backsplash complete

Well, this is the final update: a few weeks ago I completed the backsplash, including the broken pieces of tile. I don't think they look great, to be honest, but I'm sure I'll get used to it. In retrospect, really, why not tear everything out and just go Ann Sacks all the way? And in any color?  Anyway, the final bits of repainting are done, the silicone seals—everything, I think.

Backsplash

Here you see a couple of stages of the backsplash—(1) the built up plaster on top of cement board (a second coat of plaster went on after this); (2) the tile on the adhesive and (3) the tile with grout, both close-up and the complete setting. This might look mostly done, but there are still a half dozen things to do, not the least of which is dealing with the missing triangular piece of the original tile in the upper right hand corner. Lilya was surprised by how much better the tile looked when grouted—it gives it an even, consistent look, even though it isn't particularly consistent or even. It makes it look like it's all at the same level, even though it's not. In general, it looks like a picture in a frame with the grout, rather than one without.

Grout went in today, so I'll seal this bad boy tomorrow. Or possibly do a second helping of grout, since some of the grout looks a little sunken to me. Seal grout, then seal edges with silicone caulk, deal with the triangle (I may be able to cut a piece with a hacksaw—my hand-held tile cutter can't cut tile this small on a diagonal), and then there are some other issues to attend to—including paint. It'll be at least another week!

MORE alien invaders!

About three years ago, Lilya woke me up at 3 AM. It was a hot summer night, ceiling fans on, windows wide open.  "Rob, I think there's a bird in the house!" she said. I turned on the light, and watched it fly frantically around the spinning fan. "Uh, honey—it's not a bird," I replied. It was a bat.

While Lilya covered herself with a blanket, I herded the bat into the empty guest bedroom and shut it inside, stuffing a towel into the crack beneath the door. In the morning, the bat was gone, and a hole had been chewed through one of the window screens. Problem solved.

Wednesday night we were working on the couch when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. A flash of dark brown by the side door. A wing, as it turned out—another bat. Bigger this time, of course, and on the ground floor, flying in frantic circles through the house, trying to find a way out. I used the same technique, closing it off into the back part of the house, going outside and opening a door. It vanished within the next minute, presumably having found the open door.

Except the next night, ten minutes into Obama's speech (which I found rather tepid, by the way, not the it matters, having been wiped out of existence by the nomination of Harriet Myers—sorry, I meant to say Sarah Palin—as the Republican Veep), our bat returned.  Damn bat. So we've been keeping doors and windows with less secure screens closed and that seems to have solved the problem. Two nights, bat free.

On the home front, I should have an actual kitchen-related post shortly, possibly even this afternoon.

Alien Invaders!

I had many ways of misspending my teenage years, and one of them was reading and re-reading hundreds and hundreds of fantasy and science-fiction novels. Some of the best were Roger Zelazny's Amber novels. He was a Columbia M.A. in English, and they were actually well-written, with a particular penchant for stream of consciousness techniques blended with a hard-boiled, existentially alienated and Chandlereque narrator who occasionally does good deeds in spite of his better instincts. The central conceit was a kind of literalized Platonism: there really is a realm of Ideals, a universe that is elemental and primal, and all other universes are a pale imitation of that world. That real world is called Amber, and everything else is called Shadow.

Our hero wanders through these realms of Shadow, and stumbles on one plagued by a menacing dark circle inhabited by demons and worse. Here is how it is described:

"One day there was the dark circle, and no one really knows why… it began as a tiny ring of toadstools, far to the west. A child was found dead in its center, and the man who found her—her father—died of convulsions several days later. The spot was immediately said to be accursed. It grew quickly in the days that followed, until it was half a league across. The grasses darkened and shone like metal within it, but did not die… In the twilight, strange shapes could be seen moving…"

We have one of these in our backyard. No, seriously, we do—it's called a fairy ring, and they are completely real, and Zelazny's description is quite accurate. Without, uh, the demons and strange twilight shapes and dead people, of course. They begin as a small ring of toadstools, and then form an expanding ring of dark grass—grass that does indeed have a strangely metallic sheen to it. In the morning the ring appears dark on the light grass, and in the evening, lighter in the darker light. And they grow, maintaining their circular shape, or occasionally changing into spirals, arcs, double circles, and so on. Occasionally, fairy rings kill all the grass on the inside, but more often they just grow until they hit a border.  Frequent mowing helps, which explains why ours just appeared after the month long mowing hiatus occasioned by my broken toes (I can mow again, and I wore a closed-toe show this morning for the first time).  I didn't take any good pictures of the ring, unfortunately, before mowing, but you can see still the lines and the dark grass. 

