the tall house chronicles

Mister W's legacy

2011-02-19T14:48:00.009-05:00

The staircase at Mister W's house will soon be in ours!

It is still unclear what happened to dear Mister W, our crotchety old neighbour from across the street. We are not sure whether he passed away or if he has moved to an old age home. We like to think that it is the latter. But either way, we miss him. His house has been sold to a very well mannered, flashy young man who drives an Audi Q7. Seemingly the vehicle of choice for the newer residents of the Small Street.

We still aren't sure whether the young man's intentions towards Mister W's house are honourable or not. Meaning, we suspect that he is a flipper. Not that there is anything wrong with that. It's just that we are used to folks who really love their houses. According to my mum, his direct neighbour and one of the Small Street's legion of Mata Haris, he plans on completely stripping the house and turning it into a modern city dwelling. Which after seeing the estate agent photos of Mister W's historically bereft, multi-vinyl floored house, actually makes a lot of sense.

The one original feature left in the house is the staircase. And guess what? Its OURS! We are still pinching ourselves. The FYM (flashy young man), having no use for such antiquities, has actually given it to us. We had originally planned to have our spindles and banister copied once we opened up the wall on the middle floor. But this is even better! Okay the spindles are not the same design as ours, but these elements are a part of the Small Street's history. And every time we pass the middle floor landing that little quirk will be a reminder of our dear departed neighbour. It will be Mister W's legacy.

A staircase is a strange thing to inherit but we couldn't be happier. Yes, we will have to modify it a bit as the banister currently runs at an angle and for our purpose it will need to be horizontal. The spindles will probably have to be cut and there will be of course (oh joy!) more paint stripping. But in the end it will all be worth it. A piece of Mister W will live on in the Tall House.

Our top floor landing.
This is the banister and spindles that we were going to have copied.

What the middle floor landing looks like now.

We can't wait to knock down that wall!

Hopefully, it will look something like this when we are done.

Photo Canadian House and Home

Have you finished yet?

2011-02-04T17:14:00.004-05:00

The kitchen (minus the switch plates)

Ze back splash

The closet doors minus the hardware and the mirrors in the openings

When the subject of renovations comes up, we are invariably asked "Have you finished yet?". No phrase in the english language seems more foreign to me than those four words. Yes, we are living in the whole house, and yes we have made great strides since we bought the place over three years ago. We have beautiful top and main floors. We are so far thrilled with the results. But we are far from finished yet.

Forget that there is a list as tall as the house of things that need to be done (not to mention two whole floors, the façade and the backyard). We honestly don't want to be finished. The process is too enjoyable.

The house is more than just our home. It is our hobby. Heck, it is even our passion. Call us kooky, but we are in love with a pile of bricks.

So naturally compromise isn't an option. This is why we still have not yet settled on tiles for the front vestibule. Having had our heart set on those ogee shaped marble tiles, we are having a hard time changing gears. So until we find a worthy replacement, a lovely murky grey industrial carpet is there to greet us.

But we have been moving forward. The marble subway tiled backsplash is now in place. The ceramist charged a paltry $64 (and a bottle of olive oil) for 4 hours work. Making it more than worth the wait. The coat closet doors have also been installed and painted. And if I do say so myself, they look smashing. We have sourced out a glass merchant for the mirrors in the door openings as well as a company that will restore the old hardware.

And of course we've already started thinking about the next projects. The three most likely candidates are properly insulating the basement. Prepping, priming and painting the stair risers and trim. And most thrilling of all, taking down the wall by the stairs on the middle floor and installing new spindles and a banister. So stay tuned.

The László seal of approval

2010-11-25T11:10:00.012-05:00

Luckily, we made very few mistakes in the whole ground floor reno process. One of the few was putting some of the halogen pot lights too close to the kitchen cabinets. Hardly a mistake really, more like a fudge, a little boo boo. But still it required some patch work as well as the services of our favourite Hungarian curmudgeon, László, to make it right.

True to form, László entered the Tall House

without even so much as a hello:

Cutting right to the chase he barked: -Who did this work?

Me: -What work?

Him (getting a little red in the face): -This!!!

Me (heart pounding): -Oh, You mean the mouldings?

Him (voice rising as if speaking to a deaf half-wit): -Yessssss!

Me (not knowing whether this is good or bad): -Uh, Manu and his brother did a day together and Manu has been doing it alone ever since.

Him (shaking his head as he walked around the room): -Whhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaatttttttttt? … … But this fantastik job!

Me (breathing again): - ...

Him: - ...

Him again: -What your husband do again?

Me: -Um, he works in advertising

Him: -And the brother?

Me: -He's an engineer.

Him (full on yelling): -IM-POS-SI-BLE!!!!!! Usually these guys don't know what they are doing.

Him again (more quietly): -This really incredible job. Most workers don't do as nice work. He's hired! … Now you go.

Looking for fixer upper?

2010-11-22T16:29:00.003-05:00

Mr W, our ancient, crotchety old neighbour with the heart of gold has moved out and put his house up for sale. We saw the pictures online. Save for the staircase, there are no original features, just an empty shell. There is nothing to show for a lifetime of living in that house but a bunch of linoleum flooring and some bare walls. Growing old sucks.

The house is being touted as a "piece of history", as indubitably was Mr W. We hope that someone falls in-love with it and brings it back to life.

We're in!

2010-11-10T09:02:00.010-05:00

All the trim still needs painting

The range hood needs to be installed.

The smoke alarm goes off every time we open the oven...

...we're missing the backsplash too

One day we'll hang the real plates, these are just photocopies...

The future coat closet. The antique doors need to be hung and painted.

We've been living in the new space for a couple of months now. No matter that there is still a list as tall as the house of things to do, we are home. And we are loving it.

There is nothing like a year of living in a construction site to make one appreciate the finer things in life. Cleanliness! Order! Organization! It is amazing how comparatively simpler our life seems. Possessions are now nicely stowed in their allotted space instead of piled higgledy-piggledy in a corner. We're back to having people over for dinner. We don't feel the need to get out of the house on weekends. We linger.

Everything just seems so damn easy. We've even discovered that mundane tasks such as doing the dishes are actually soothing and enjoyable in a beautiful space. Its even taken that edge off the weekly morning routine. Getting out of bed at 6:30? A snap! Because even on the grayish of days, the new kitchen is filled with light.

Oh we still have projects, but now the work is just aesthetic. We've put the grunting and heavy lifting behind us. And maybe that's why we are so happy, we are now just working on the pretty.

Even our gifts to each other have changed. We have moved on from power tools to more soul nourishing offerings such as the much longed for Magnolia tree in the back yard.

And just this past weekend, for the first time in years we actually had a whole two hours of doing nothing! Manu watched some football and I read while the Princess napped and our Little Superhero saved the world.

Life is good, but we can't quit now. We have to pull up our bootstraps and give that last push. Manu has already planned to take a couple of days off this week to prepare the house for winter and I'll be back in the saddle on the weekend painting the trim. Then the back splash needs to be laid, the range hood installed, the closet doors hung and painted, the vestibule tiles found, the front window trim applied...

Holy sh**t! We'd better get to work!

