kind of person who does that. And by that, to be clear, I mean any number of things - going to a rave, jumping out of a plane, eating bugs, camping. But never have I used that phrase so often as when I'm discussing renovations. Which is kind of strange since, prior to now, we have done one major structural reno on the house (the third floor) and numerous smaller ones (a bathroom, for example). It's not like I've never done this before.

Last week, we decided (like every idiot who's ever done a major renovation) to increase the scope of the project in a rather meaningful way (financially and structurally), at which point it came to me viscerally: I am the kind of person who does this. I mean, not only am I doing it, but I'm doing it more.

On the rollercoaster that is this project, somewhere between the hideous height and that ok plateau that goes through the splashy water feature, I can tell you I would do a bat-shit crazy, absurdly expensive reno any day before I'd parent a baby. I think I may be finally coming to terms with how tortuously anxious I was as a new mother. I was unceasingly panicked at the thought of losing my child (after a pretty fucking horrible first few days). My hyper vigilance was my way of convincing myself that I could forestall danger, the unacceptability of loss. If only I used my will and constancy, if I did it well enough, then everything would work out. And in the process I became a shell. (OCD peeps, it's not just lots of hand-washing.)

But this is not about that. This is about how, while it may take me a while to get there, once I make a commitment I am all-fucking in. Really. There is no half-measure. (Again, likely a function of my neurochemistry or, shall we say, my personality.)

Brief sidebar in case you follow me on Instagram: The fucking builders haven't even started the fucking framing that was supposed to begin last week during a projected 7-10 rain-free days which are now inching towards a close. I don't even know if the timber has arrived. So I'm not getting all "I love renos" cuz we've broken the back of this...

I said that my ideal renovation would, without changing the size of my house one square inch, cost approx 800K. I'm now flirting with that cost zone, for what it's worth, getting closer to it than I ever thought I would for, like, every good reason on the planet. And yet, the time not to spend was before I signed-off on a huge project that was unquestionably going to cost a whack of money. Now I'm doing it and I'm not going to forego something potentially spectacular because of a momentary little thing like a budget. (Note: I make these sorts of decisions with financial advice and, so far, this still looks like a good idea on paper, even if it sounds insane. Sure, could I be richer if I never did anything? Absolutely. But I'm not leaving my freakin' money to the cat orphanage and my kid will have an eventual place to live - or a shit ton of money to go somewhere else with.)

The scope increase, which should be doable "on time" (so hilarious because that concept is profoundly MEANINGLESS - what they're saying is that it will simply add to the vortex of "extra") sounds lite but is rather destructive (before it is reconstructive), even as it won't be anywhere near as destructive as everyone assumed. We're going to open the wall between the staircase and the dining room to allow light to get from the front to the back of my shotgun house. It's pretty clear that this will bring a really attractive reno into the realm of sensational. Like, Architectural Digest good.

Why have I resisted this - my mother's recommendation, please note, or she will be very displeased... Not because of the cost or extra time but because it means I'm going to have to destroy my original, Century dining room. And if you've known me for, um, an hour and a half, you know that I a) love my freakin' dining room and b) believe that one is a steward of history, not a killer of it.

See, given that it's a load sharing wall (dead in the middle of 3 houses that are partially attached), we're going to have to open the walls to put stabilizing beams in. And, more meaningfully, we're going to have to tear up the ceiling - with its plaster and foot-deep molding and rosette - to reinforce the joists of the second floor.

On the plus side (no joke), there doesn't appear to be any duct work running through that wall so we won't have to trash the entranceway too. At this point, there will remain but 3 original rooms in this house and every other one will have been gutted and/or torn down and rebuilt.

This is the equivalent of building from scratch when you live in a row house. Only it costs more and takes longer.

But, as Scott genius-ly suggested, to turn my mind around, those before us renovated thoughtlessly, and trashed a lot of history, leaving dysfunctional remnants. It's true. Also, apparently I can recreate my dining room so that all of the features will be recaptured (potentially even with reclaimed materials). It's making a philosophical sacrifice to create a new architecture that will be beautiful and well-made enough to survive for another century. Actually, to survive better. And since the builders accidentally wrecked the westernmost plaster wall in the dining room, when they tore off my kitchen, I've had to come to terms with the loss of some history already. (And yeah, that didn't go over well...)

Is this spin? Absolutely. But I'm on board. (And, please don't judge. The retro-fitting of one's principles is difficult.)

You know those shows on HGTV where the people work with architects and engineers and make crazy changes to their homes and it's painful to watch because they are insane with the scope change and the unknowns that become problems that need to be solved by doing more work? You know how you watch gleefully, maybe with a glass of wine, and you think: Lord, those idiots. Why did they do that? That cost is ABSURD. Do they really need to undertake additional unnecessary project X? God, look at that rotting beam they now have to fix and the foundation disasters and the boulder in the backyard that's too big to move. And then you take another handful of popcorn. (I really miss popcorn.)

People, I actually don't care about those shows anymore. They cause no anxiety. In fact, half the time what those crazy people are doing is functionally less crazy than what we have already undertaken. I'm on the dark-side. We're half way between here and there and I'm experienced enough now to know that I cannot control the outcome with my rumination. This is dangerous and unknown, just like raising a human being. But I am the person doing this and I'm not going to apologize for or undervalue it. We may be nuts, but we're also visionary. And that's worth a lot of money, time and effort to me - apparently.