Because the rings appear guided by some exterior intelligence (how does a fungus know how to draw a circle, for crying out loud?!), fairy rings are the source of numerous legends and stories. Ones that Zelazny was acquainted with, obviously. This is a nice example, actually, of how a completely natural phenomenon, one that is completely stupid (it's hard to imagine anything more stupid than a fungal spore), can appear uncanny precisely because it appears to "know" something human. I have more to say about this in another post, or perhaps on another blog, but suffice it for now to just note that it's part of our larger impulse to ascribe meaning and uncanny power to the natural world when it manifests patterns.

But the fairy ring was not our only alien invader. Within two days of "finishing" the kitchen, a new mouse moved in. We lived mouse-free in this house for several years, but now we seem to have an official position for the mouse, an endowed chair for rodent-in-residence. We get rid of one and go a month or two before a new one shows up (and by the way, I'm removing these mice to a spot a couple of miles distant—it ain't the same guy coming back).  Anyway, I removed the mouse this morning to a distant site and got a speeding ticket for my troubles. The officer was, as always, extremely polite, but he was also clearly fulfilling a quota—he said:

"SirIdon'tknowifyouknowwhyIpulledyouover? Iradarclockedyougoing45ina35zone. Licenseandregistration. Signhereandsigningisnotanadmissionofguilt. AnyquestionsIhaven'tanswered? Okaydriveslowlyandcarefully."

I have never received a ticket so quickly or efficiently, and the officer then zoomed back to his hidden position to get the next speeder. But really? 45 in a 35 zone?

Ms. Turtle

So, our turtle (perhaps a spiny softshell turtle?) came back a few hours later, and this time we kept everyone off the beach while she did her thing (about 20 minutes once she found her spot—about 5 minutes for digging and about 15 for laying). Afterwards we went over to the nest and uncovered it to get a look at the eggs (they're not like birds who will sometimes not care for their young if they smell like humans have been near—turtles don't take care of their young at all, no matter what). We couldn't find them. We uncovered sand until we hit the undisturbed wet sand below and nothing. Then Sasha dug for a few seconds and found the top of the nest—most impressive, both for his egg-finding ability and for how deep the mother buried her eggs in such a short time. They're a little smaller than ping-pong balls and harder than one might think. Underneath the one we excavated you could spy some of the others. We re-buried, of course.

hiatus

We're on a temporary hiatus here on the shores of Lake Norman in North Carolina, as you can see. Everything is going swimmingly, so to speak. We'll be back to tackle the backsplash around the 20th.

I saw an enormous turtle (technically a terrapin) on the beach this morning laying eggs. Her shell was probably 18-20 inches in length. We're talking seriously big. She spooked easily, however, and headed straight for the water when I cam out onto the deck with binoculars. Sasha has not yet managed to catch a fish—evidently the water is too warm. Everyone's been lightly sunburned at least once, and today we may be going out on a speedboat piloted by the famous "Captain Steve." He's a former fighter pilot, and Sasha's hero.

updates

I hadn't really intended to do any more updates, but we've had requests. So, here's how things are looking, here's what's been done, and what's still left.

What's done since the last report:

• 18" cabinet assembled and installed, with countertop
• toekicks
• ceiling painted
• baseboards painted
• "crooked" lamp straightened
• chairrail painted
• second window painted
• door trim painted
• pantry door removed, sanded, painted, restored
• open shelving added
• magnetic strip added for knives

What's still unfinished:

• tile backsplash—this takes some doing, since the old tile was mounted on about a half inch of concrete, and so I have to build up the drywall with patching plaster to match the depth at several points, and it takes a while for the plaster to dry. I'm doing the second, and hopefully last, coat of plaster today
• short baseboard to cut, paint and install
• crooked dishwasher
• countertop gap—this may be less of a problem than we had thought, and I'm going to wait until the tile is down before making any decisions about what to do with it
• I'd like to install a vapor/moisture barrier above the dishwasher, but I'll see what my options are

In the meantime, you can enjoy seeing what the kitchen looks like in its near-normal state, being used every day (in fact, now it's hard to find time to work on it when it isn't being used!)

Mission Accomplished!

Just for the record, I do intend for today's post to be an ironic commentary, one that compares humorously the fact that there are two or three dozen tasks still to be accomplished in the kitchen remodel to the impetuousness of still-President Bush in declaring "mission accomplished" rather too early in the war in Iraq. I am not taunting Fate and hoping for a seemingly endless "kitchen quagmire."