The summer of the great Stejoine

2010-11-08T11:42:00.010-05:00

Behold the great pirate ship

Argh! And she shall be christened the Stejoine

The Jolly Roger flying aloft

The summer of 2010 will forever go down in Tall House history as the summer of the great pirate ship, The Stejoine.

One fine august day while I was busy unpacking and organizing the first floor, Manu came up with the most inspired idea to keep the little folk (which included my three and a half year old nephew who was visiting from Miami) out from underfoot. The children would build a pirate ship! It would only be an improvement on the actual landscaping and there was more than enough scrap lumber left over from the 1st floor reno.

The four of them worked away at it for the better part of the day. First the hull, then the masts and finally the sail. There was even a hand drawn Jolly Roger flying proudly aloft. The children baptized the ship Stejoine in honour of themselves, the mighty pirates who'd built it: Captain Stelio, First Mate Joseph and Secon Mate Inès. Much like real pirates, they got absolutely filthy, dirt on top of mud on top of black paint - there was nary a square inch of them that remained untouched. They would build, then they would play and when it all got too much, they ate grapes and water melon slices to combat scurvy.

But the fun didn't stop there. For over the next several weeks our little Superhero, all of five, busied himself making all manner of improvements to the lovely vessel. Benches and tables were added and removed, there was a cafeteria (!) in the works, storm proofing was attempted… Folks started stopping by just to see the ship. It was fast becoming more famous than the Black Pearl on the Small Street.

But best of all, it meant, for the first time since we bought the house, that the kids didn't have to go to the park to enjoy the great outdoors, they could just hang out in their own back yard. And it didn't matter if it wasn't pretty or cared for (yet!) it was still, simply, magical.

As you may have guessed we have a lot to do inside before we even think of tackling the outside. Which is a good thing because the darn place is overrun with pirates!

Vestibule floor heartbreak.

2010-06-29T12:21:00.007-04:00

Our layout of what could have been

I realize that in the grand scheme of things, being heartbroken over a floor is pretty silly. So lets just say that we are bitterly disappointed.

We had found the perfect tiles for the entrance way. Manu had first spotted them while lunching at a sandwich shop in the old part of town, and had told me about them that night at dinner. He was in love. Then as luck would have it, we stumbled upon them at the very store where we bought our kitchen sink and counter top. If possible I loved them even more than Manu. Black and white honed marble tiles shaped like little lanterns. And the best part, they didn't look all shiny and new, they looked like they had been around for years and years. They were perfect for the Tall House. We were smitten.

And as we are want to do, we obsessed over them. Designing and redesigning the entrance way pattern until we were satisfied.

Then our luck ran out. Having a rather long list of things to do before we tackled the vestibule floor, we decided to wait before buying the tiles. Well, good things don't necessarily come to those who wait: they are not only sold out but discontinued!

I tried having them brought in from other cities. I have even tried having them made. No dice.

Ach.

Mouldings

2010-06-22T09:02:00.006-04:00

The artists at work

It looks like the mouldings have always been there. Good sign.

Crown is on. Door frames and baseboards need to be done...

...window frames too.

Manu and I have a thing for mouldings. We first discovered their power to transform a space when we lived in The Condo. Aching for a DIY project, but finding very little to do, Manu decided one day to install crown moulding in the two back rooms. The results were extraordinary, in one weekend the rooms had changed from bland and box like, to interesting and elegant. Since then, we have been obsessed, offering it as transformation advice to any and all friends who will listen.

Now if I had my way, or rather, if our bank account wasn't bleeding, we would have opted for plaster mouldings (it is supposed to be a "restoration" after all). But unfortunately those will have to wait. In the meantime we have opted for the run of the mill white painted MDF variety, but honestly you wouldn't know it.

So while the kids, my mum and I lounged by my office pool, dear Manu and his brother Fabio, who is expecting his first child any day now, celebrated father's day by installing crown moulding on the ground floor. At noon, my mother-in-law brought food, pasta (of course), salad and the great Italian Sunday lunch staple, vino. We ate on the stairs and admired their work. And despite the wine, or maybe because of it, they really got a lot done.

Manu still needs to build a frame around the top of the kitchen cabinets before the rest of the crown can be applied, then there are all the base boards and the door and window frames. All told about three or four days work.

But even if we are only a third of the way there, its really starting to feel like home.

All over the place

2010-06-22T08:19:00.013-04:00

The, ahem, view from the kitchen door.

We planted some Virginia Creeper along the fence to the right

in the hopes that by next year, when we are ready to attack the yard,

the fence will be covered in lush greenery.

Midway through: the doors look better,

the stairs and the siding look worse.

I spray painted some old terracotta pots black.

Added a few geraniums... and voila! Instant love.

The doors and siding are painted.
In autumn we will do the stairs and the railing.

The old girl has been upgraded from haunted -
to just rickety.

We are a bit scattered these days. We have been working a bit out front, a bit out back and a bit in the middle. Seems like every time we turn around, there is another mountain of work waiting for us.

Now, we do know better than to start a new project before having finished the first one, but somehow the theory hasn't made it to practice. I started stripping the closet doors but the onset of planting season urged me to add some love to the front of the house in the form of geraniums. This in turn lead to adding some crushed stones to the front yard to perk it up just a little, which brought on the need to paint the front doors, which highlighted the ugliness of the yellow siding (so it ended up getting painted too) which then brought us to work on the front steps…

But then it started to rain.

…so we decided to plant some climbing vines by the new fence in the backyard, which made us realize in what bad shape the soil was. Which lead us to start carting some of the rocks away, which in turn lead to some weeding…

…when what we should be doing is finishing the first floor. The stair risers and the wainscoting need to be painted, the crown mouldings and baseboards need to be installed, the coat closet doors have to be stripped, sanded, painted and hung. The windows need to be washed and god knows that the first floor and the basement are begging for a good, deep down clean. Not to mention some major reorganization of the whole house as well as moving some rather large pieces of furniture.

So what we need to do is focus!

We will finish the front steps and try straightening the banisters. But seeing as this is just a quick fix to keep the place from falling down until we can afford the real deal, we will stop there for this year. Then we will leave the backyard pretty much as is, allowing the newly planted Virginia Creeper a year's head start as it hopefully lays claim to the easternmost fence.

And now no more distractions, lets finish that goddam first floor.

The kitchen

2010-06-04T21:08:00.006-04:00

The kitchen cabinets, island and counter top are in. We are so close to the finish line that we can almost taste it. I am loath to name an end date for this whole first floor reno extravaganza as every time that I do, we seem to overshoot it by a country mile. My birthday! Gone. Christmas! Nope. Valentine's day! Unfortunately not. Easter! Close but no cigar. Mothers day! Closer, but still no. Father's day! I doubt it… But enough is enough, so the now realistic, no-holds-barred-must-be-done-or-else-date is August 5Th, when my dear brother and his loved-as much-as-they-are missed little family come to visit us.

They will be our inaugural dinner guests.

For there is one thing that I have learned in this whole process. And that is that all this headache and financial strain is for one purpose and one purpose only: and that is to create the perfect backdrop for our Little Superhero's and The Princess' childhood memories.

