09
Sep
19

Mill Street Blues: Move It or Lose It

After relieving Dude of his responsibilities vis à vis the wing and gable farmhouse, the Jarhead and I found ourselves in a bit of a quandary. A predicament. A veritable pickle, if you will. With our other house having already sold and closing day just weeks away, we needed to kick things into high gear if we didn’t want to spend the winter in a storage facility with our cat and all our worldly possessions.

Although we had finished installing the cabinets and painting most of the walls by then, we still had doors to paint, hardware to clean, two porches to repair, a deck to strip and paint, and a kitchen to finish. On top of all of that, after dismissing Dude, we also had kitchen and dining room flooring to install, interior doors and trim to hang, and some electrical work to finish. We also had a crapload of cleaning to do since the folks on Dude’s crew either had a pathological aversion to putting garbage in the 55 gallon bins we so generously had provided, or were trying to see how much trash they could amass on the floor before I lost my flipping mind.

Meanwhile, as they were NOT throwing away their drink cups, soda cans, and water bottles, they WERE throwing out other items. Like entire strips of original Victorian-era door and window trim and hardware we were saving to reuse. And the original siding that was to have been removed from the OLD east end of the garage before the addition was framed, and which we had expected to have put back on the NEW east end of the garage when the addition was finished.

Fortunately, the Jarhead realized what was happening in time to salvage enough trim and other components to finish the patio doorway to match the rest of the main floor doorways. That meant he had to do something different around the kitchen window and one of the upstairs doors, but at least we were able to preserve the original character in the main living areas. As for the garage siding, it presumably went to building materials heaven. Or the dump. Depending on your religious affiliation.

Meanwhile, as the Jarhead worked on the tasks involving power tools, muscles, and advanced math, I finished the painting, learned how—and how NOT to—install vinyl plank, and arranged for the carpet, counter tops, and appliances to be installed so we could accomplish the modest goal of moving out of the old house in time for the buyer to move in.

We barely made it. That is to say, we got moved out of the old house, but we moved in to the new one under less than ideal circumstances. For example, the counter tops couldn’t be installed until almost two weeks after we moved in. And because we couldn’t install the sink, disposal, and dishwasher without the counters in place, we didn’t have running water in the kitchen for a few more days after that. And because the plumber who was installing the sink, disposal and dishwasher was also installing the washer, dryer, and stove—and because he didn’t want to make two trips to outer Mongolia—we couldn’t cook or do any laundry until then either.

Thankfully, we had a grill to cook on, paper plates to eat on, a bathroom sink to get water from, and enough clothing in our closets that we didn’t have to sneak over to the old house and do laundry while the new owner was sleeping. I’m just kidding, of course. There’s no way I could have gone over there at night without waking up her dogs, and everyone knows I’m afraid of dogs.

Had we known we were going to fall so short of our goal, we definitely would have fired Dude and taken over the project much sooner. As it was, we had to hire a couple guys to work on the doors just to buy the Jarhead enough time for other tasks that absolutely had to be done before winter.

We thought that would bring us back on schedule, but as fall turned to winter, it became clear that the windows all needed to be replaced. And so, the porch repairs got bumped to spring, along with the deck repairs, the garage updates, and grouting the kitchen back splash.

And then, just as we were getting around to doing the winter projects, the foyer ceiling started leaking. And the pipes froze in the kitchen. Evidently Dude and crew forgot to insulate above the foyer when they replaced the ceiling and installed the new roof. And apparently the plumber was unaware that water lines should not be placed against a stone foundation wall. Seems to me that professional roofers and plumbers would have known these things. But then I’m reminded that, although they take money to perform a service, Dude and crew are not professionals.

Needless to say, we were very glad we opted to love this house instead of listing it. I can only imagine the lawsuit we would be facing if we had sold it. I can only imagine the excuses Dude would have to offer if I had bothered to confront him over it. I can only imagine the charges I would be facing and the sentence I would be serving if the Jarhead hadn’t been around to uncork the wine.

Meanwhile, just as I was learning to manage my homicidal tendencies, we found the Craftsman bungalow I mentioned a few posts ago (Mill Street Blues: Love It or List It.) And so, the rest of the interior painting got bumped to the summer, along with cleaning the basement and sorting the garage.

And then, just as we were wrapping up the demo at the Craftsman bungalow, we discovered that it needed a new roof and had bad wiring. And so, because we had to find a roofer and an electrician—and pull permits and meet with inspectors—the reconstruction, drywall, plastering and painting there got bumped to the spring, which meant work there would continue through the summer.

And then, just as, well, you get the picture.

In the end, it took us just under eight months to get the Craftsman on the market, and it sold in two weeks. We’re pleased with how it turned out, and excited for the folks who are buying it.

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Almost a year after moving to Mill Street, we are finally getting around to the work that should have been done fifteen months ago, including insulating the foyer and properly installing the kitchen water lines. With luck, it won’t take fifteen more.

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