So what's left? Today I did the toe kicks, the seal between the two pieces of countertop and painted behind the oven. I actually spent the morning doing my real job, and responding to most of those emails that I haven't responded to yet. Still on the horizon:

1. one baseboard to remove and replace
   
2. finish painting the ceiling edge
   
3. painting all the baseboards
   
4. dealing with the gap behind the countertop
   
5. tile
   
6. dealing with the actually straight but apparently crooked lamp over the sink
   
7. adjusting the slightly crooked dishwasher
   
8. fixing one cabinet to the countertop above it
   
9. painting the chair rail
   
10. painting the second window
    
11. painting all the door trim
    
12. removing the pantry door, thorough sanding, painting
    
13. hooking up the pot rack
    
14. adding the open shelving
    
15. adding magnetic strips for spices and knives
    

As you can see, it's not an insignificant list. Mission accomplished!

Major combat operations have ended

I don't have time for a long post, but I have been very busy for the last two days, foot notwithstanding. Cabinets are all in, drawers assembled and in, countertops re-cut to fit, countertops secured to cabinets, touch up paint applied and electrical plates back on. A host of snags have come up along the way—the main one being the fact that when the sink went in, the countertops shifted, and the nice butting joint I had worked out now generated an angled countertop with a gap. After a lot of belt sanding and a small quantity of wood putty, however, we're good to go. There are a fair number of outstanding issues (not the least of which is that those countertops are really jammed up against our extremely uneven walls), but we have a more or less functional kitchen that will start getting stuff moved back into it tomorrow.

Things get broken

Yes, that's my foot.

Today was supposed to be the ending of "the major phase of combat operations," but much like still-President Bush, I declared victory rather too early. I was hoping to announce a working sink by this evening's blogcast. I started the day by making a checklist of remaining things to do in order to get the kitchen operational again—and there weren't too many: hook up all the dishwasher connections, put the 15" cabinet up on its feet, and the big item of the day—get the countertops cut. Now, Ikea keeps costs low by relying on you to do the work. Hence, they don't cut your countertops, but instead sell you length of butcher block (or at least, that's what we decided we wanted). One 8 foot length of 1.5 inch thick maple (or birch, or beech—I can't remember), and one 6 foot length of the same. About two and half feet wide. They're solid wood, not plywood or particle board, so they're insanely heavy. The eight foot board weighs well over a hundred pounds, maybe closer to two hundred.

I don't have a table saw, so I figured I'd take it up to Home Depot and have them cut it. The 8 foot board won't fit in the Jetta, of course, so I planned to rent the Home Depot truck ($19.99 for the first 75 minutes, and no need to fill up on gas). But when I got to Home Depot, it turned out their truck was broken—and I wanted this done today. When I got back to the car, I realized both back seats in the Jetta folded down. If I brought the front passenger seat down, too, could I fit the whole board in? It looked possible.

So when I got home, and my friend Jim happened to stop by, it seemed like a nice opportunity. And sure enough, my crazy plan worked—an eight foot board will fit into the Jetta. Sort of. We also loaded in the six foot board on top, and my guess is one of two things happened: 1) when we loaded the six foot board, the eight foot board shifted position, and moved up against the rear view mirror, or 2) when the truck closed, it pushed the eight foot board forward an inch or two, into the rear view mirror.  Either way, it was too much pressure, and the windshield cracked. Add the replacement windshield to the costs of doing your kitchen by yourself, or just blame Home Depot: I tried to do it the right way, and couldn't.

But the damage was already done (or at least that damage was already done), so I took the boards to Home Depot, unloaded them and took them to the lumber section. They had been weird and unfriendly when I'd ask them earlier if they could cut the countertop (I made it clear I was expecting to pay, not get the cutting for free), and after I waited about 15 minutes and an even more unfriendly guy came to cut my boards. We did the small board, and then the large—when unloading the big guy, though, it slipped and landed directly on my toes from about two and half feet up. It didn't fall flat, either, but with the edge, so all the weight was concentrated in about an inch and half space. I broke all my guitar playing finger nails trying to stop the board from falling, and the board, of course, broke my toes. So, I'm standing there, white with the pain, toes visibly bleeding, and the Home Depot guy just stares at me. No, "are you okay?" or "That looked painful." He just waited until I helped him put the board on the saw. A customer who had been waiting the whole time also just watched. It's strange—every time I've been loading or unloading something heavy in the parking lot, people have offered to help. Once inside the store, though, forget it.