So on that upcoming August night, while the grown-up brother and sister gently tease each other with the "remember whens" from their childhood houses . The little cousins will be making memories all their own as they chase each other around the sure to be (well, almost) completed first floor of the Tall House.

Spring cleaning in progress

2010-04-30T16:53:00.003-04:00

The floors are finished

2010-04-30T16:41:00.004-04:00

Well the floors are finished and they are nothing short of spectacular. We are pinching ourselves, as yet again we have nothing but good things to say about the fellows who did it. And this time round we were really taking a bit of a gamble as neither of us knew anything about them. I'd noticed their van parked in the Hood and taken down their number. Manu had read about them in the paper... Then, when we met them for a quote, we were charmed by their earth friendly products. That and the fact that we wouldn't have to move out of the house for a week. We were sold.

So they came, they saw, they sanded, they stained, and finally they varnished. No fuss, no muss and almost no dust. The process was so easy that I can barely believe that it is over. And the results are stupendous.

That's it then, the worst is over. No more mopping the floors when we get home from work, no more washing the pots before we use them, and no more little people with blackened feet. We just have one MASSIVE spring cleaning job to do first.

Kitchen Dreams

2010-04-26T22:23:00.019-04:00

Before: the kitchen that taste forgot

For the past two and a half years, we have been living with a kitchen that is so laughably ugly that really anything, even a hole in the ground, would be a step up. Okay, in all fairness, we did apply a lick of paint and installed some el cheap-o vinyl black and white tiles on the floors, just to make it palatable. But the fact remains, that by even the most benevolent person's standards, it is an eyesore.

Thankfully, Manu's cooking talent is so great that our meals have never been a reflection of their surroundings. But the washing up has been painful. Zero counter space, a peeling counter, not to mention a view on the most ungodliest back splash have made doing the dishes, never our favourite chore, an unspeakable penance.

So now that we are only but a few weeks away from kitchen salvation, our aprons are all aflutter: the plans have been drawn up, the cabinets ordered, the counter top chosen, the appliances purchased… We are, as they say in the restaurant biz "cooking with gas". Or at least we will be.

The inspiration, via Style at Home

The cabinets, range and fridge will be along the far right wall

opposite will be a 9 foot by 30 inch island

The marble slab

The faucet

Counter depth fridge

The oh so nifty dual gas range

The floors

2010-04-20T20:58:00.007-04:00

The buried treasure, our now crisp, clean floor boards

The stair risers will be painted white

The stain swatches, we prefer the one to the left

Oh happy day! The floors are being sanded.

I am constantly amazed at how with old houses, the beauty is in the subtraction. Under the dusty grey wall to wall carpet, under the thin post-war hardwood, under several decades of paint and grime: beautiful, rich, wooden treasure!

When you think of it, 10 months to erase almost 125 years of design missteps is small penance for the everlasting joy that these charm infused floors will bring us.

Miraculously, the whole process should be almost painless, or at least odor less. In our previous life, when we lived in the condo, new neighbours would invariably mean a week of headache and nausea inducing odors caused by atrociously toxic floor stain. But thankfully, the eco tsunami that has hit our collective consciousness has even managed to green an old landfill bastion like floor lacquer. So not only will we be able to sleep soundly, our conscience clear, in our own beds, we will also manage, at least this time any way, not to piss off the neighbours.

László, part 2

2010-04-20T16:06:00.006-04:00

Like most parents we gage the passage of time by our kids' ages. And seeing as The Little Princess, quite conveniently, was born just two weeks and one day after we moved into the Tall House, she serves as a cute, curly haired, living marker of our time spent there. So I can easily say that we have been living in our beloved ruin for 2 years, 4 months and 5 days. Which, rather embarrassingly, means that we have gone for 2 years, 4 months and 5 days without finalizing the top floor.

Apparently, this is an all too common occurrence with renovations. Be it either from boredom, a short attention span, or just out of sheer frustration, folks tend to start the next project before completing the one at hand. And although there was just but a few days work left to do to finalize that top floor, it required patience that we no longer had. So our bedroom windows remained the original sickly time stained puce, the doors remained unfinished, and the bathroom walls were bare.

Enter Laszlo, our Hungarian, slightly off-white knight. We were so thrilled with the plaster work he'd done on the main floor that we happily asked him back to do the paint. He worked well and was so cheap that it almost wasn't worth the hassle to do it ourselves. And honestly, we found him amusing. But Laszlo the plasterer is very different from Laszlo the painter.

One thing that remained the same was that he preferred to work without an audience. So despite his working on a Saturday, we cleared out of the house. Around 4:30 we dragged ourselves home after having spent every last ounce of energy and then some in the neighbouring parks.

Exhausted, the four of us plunked ourselves down in front of the TV ready to enjoy yet another rip roaring episode of Mickey Mouse Club House (The Princess is obsessed) when from the top floor came a "FUCKINGGG NIGHTMARE!" then, I'm guessing for Manu's sake "VAFFANCULO" followed by unintelligible Hungarian expletives.

Nonchalantly turning up the volume on Mickey Mouse, I went upstairs to see what all the fuss was about.

-Laszlo why are you swearing so much?

-This door, this glass, this hardware its a FUCKINGGGG NIGHTMARE, its taking too long! What time is it? I'm going home!!!

And off he went.

A while after, as The Little Superhero and I were doing our daily bedtime review, those big brown eyes got a little bigger and asked in a barely audible whisper "Mummyyyyyyy, what's a fucking nightmare??"

-I don't know, it must be Hungarian for door frame, my love.

László

2010-02-11T15:59:00.011-05:00

Manu was so inspired by Laszlo's handywork that he applied the primer that very weekend

László, the plasterer, is such a character that it almost seemed predestined that he work at the Tall House. With an accent as thick as goulash and a vocabulary that hints at an eastern bloc upbringing, "in what commune is this Small Street?", László's humour is dryer than the plaster dust he creates.

Upon discovering my mother-in-law at our house one afternoon, he only briefly acknowledged her presence with a curt "I don't know you" before resuming his business. Now this would be a rather off putting attitude for even the strongest hearted of individuals, but my dear mother-in-law is made of stronger stuff. So although shaken, the poor woman was loath that she would forget her manners, and managed to offer him a cup of coffee. To her utter astonishment, he accepted! As it turns out he is a coffee fiend.

But my dear mother-in-law was unable to locate our coffee stash in the freezer so László was left hanging.

The next morning Manu, trying to make up for the caffeinus interruptus of the previous afternoon, set out all the coffee supplies: a cup, spoon and sugar, along with a note saying that there was milk in the fridge. The stove top coffee maker was primed and ready to go, all Sandor had to do was turn it on. But when Manu returned from work, all was exactly as he had left it.

Manu: László, how come you didn't make yourself some coffee?

László: I don't touch your stuff.

Manu: But I heard you love coffee, I set it all out for you.

László: That's your problem.

While we didn't see much of him during the 8 days he spent painstakingly applying paper thin coats of plaster to our walls, he was a constant subject of conversation at the dinner table as we found his particular slow burn brand of humour tickled our funny bones immensely.