14 comments:

  1. You certainly do like talking about how much money you have!

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    1. Linda: What a thought-provoking comment. In some ways, I could use an entire post to address my perspective on the matter but, in the meanwhile, here's an interim response: It's not that I love to talk about how much money I have (trust me, this money is mostly the bank's and I've said many times, in the context of this renovation, that I'm flipping freaked out by the costs). I do, however, choose to talk about money - a topic that some writers approach and some avoid. Moreover, I suspect, when blogging in detail about a major building project, most first-hand chronologists fall into one of three categories: those who don't discuss money because they find it crass or inappropriate, those who don't discuss money because they have so much of it that it isn't even a factor and those who discuss it because it's germane, and the person with lived experience feels comforted by approaching uncharted financial territory via transparent expression. I've always talked about money, it's just that now the figures are higher, as are the stakes. Naturally, I'm dismayed by the thought of seeming elitist or boastful on the internet because, I assure you, that is not my intent. I'm almost 50 years old. I've spent 20 years saving money for this. I work tremendously hard and, no question, I'm privileged. This is my life - and this is my space to talk about the things that mean something to me in the ways in which I choose. Now, inasmuch as your comment says something about me, it says something about you too. Forgive me for hearing an implied "tone", if that's not what you were aiming for. But really, my first thought on reading this response was: why do you care enough to have commented and, if this post or others like it offend you, why not just vote with your feet? Rebuilding a house costs hundreds of thousands of dollars when one approaches this scope, where I live. Not discussing it doesn't change that fact. If my allusion to this reality is unpalatable to you, I find that regrettable. But the truth is that you can read any number of blogs that reference (or don't reference) money in ways of which you may approve more. But thank you for giving me this food for thought. I will aim to be clearer in distinguishing between how much money I'm spending - vs how much money I have - in the future.

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  2. Aaaaah! Ok, the insane extent of your reno gives me comfort as I pinball through my own insanely tiny, yet still traumatic, version. And I, too, am struggling with the weight of the history, even as we blithely tore down what may well have been the last original plaster in the house. Mind you there are no features in my house as spectacular as you describe. Good luck!

    I was lucky enough (given my ample anxieties over other things) to be blithely confident in my early parenting. This sickening uncertainty I'm dealing with now is something I haven't experienced since grad school. 🤢

    We'll both get through, though, right?

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    1. Oh, take comfort! What you're doing is so reasonable and you are going to feel very at home soon. I think you've got the double hit of first-time home-ownership mixed with home improvement (with the overlay of your very creative, DIY spirit which may be a bit in shock given that home DIY is like no other :-)). I promise you, in 6 months you are going to be sitting in that living room with gorgeous floors bragging to your friends about how you fixed 'em up. xoxo

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  3. My sympathies on the stress, disruption, and expense. Your decisions seem very well-reasoned to me. I understand the reluctance to tamper with the remaining historical features. For what it's worth, I renovated (supervised contractors) a number of renovation projects in the 1920's slate-roof colonial house I lived in for 20 years, everything from adding windows and French doors to gutting bathrooms. I drew the line at changing walls - chicken, I know. My hat is off to you - bringing in light is always a good idea, and I'm sure your finished house will be spectacular.

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    1. Marie: I don't think that's chicken - that's sensible!!! :-) I know that bringing in light is the way to go but my circuits seem to blow in one way or another semi-regularly. I'm getting a little bit better at having perspective on the bad days but, on those days, I"m often bolstering the spirits of the equally stressed-out Scott. Mind you - it's skill-building.

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    1. I think you have every reason to be confident as a parent because your kids are obviously delightful and self-possessed. My parents were 22 when I was born and they had no fears. My mother looks back on it now with a bit of horror and a bit of amusement.

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  5. As to your first commenter - I agree that if you aren't happy with the content of the blog you are reading, go away...unless you have something constructive to say.
    This reno, and your house, for that matter, are far out of my price range, but I think you are right when you say that if you work hard, and this is what you wish to do , then do it. I wish we had done a few more renos on our 60's three level split before I took retirement, but for me, if I had to make a choice between my wonderful (not)shell pink bathroom and working one more day at a soul crushing job, the bathroom wins everytime.
    I enjoy the blog, and know that if I take the time to make a comment, you will always give a thoughtful reply.
    I also think it is a great idea to do a renovation on an older home that takes into consideration the history and to do it right. Take care.
    Barb

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    1. Oh Barb, they're pretty far out of my price range too :-)!! BTW, I love 60s split level houses, especially the ones with original features. So mid-century good! If retirement seemed even remotely near for me, I'm sure I'd have a different perspective on all of this, which is to say I'd be taking whatever money I had and enjoying it in foreign countries. Thanks for your comment. xoxo

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    2. Ours still has a lot of the original mahogany woodwork and built ins...I still love it. We just returned from fishing and camping in northern BC...with the 20 month old grandsons and their parents. The primary function this trip was to keep them safe from the fire pit, water , weird berries, falling down, etc. I am exhausted, but still had lots of fun.
      Barb

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    3. You see - that's the point of retirement! (Esp. from your kids' perspective :-))

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  6. Wow. All I can say is I hear you, and a year ago I thought "this would never be me" and now here I am in a 1920's house I adore, contemplating renovations that I am determined to do in a way that honors the history of the place, and occasionally having to go to bed in shock.

    For me it is about the dream and honoring the history of the space, and I realize full well I could get a big new house in the suburbs that would meet my physical requirements for a fraction of the cost. But not my dreams... but not my dreams.

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    1. As I said in my other comment - it is AWESOME that you are expending creative energy in this way because you have such a distinct sense of what you love and now you are able to recreate it to your heart's content. Such a lucky woman!! Realize those dreams.

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