I got everything into the car, but by the time I drove home it was pretty agonizing to press the pedals. I had Lilya take me to the walk-in clinic near our house. Which is now closed, and relocated to a new, extremely distant and poorly designed location on the outskirts of town. And in Urbana-Champaign, that's really saying something. Carle Clinic has now moved all of their facilities as far as possible from where I live. The new facility was experiencing all the joys of its first day of being open—including no working x-ray machines. The x-ray machines were back at the old clinic, so we drove back there, got x-rayed, drove back to the new clinic, and got the news about three hours after I first arrived at the clinic—two toes broken, not the really bad fracture (compound), but not the kind they like, either. The phalanges (the smallest part) in at least one toe are in multiple pieces, so I'll see an orthopedist next week. I will say that I got unusually good care, both friendly and capable. The tetanus shot was easily the most pain-free shot I've ever had. I gave them back their crutches in favor of the post-op "big shoe" that you've no doubt seen people wearing.

Broken things: windshield, fingernails, toes, pride, spirit. At least I'm reasonably sure tomorrow will not go this badly. And always wear closed toed shoes when lifting heavy items—even when it's over 95 degrees and hellishly humid.

faux kitchen

Today started off slow, but picked up speed in the afternoon. By the end of the day, I was able (with my friend Michael's help, who assisted with the moving of large, heavy objects) to put together a kind of faux kitchen. All the main cabinets in place, and the dishwasher, too. I learned some important things.

• the 18" cabinet will not fit next to the dishwasher, but the 15" cabinet is pretty much perfect.
  
• while I remembered to cut holes for the old water pipe and the new faucet valves, I forgot to cut holes for the electrical for the garbage disposal and for the dishwasher waste tube
  

The big slowdown was the window—it needed to be cleaned, scraped, sanded, and painted. Plus the hardware that had fifteen coats of paint on it had to be chemically stripped (our old friend Jasco—this time I got some diluted Jasco on my hand, and got to experience an interesting burning sensation before I got it washed off. You can tell immediately, however, when it's on your skin), scraped and then sanded. It doesn't look new, of course, but it doesn't look like actual hardware.

Fiat lux

A very busy morning, followed by an afternoon in which I was forced to do catch-up work for my real job (answer emails, placed book orders, finished revisions to the copy-edited version of an article on muscleman movies of the 1950s and 60s). This morning I installed another cabinet (the big 36" guy next to the corner cabinet), installed our new halogen lighting fixture (thanks for the electricity guidance, Bill! turns out with Ac power it doesn't matter what's wired to what; very helpful when your house is so old the wires aren't labeled for positive and negative), and put together the stainless-steel cart to go under the window. There's still some odd painting to be done, some extra work on the electrical sockets (some are not fitting as well under their covers as I would like), and some other small things. I assembled our sink cabinet and we tested it out—looks good, and seems like it should work. As soon as the sink cabinet is in (tomorrow), then I bring back in the dishwasher and see if we can cram an 18" cabinet next to that. 

For kicks, I also set the small countertop up on the cabinets. Looks nice, but must remember to oil it!

Moving along

We're moving along, if not fast enough. Today I finished painting most of the walls, and set up the corner cabinet, just to get a sense of how much of a giant pain in the rear it will be to set up the Ikea cabinets. It turns out that the legs are the tricky part, but we have at least a temporary handle on them. The sink looks to pose all kinds of massive difficulties, not the least of which is that we have the wrong cabinet for it—we'll have to see if that can be managed. If not, I'm not sure what will happen other than another trip to Ikea.

The floors look darn good, though. Oh, and our air conditioning broke, since tomorrow the temperature is supposed to skyrocket to about 98.

Floors—stage 3

The first two coats of urethane—stinky, stinky stuff that it is—are down, and I hope to put one more on the floor before we leave for Chicago tomorrow. I have to say, it was a real pleasure to finish the floor, for two reasons:

1) I bought a respirator, as my brother instructed me. They are cheap, extremely comfortable, and I happily brushed me chemicals on the floor, thinking all the while: "This is great! This stuff has no smell at all! Why by the water-based if this guy is so easy and odorless?"  Then I took of my mask and nearly retched with the smell.

2) You put down the urethane. That takes maybe 10 minutes tops in a kitchen our size. And then you can't do any more work of any kind for at least four hours. Or seven hours if your humidity and temperature are like they are here today. You can't go near the kitchen, and in fact, because of the vapors, you kind of have to leave the house. I went outside today for the first time in weeks. And mowed the lawn, because it really, really needed doing.

By the way, it won't be that shiny—we're using a satin finish, which has some gloss, but is not ultra-glassy. That's just wet, which makes it look extra-shiny.