So thanks to László our post blitzkrieg-chic walls are a thing of the past and we have more than a few stories to tell.

We have even invited him back to paint the upstairs bathroom. We like having him around, but hey, that's our problem.

Christmas

2009-12-26T20:05:00.007-05:00

The evidence

The fact that there is no chimney at the Tall House has been the subject of many bedtime chats between myself and our little Superhero.

Little Superhero: What if HE can't make it in, Mummmyyyyy?

Mummmyyyyy: Well, then he'll use the door.

Little Superhero (shaking his head vehemently with panic in his voice): No, nooo cause that would be like stealing!

Well, Santa, being the ingenious fellow that he is, did indeed find a way in. The big guy chose to make his entrance through the skylight in the top floor bathroom. We know this because on Christmas morning, his big brown eyes the size of saucers, our little Superhero himself discovered a torn piece of Santa's coat wedged in the skylight's opening.

Although we are as yet uncertain how this happened, we have discussed it at great length. And the general consensus is that perhaps our favorite man in red sampled one too many cookies while delivering gifts to the previous good boy's and girl's houses, making that opening well, really quite tight.

But what will become of Santa's coat? Well our Little Superhero has hidden away the two precious, ripped pieces for safe keeping until next year. "So that then we can give it back to HIM, and that way Mrs Clause can fix it!"

Of course there were presents under the tree, and stockings, and a feast. But they are already a fading memory. Because this year we discovered that Santa really does exist. A dear little five year old boy holds the proof. And that will never, ever be forgotten.

Merry Christmas everyone, from the Tall House to yours.

Frozen Pipes

2009-12-22T15:58:00.008-05:00

Well, what I saw coming a mile away sadly happened. No amount of panic on my part, seemed to imprint on Manu the importance of getting heat to the basement.

-The pipes are going to freeze.

- No they won't.

Manu, having wisely preferred to live at home during his early adulthood rather than rough it in student apartment squalor, was sadly oblivious to the facility with which pipes in northern climes freeze. The fact that I had all too much experience in this domain didn't sway him in the least.

-The basement bathroom is flanked by two outside walls just like pre-yuppie apartment X, where the pipes froze every winter. And I was LIVING there.

-Maybe so, but OUR pipes won't freeze.

So even when I started waking up at night, descending flashlight in hand into the basement, clad in my PJ's and using my work boots as slippers, to run the water for a few minutes in a vain attempt at preventing the ice from accumulating in the pipes, Manu didn't budge.

-If we re hook-up the wall heater in the bathroom the pipes won't freeze.

-The pipes aren't going to freeze.

But then the temperature took a turn decidedly south. And the block heater finally got relocated to the basement. But it was too late. The pipes froze. And burst.

I was too bummed even to mutter "I told you so". The mess, the money wasted, not to mention the potential can of worms that this little mishap may uncover, squelched any sort of satisfaction I may have had at being right. And Manu's penance was paid ten fold while trying to install temporary valves to cut off the water supply to the basement bathroom.

But next time, I won't wait for a unanimous decision before calling the electrician, plumber or even the damned candlestick maker. From now on, when it comes to averting disaster autocracy rules.

Queen Frozenpipes has spoken.

Second Hand Dust

2009-11-26T11:42:00.006-05:00

The dust clouds behind the plastic sheeting.

The dust, not content to invade every nook and cranny of the Tall House, has branched out to the neighbour's. And they are hopping mad. I must say I can't blame them. It's bad enough for us, but we created it. Nobody wants to have to deal with our second hand dust. Like second hand smoke, second hand dust is extremely irritating mostly because the person on whom it is inflicted has absolutely no say in the matter.

Unfortunately, in all the excitement of last week, we forgot one very crucial element: we didn't warn Daniel and Donald that the bricks needed to be sawed in order to make way for the doors. And of course the weather was unseasonably warm for November, and of course their windows were wide open, and of course that red brick dust went flying through, and of course the damn stuff stains. So most of their weekend, apparently, was spent cleaning up after us.

What pains me the most is that Daniel has been a brick, no pun intended, throughout the whole process, patiently taking all our banging and debris in stride. And of course we adore Donald, he of the Halloween cakes, jams and marmalade. Neither deserve to have their home invaded by the red plague.

So Manu has offered, at least, to help clean up Daniel's terrace and I will try and soften them up with liquor. Not the hard stuff, just a bottle of wine. But I think I'd better make it a good one.

You know that the renovations have taken over your life when...

2009-11-21T14:01:00.004-05:00

Little Superhero (holding up his toy sword): Mummyyyyy, I can't find the scaffolding for my wizard sword.

Mummy: ...

Mummy: Oh, you mean the scabbard.

Little Superhero: Oh yeah, that's what I meant.

Mummy: ...

Little Superhero: ...

Little Superhero: Mummyyyyyyyyy, I knew that. It's just that scaffolding is a word I hear more often.

Mummy: ...

Doors week

2009-11-20T10:49:00.011-05:00

Manu attacking the back door shed

A bonus from the shed: old boards that will be repurposed elsewhere in the house

RIP the shed

The brick having been sawed, the left opening is ready for the door frame

PF and Louis looking rather biblical while they install the first frame

The first door is in! View from the backyard

So much light

They're in!

What a week. I worked away stripping the stairs, I cleaned the exposed brick wall (yet again), Manu and I demolished the small shed off the basement back door, we put up a whole wall's worth of gyp rock... but it all faded into the background because this week was the week that the doors were installed!

Having paid a pretty penny for these lovely portes françaises we happily handed the job over to the very capable hands of Pierre. Mister organization himself, Pierre had the mason lined up the day after we took delivery and as an added bonus our two favorites Louis and PF would be doing the job.

We enjoy Louis and PF's company so much that we tend to forget that they are at the Tall House because we pay them. They are so easy to talk too and such a wealth of knowledge that time tends to slip by as we chat away together. It probably doesn't make for very good accounting but it certainly makes the job so much more fun. And as we are surrounded with friends and acquaintances who have all to many many contractor horror stories to tell, we count ourselves very, very lucky.

So it wasn't at all surprising to see how much the guys shared my enthusiasm for the new doors. That Thursday afternoon when I came home and saw the first door installed they were as excited as I was. And I was excited. My voice went up two octaves, I was jumping up and down, I was flushed, and I must have called Manu about six times. The doors looked incredible. They changed the whole space. They changed the whole house! By this time the guys were jumping up and down too with PF pointing out all the marvels of the state of the art hardware and the solid construction. They lock! They open! They swivel! You'd think we'd won the lotto.

Having decided that they'd had enough excitement for one day, and with the winter daylight hours being as limited as they are, PF and Louis cut out early, leaving me alone to contemplate the wondrous new additions. Because they were just that special, I popped open a bottle of wine and poured myself a glass. And there among the sawdust, the power tools, the sheets of gyp rock and the mess I sat in the thrift store chair and I felt like a queen.

And then I couldn't stand it any longer, I called Manu. Just one more time.

The arrival of the doors.

2009-11-18T14:34:00.010-05:00

The first frame makes its arrival.

The boarded up openings.

Good for keeping people out. Bad for letting sunlight in.

Even as we begrudgingly left our bed at the ungodly hour, dictated by the Princess, of 5:30, we could feel the excitement in the air. The doors were arriving today! The oh so unsightly, ghetto fabulous, boarded up openings would soon be a thing of the past. And in their place would reign our sole real, over the top, luxurious expense. The main floor dynamic duo! The king and queen of portals! The pair of aces! Or, our truly grand french doors.

Because when it came down to it we could have chosen some run of the mill, sliding, big box store, patio door. And to be honest, that was probably what was more in keeping with our budget. We also could have been just slightly reasonable and gone with just one set. But then what would all the sacrifice be for? Perhaps we would have been finished a little sooner. And perhaps we would not have had to do so much ourselves. But despite my recent complaining, we really have been enjoying the process. To be active participants in the making of our dream house makes us extremely proud and is hugely gratifying.

So we splashed out a little, well a lot. We decided against the Payless and went for the Prada. But he Tall House will thank us for it every time we set foot on that floor. And believe me, the old gal is worth it.

A Tall House Primer (or where we are at)

2009-11-13T16:17:00.003-05:00

Click on image to enlarge

The Tall House Tour

2009-11-13T15:46:00.012-05:00

Okay. Its starting to get to us. Well to me mostly, Manu is still holding on strong. I find myself falling asleep at night, fantasizing about a finished house. I miss knowing where to find things. I miss cleanliness. I miss being able to have friends over. I miss having free time. And more importantly, I miss that wonderful, relaxing moment when you walk through the door and that you are greeted by the lovely, calm, soothing interior of home.

And although decorating shows, blogs and magazines offer a modicum of escape they still can't replace that wonderful moment of shear contentment, because "aaaah, you're home".

So never one to give up (and frankly, as one completely obsessed), I went back over the old photos of when we bought the Tall House. And hey, we have come a long way, baby, indeed. For what I saw in those old pictures was scary, and compared to our present conditions, frankly unlivable. Granted there are still holes in the walls, but we have a gorgeous bathroom (95% finished), the kids have really cool bedrooms (again 90-95% finished), we have a flat out fantastic 4Th story landing (my favorite spot, bar-none in the Tall House), we have a very elegant, antique staircase... And that all important main floor is moving ahead slowly but oh so surely.

So, while I find the time to take some pictures of the changes that we have made 'til now, take a look at what we fell hook line and sinker for, or what our house inspector (obviously a man after our own hearts) termed our diamond in the rough.

One of the key selling features, a skylight

The scary 3rd floor toilet

The even scarier 3rd floor bath

One of 4 bedrooms (notice the beautiful, old floorboards)

Another bedroom

The two front rooms that we merged together to create our bedroom(for now)

The 124 year old staircase

Apparently kitchens sell houses. Not in this case.

What one day will be our master bedroom

The crazy wallpaper in the office

The 1st floor entrance

The 1st floor bathroom (now gone)

The front 1st floor front room (now open plan living area)

The 1st floor back room (now open plan dining area)

The stairs leading to the basement

The thankfully now defunct shed

Halloween in disguise

2009-11-09T11:30:00.011-05:00

An art director, a real estate agent and an engineer disguised as drywallers.

The moaning lift

So on a dark and stormy Halloween morning I took the kids to their swimming lessons, while Manu, Fabio and Casanova attacked the dry wall. Armed with an old lift that was badly in need of oiling, the guys toiled away to the not so soothing but oh so fitting soundtrack of moaning metal. The Caz took over as chief of operations, being the only one with experience in the drywall domain. But what the crew lacked in knowledge they made up for in attention to detail. So despite having numerous tasks to tackle at their own dream houses, Fabio and Casanova spent the day at ours, working well past the first trick or treaters visit, making sure our ceiling was perfect.

Halloween on the Small Street is a site to behold. The houses are all decked out for the occasion in cobwebs, tombstones, bats and skeletons. And all manor of little Pirates, Princesses, Spidermen and Doras invade the sidewalks. The Small Street's reputation is such that children are even car pooled in from less magical streets for the occasion. But instead of moans and the rattling of chains, the air is filled with laughter and excited squeals of darling little creatures racing from house to house as their parents cheerily strike up conversations in their wake. Maradonna came by with his daughters, Emilie, looking like a cross between Jane Jetson and a Rockette brought her brood, Rose and her muscle-bound mini-Spiderman made an appearance... But most touchingly Daniel, his eldest daughter Lili and their wonderful tenant Donald stopped by with a basket of home made pumpkin goodies: Pumpkin bread, pumpkin marmalade, pumpkin butter a veritable cornucopia of Halloween goodness.

And although our Little Superhero only visited three houses, he has enough candy to last him until Christmas. For the wonderful young couple who live across the street from us had made super-sized Halloween care packages just for our kids. Two huge bags filled with candies of every description, gum and jellies and chocolate and lollipops - enough to put Willy Wonka to shame! - all tied up with orange ribbon and a pretty little Halloween card.

So this incredible chain of events had me thinking, was it Halloween or Thanksgiving? Because we had a lot to be thankful for indeed.

Emilie

2009-10-28T10:28:00.008-04:00

Down the street, past the Poet's house, lives the incredible powerhouse known to us simply as Emilie. Emilie is the kind of woman that makes most of us wonder what we are all doing with our time. A mother of two small children, Emilie runs her own business, is active at her kids' school, has been the instigator (or in the very least the facilitator) of all manor of community projects AND as if this weren't enough she is now running for Independent Councillor of our Borough.

Despite her "independent" status, Emilie's campaign, like the woman herself, is extremely well organized. She has been everywhere and her posters are omnipresent. So much so that it has spawned a whole slew of questions from our Little Superhero: "Mummy look, there's Emilie on a poster! Look! there's another Emilie... Mummy...how come Emilie is everywhere? Mummy, what is a Borough? Mummy, what's an election?..."

Then after my short explanation, The Little Superhero came to the most extraordinary conclusion "Mummy, Emilie should win. Because she is REAL".

Of course what the little fellow meant was that he knew her and that she was not just a picture on a poster, that to him she was a real person. But the wisdom of five year olds is great. She is real. She speaks like a human being, not a politician. She is completely unencumbered by bureaucracy. And she wants a better neighbourhood for her family to grow up in.

Because she lives here. She has seen first hand the broken swings and slides that her children play on in the neighbouring parks (and she knows what parks to avoid), She has had her heart in her throat when the cars have sped by her house all too quickly while the kids played on the sidewalk, and she has sat up bolt upright in bed in the middle of hot summer nights, completely on edge, having mistaken a car's backfire for yet another shooting in the Hood.

But most importantly she is going to do something about it.

So if you are lucky enough to live in The Hood, this coming Sunday go out and vote for Emilie. You won't regret it. Really.

www.emiliebordat.com

Our Second Wind

2009-10-26T10:56:00.007-04:00

There is nothing like a few sunny days to put everything right and to make the dust clouds disappear. So although we did very little on the house this weekend, the sun has re energized us and given us our second wind. While the Little Superhero and I prepped the exterior for Halloween and the Princess slept in her chariot, Manu took advantage of the time by calculating the amount of sheets of drywall (55!) that need to be ordered for next weekend's bee.

For if all goes right, our matinee idol named crew of two - Fabio and Casanova - will be making an appearance at the Tall House this coming Saturday and Sunday. Taking on the starring roles in Manu's Dry-Wall Installation Extravaganza.

And Hallelujah, Insha'Allah and God bless! The doors should be arriving on the 9Th of November. News that makes our hearts sing and our mouths water in anticipation, because these gorgeous hunks of metal, glass and wood will make all the difference in the world. Down will come the depressing temporary plywood boards and in will pour the cheery, life-affirming daylight. But more importantly, we will see if the finished space will live up to what we have been imagining all these years.

So although there is still a bunch of stuff left to do, we are moving forward. And even though we most certainly will not be finished by Christmas, the space will at least be air tight. And with the walls up, relatively dust free.

The Haunted House

2009-10-25T15:26:00.005-04:00

The great advantage of living in an old house that has been all but abandoned for many years is that it comes pre-decorated for Halloween. Dilapidated victoriana? Check. Old cobwebs? Check. Boarded up, broken panes of glass? Check. For the Tall House's exterior is as much in need (if not more!) of TLC as the inside, but it being the season, we are all too happy to embrace the haunted house look.

So on this beautiful autumn day, out came the burlap clad ghosts, the glow in the dark skeletons, the yellow police tape and the dollar store cobwebs. With The Little Superhero as director of operations, and myself and the Great Chazz (grandma to the stars and purveyor of said Halloween decorations) as his lowly worker bees the Tall House was Bate's Motel worthy in no time flat.

So hear ye! Hear ye! Wee Goblins and Ghouls, pint sized Princesses and little Superheros of all ilk. You are all invited to stop by the Tall House come next Saturday eve. There will be treats aplenty, and shivers guaranteed!

Just don't use the front stairs, they are badly in need of repair.

Uh oh! or The to do list

2009-10-22T16:01:00.012-04:00

We have been working for over five months now on this phase of renovations and quite frankly, I at least, am starting to wonder if we will ever see the end of it. Money is quickly running out and we are finding it more and more difficult to schedule in DIY time in and around our already busy lives. Thankfully the economic downturn has turned out to be a boon for advertising agencies, but it also means that our day jobs sometime have to be night jobs as well. That coupled with the fact that the cooler weather has ushered in cold season at day care, forcing us to play nursemaid at night, hence sapping us of any desire to log in some after hours activity on the first floor. So although not at a standstill the work is certainly creeping forward at a snail's pace.

Here is the somewhat daunting list of what is left to do:

The remaining five metal channels need screwed to the acoustic panels.
The exposed brick on the stair case needs to be cleaned one last time.
The brick sealer must be applied.
The dry wall has to go up.
The plaster work needs to be done.
The duct work for the kitchen fan must be installed.
The brick has to be cut to make way for the French doors.
The French doors have to be hung.
The stairs must be stripped of their paint.
The floors and stairs have to be sanded and stained.
The entrance tiles must be bought.
The entrance needs to be tiled and grouted.
Paint needs to be applied.
Heating needs to be installed.
All the lights need to be installed.
Base boards and crown mouldings need to be installed.
The coat-closet doors still need to be stripped of their paint, sanded, painted and have mirrors installed in the openings. Then they need to be hung.
AND we need to figure out precisely what we are doing with the kitchen.

Somehow it is looking like our Christmas deadline ain't going to happen. But living in the upper forties northern parallels as we do, there are certain things that must be done and soon. The house needs to be airtight and sealed against the elements. And unless we want our beautiful new plumbing to freeze, the base heaters need to be installed ASAP.

So we have no money, no time and we are on a schedule.

Cue the dramatic music, because we appear to be in a bit of a pickle.

Sound proofing

2009-10-19T16:55:00.007-04:00

Now, I would be what Jerry Seinfeld once famously qualified as a low-talker, with a voice that is practically inaudible to anybody over forty. But Manu, on the other hand, has a voice that can be heard across a packed rock venue - with the band playing. Believe me, this is no exaggeration. People have stopped Manu in the street and asked him if he could sing (unfortunately he's tone deaf), just on the strength of his speaking voice. And although, in all honesty this is not the reason why we've gone overboard on the sound-proofing of our future living-room/dining room/kitchen, it certainly is a factor.

The Tall House is actually one of two Tall Houses built side by each some 125 odd years ago. And as was common in construction at the time, the two buildings were erected with brick on the outer walls and nothing but large, wood planks, lath and plaster on the walls between the two structures. One of the first conversations we had with Daniel, our neighbour in the Tall House's twin, was about how the walls were so thin between the two buildings that he could actually hear the previous owner (an older gentleman) when he got up for his nightly tinkle. Well we are all for loving thy neighbour but there are things that we would much rather keep to ourselves. And we reasoned, if Daniel would be woken up by a tinkle, imagine what he would think of crying babies, whooping boys, raucous dinner parties, occasional loud music and an animated Manu?

So the top story got the CIA soundproof treatment: Roxul (insulation batting that is itself fire retardant and soundproof), Sonopan (acoustic panels), plastic sheeting, metal channels and finally gyp rock. A winning combination that has had us living completely complaint free from Daniel, since we moved in two years ago! And seeing as Daniel one of our, shall we say more normal neighbours, we want very much to keep him happy.

So this past Sunday, Manu and I set out to recreate this now tried and true soundproofing technique ourselves, on the main floor. After a few false starts, due mostly to our lack of experience, we finally got our rhythm and managed to complete most of the job by the end of the day. One of the great advantages of working with someone you know so well is that it is easy to anticipate what the other is thinking. That and the fact that you can kiss every once and a while, just to keep the energy up! Manu and I toiled away, so into the task at hand that we didn't even stop for lunch. Measuring and cutting and nailing and taping and caulking our little hearts out. It was only when we stopped that we noticed how much our muscles ached.

And although we will only know down the road if we did in fact do a good job, we did follow our contractor Pierre's instructions to the letter, and the wall sure looks the part. In fact it looks downright spectacular! All decked out in green and red and wrapped in clear plastic, rather like a giant Christmas present. And we chuckled ruefully to ourselves, for that was in fact what it was. Our gift to each other for now and many, many years to come. For there, poured inside those walls, was the fancy watch, the latest lap top, the new car, the trip to Italy...

Oh my god, what where we thinking?

Plumbing

2009-10-14T16:18:00.011-04:00

The beauteous copper pipes. Basement view.

The living room pipes. Gorgeous.

Oh the pressure!

Well it looks like all our scheming and trickery has back fired. Call it karma or just plain bad luck but dear Zio Peter is off the hook. When we first started this phase of renovations we naively thought the only plumbing intervention that would be necessary was a simple hook up beneath the floor for the new kitchen sink and dishwasher. Well, we were sorely, sorely mistaken. As it turns out we have had to redo the plumbing of the entire house save for the fourth floor, and only because we already redid that part two years ago. Oh and not only inside, but on the outside as well.

The Tall House was a mess from top to bottom. Drain pipes were spotted and cracked, water pipes were rusted and deemed a general health hazard, water pressure was decent but could be improved on... Not to mention the impending doom a pipe bursting and the subsequent water damage. Something that we of course were loath to happen once the walls were all closed up.

It took two plumbers three days to complete the job on the inside. While on the outside a separate team (thanks to city bureaucracy) comprised of a back hoe (and of course its driver), a couple of city workers and a city certified plumber replaced the pipes that run underground from the city main to the house.

So 12 000 and some odd dollars later the Tall House has all brand spanking new plumbing. 12 000 dollars that was not budgeted for. And unfortunately 12 000 dollars that was earmarked for the new kitchen.

I would like to say that the new pipes are beautiful and resplendent in all their copper glory, but lets face it they are part of the functional aspect of the house. And bit like having to buy a new iron or a hair dryer (albeit incredibly expensive ones), we sorely wished that we could spend our money on something less, well utilitarian. Something that would make our hearts race whenever we came near it. Something that we could "ooh" or "aah" over.

But now that it is all done and that the money is spent, the security of knowing that the inner workings of the Tall House are pristine and in perfect working order is strangely comforting.

And there is something more. By doing so, we have turned a corner. For we can now proudly say that we, us, Sam and Manu have saved the Tall House. Or that it is, at least taken it out of intensive care. For even though we have a list longer then the house itself of things to do, from now on it is really mostly cosmetic.

And so what if we have to live in a dump for the next few years? We have water pressure that could sandblast paint of a wall.

And hey, isn't it what is on the inside that counts?

My first 40th birthday

2009-09-19T16:00:00.017-04:00

When we first bought the Tall House two years ago, I had naively chosen my 40Th birthday as the date for the renovations to be finished. The party would be HUGE and we would invite all our friends! In my rookie-house-renovator mind two years was ample time to redo a house top to bottom, inside and out. But I hadn't factored in the time constraints of living with young children. There are parks to explore, Pirate ships to accost and of course Super-hero identities to keep secret. The renovations may have stalled a bit, but the two little creatures that fill the Tall House with magic and giggles don't seem to mind in the least.

So two years on and there are holes where ceilings should be and insulation where walls should be. But we have already planned for the party next year. So I will very unoriginally remain 39 for a second year in a row. Or as Manu likes to say: 41 will be the new 40. And although the Tall House will be far from finished the first and third floors will be completed. And they will be lovely.

Manu had very thoughtfully planned for us to take weekend trip away somewhere to visit other Tall Houses in Brooklyn, Boston or Chicago. But I had a hard time justifying spending a small fortune when we were already going through a sizable one on renovations. So we stayed put and I indulged myself by taking the day off from my advertising job to work in the Tall House.

We had found some absolutely stunning doors that had originally belonged in a Parisian apartment. Lord only knows how they made it to The Big City, but they crossed our paths one winter's morning while we were out for a walk. And in probably what was our second biggest impulse buy (after the Tall House itself), we snapped them up then and there. For we saw right away that these stately doors would be the ones to transform our lowly future cloak closet into a work of art. But like most things we fall for (happily, with the exception of each other!), they are falling apart. Decades upon decades of paint and grime need to be removed in order to restore the doors to their former glory.

So as Manu busily prepared the pared down festivities for the evening (only a privileged few are granted access to the Tall House in its present condition), I happily worked away with my scraper and heat gun patiently bringing those doors back to life. And as the sun sparkled through the trees the birthday wishes poured in, with cards and letters and messages and emails. Even The Poet, back in full African regalia, stopped by with a special birthday verse. And my wonderful, crazy mother festooned the dining room with a piñata and an abundance of balloons including a 4 foot Mylar bride that she'd of course purchased because it reminded her of me.

There were flowers, and champagne, and extravagant gifts. And the food was delicious. And the incongruity of the huge helium filled Doras, T-Rexes and my inflatable doppelgänger against the backdrop of plastic sheeting and hole-filled walls, not to mention the fact that this was the decor for a 40Th birthday party, made us laugh until our sides hurt.

And it was a wonderful, wonderful birthday.

All systems go!

2009-09-04T12:26:00.006-04:00

The mighty backhoe

The completed framing for the future patio doors

The ever essential coat closet.

PF on his coffee break. Coffee by Manu.

The Tall House is a veritable hive of activity today. Plumbers plumbing, Electricians de-wiring, PF and Louis erecting walls, not to mention a big honking backhoe tearing up the place.

The backhoe was brought in to dig up the front yard so that we could replace the old lead pipes that stem from the city ducts to our house. But as an added bonus the ugly-beyond-mention brick-a-brack flower container is no more. Money well spent.

Most of the framing has been completed. PF and Louis are magicians and take extreme pride in their work. Because of them we will have beautiful, straight walls (quite a feat seeing as the Tall House is anything but square) not to mention a lovely straight ceiling. For a while we had considered trying to do the framing ourselves but once we were confronted with the geometrical headache that the crooked, stripped walls represented we knew that we were out of our depth. So PF and Louis have been working their magic since Monday, easily accomplishing in 5 days what would surely have taken us a very painful 3 weeks.

Manu also spent two half days (and a few nights) working alongside them doing the grunt work: insulating some walls, lining others with black paper, cleaning up, even getting coffee. And although the work is hard, I can tell that Manu is having the time of his life, taking great pride in his unofficial apprenticeship with two masters of their trade.

The patio doors

2009-08-31T13:25:00.014-04:00

The inspiration, minus the chandelier

We finally ordered the two sets of french doors that will lead to the back yard. God, for the time it took us to reach our decision one would think that we were redesigning the Taj Mahal. It would be but a slight exaggeration to say that pretty much every window manufacturer in the city had the dubious honor of bidding on the Tall House's rear portals. Modern doors, classic doors, wood doors, aluminum doors, doors with transoms, doors without, black doors, white doors, name it, we have a quote for it.

Now we pride ourselves on (pretty much) knowing what we want. But in this case it took us forever to figure it out. It's funny how one can spend years imagining a space, obsessing about it even, and still hesitate when it comes time to chose the final materials. It was as if we were conscious that our decision would forever change the Tall House and that we needed to make sure that it would be for the better.

That and of course, money. During one of our many visits to countless showrooms we fell hook, line and sinker for the most beautiful doors we had ever seen. Tall, dark, and exceedingly elegant they had our hearts racing and our mouths watering. French doors in all senses of the word, these beautiful panels of glass and wood seemed to have been taken straight out of a chic Parisian apartment or Provençal villa. They had the capacity to elevate any space and we dearly wanted them in ours. Our quest was over.

Then the quote came back. The doors were a good $5000 more than any of the others we had seen. For a while, we actually considered it. "We could cut else where", we reasoned. "Worse come to worse we would put the $5000 on the line of credit, it would be paid back within a year"... I actually stayed up at night thinking about those doors, worrying about the money. Because I knew all too well that spending that little bit extra now would start a financial hemorrhage that we would no longer be able to keep in check. Those doors would lead to the most expensive heating system, which would lead to the most custom of custom kitchens, which would lead to...

And neither of us has the time to work a second job.

Then something wonderful happened. We went back to the showroom and were shown very much the same doors but in a man made material as opposed to wood. And they were gorgeous. They were also within our budget. Our only sacrifice would be that the doors couldn't be the whole 104 inches high, we would have to have a transom.

So at least now, as we wait for the 12 weeks it takes for the doors to be manufactured, it will be the anticipation that will keep me up at night and not the worry.

Night Shift

2009-08-17T11:29:00.004-04:00

Because our budget is so limited we have to do what ever we can to stretch it. This week that meant ripping out the narrow hardwood floor boards in order to expose the wide planks of the sub-floor below. This is the same flooring that we previously restored on the top story to spectacular results. It is a painfully frustrating and slow process, with three nights work only uncovering about a third of the surface. It is also the first project that has truly tested our resolve as the work could only start after we put the kids to bed. So each night last week after 8:30, we would grudgingly don our dusty work gear and armed with crowbars and hammers descend to the first floor.

Although we've had a wet, cold summer so far, things had heated up considerably last week which caused us to work with both front doors open as well as all the windows. Despite the late hour, these open doors were all the invitation that our neighbours needed to pay a social call. Merv from down the street, who has been restoring his house since long before we moved in, stopped by with one of his helpers to compare notes. And Maradonna himself, a little unsteady from a few too many post hard-days-work libations made an appearance, sagely entering through the front door this time, and exuberantly shook Manu's hand, seemingly truly impressed by all the work that had been done since his last visit.

As dirty and sticky and fed up as we were, this one man drunken cheering section spurred us on. And despite the sweat streaming down our noses and our terrible lack of visibility we kept on for several more hours that night, content in the knowledge that our hard work was really and truly paying off.

The Beam

2009-08-05T17:06:00.010-04:00

Ever since we bought the Tall House, we have always envisaged the first floor as being one big, beautiful, open space. But never once did it cross our minds that the simplicity of having no walls would end up being so complicated. The Tall House being so, well... tall, needs extra support on the lower floors if it is to remain standing once those walls come tumbling down. Enter the 35 foot, hundred pound per linear foot Grand Pooba of beams.

Like the kings of yore who would send their courtiers to prepare the castle for their arrival, The Beam too had a retinue of its very own: Pierre our ever trustworthy contractor, PF his exceptionally talented senior tradesman, and Louis the newest member of his crew. It took Pierre and his men two whole days to prepare for the Beam's arrival. Cement footing was poured in the basement, floor joists were reinforced, other various small beams were installed not to mention a truckload of temporary steel supports as well as five Genie Lifts that would eventually raise The Beam to its final resting place, the first floor ceiling.

So when that Wednesday was finally upon us the excitement was palpable. Our hearts raced a little faster and the children, as if sensing our anticipation never really made it to the breakfast table that morning, preferring instead to streak around the living room screaming at the top of their little lungs. Even Pierre and his crew, usually so discreet, were talking just a little bit louder that day.

And then It arrived. As was befitting its stature, the Beam made its entrance onto the Small Street with great pomp, on the back of an extremely large flatbed trailer. With an entourage of its own courtesy of the steel company as well as its own master welder, the Beam left no doubt as to its importance, in case the indicator of size was not evidence enough. Never ones to miss out on a spectacle, the residents of the Small Street too, were out that day to greet and pay homage to the Beam, lining the side walk and gossiping excitedly amongst themselves.

Then with nary a trumpet sounding nor even a car horn beeping, the Beam was quickly and quietly lifted from the truck and within minutes its nose was already through the front door. Sensing that things would move rather slowly after that we regretfully wrenched ourselves away from the scene, Manu to catch a plane to The Other Big City and me to go to my office, thankfully just a few blocks away.

Although, I'd promised myself I would wait, I could barely contain my excitement by noon. So by 12:07 precisely I was climbing the exterior steps of the Tall House. And there it was all 35 feet of it, the welding finished and everything, fully installed and holding up the house forever more.

As I stood there quietly watching the men continue to take down the temporary columns I could finally see it all coming together. My eyes welled up as future Christmases and birthdays flashed before them and the sounds of laughter from upcoming family dinners filled my ears. And that's when I finally knew that we had been right all along, that the Tall House truly was as beautiful as we had always imagined. And that it was our Home.

Dust

2009-08-05T11:39:00.003-04:00

Before embarking on this whole adventure, we had only a casual relationship with dust. Although far from being neat freaks, we are lucky enough to have help in the cleaning department. So up until a few months ago dust was only something that accumulated briefly at the end of the week before Manon, our cleaning fairy would come and magically make it all disappear. But now despite Manon's infinite talent, dust is everywhere. It sneaks in between the floorboards and through the cracks around the door jam, it even comes in uninvited through the windows...

We are in fact now so familiar with the stuff that we have actually learned that there are indeed different kinds of dust. There is the everyday-living-in-the-city variety, thin and fluffy. There is the fine white dust that comes from plaster and lath. And then there is the evil black dust, the Darth Vader of airborne matter, that is forming its own mind meld on the residents of the Tall House and causing us all to freak out, just a little. The black stuff is insidious yet seemingly unstoppable. And despite a thorough cleaning of the floors late last night, still caused our two little angels' feet to turn black by breakfast.

Needless to say we can't wait for the black plague to have passed, and are fervently hoping that once The Beam is installed that we will have seen the last of it.

Suddenly plaster dust is looking really, really good.

Zio Peter

2009-07-28T22:02:00.011-04:00

Manu, being Italian has all manner of relatives and near relatives in and around the construction business. His Zio Gino is a house painter, Gino's longtime partner is a master plasterer, there are distant in-laws who manufacture windows, and most importantly there is his Zio Peter, who is a plumber. If we're to have any hope at all of finishing the first floor near our targeted budget, we absolutely need dear Peter to give us a hand. The thing is Peter is now retired and while he often takes on small contracts, he does so begrudgingly and only if they are to be executed within a stones throw of his bungalow. There lies the rub. For the Tall House is a good twenty minutes drive from Zio Peter's and certainly way, way out of his comfort zone. For Peter lives in The Paese, the Italian part of town where stone lions greet you at the entrances of white bricked triplexes and where salciccia are still lovingly made in the cantina and where il vino (or some semblance there of) is still brewed in il garage. Interestingly, Peter was able to leave, at the tender age of 12, his tiny native Calabrian village and set forth alone to a better life, an ocean away, in the New World. But he is now loath to set foot but a single block outside of his neighbourhood.

Peter is a whiz with his hands but tends to shoot off at the mouth far too often and because of this is the subject of some ridicule from The Famiglia. But despite this or perhaps because of it, he is dearly loved and forever the subject of family chatter.

Now, being Italian is governed by rules of behaviour that even after eleven years of communal living (and six years of marriage) escape me. Great and everlasting offence has been taken because an aunt did not suitably appreciate a particular dish of pasta. And people have been written out of wills for not saying goodbye with the proper etiquette. But the most cardinal of rules remains: "thou shalt always help any family member in need". The fact that Peter has chosen to ignore this rule has caused a modicum of tension between Peter and his sister, my mother in law. But Peter is staying put and no amount of begging or cajoling will change his mind.

Zio Peter though, has sorely underestimated the brilliance that is Manu. Like a hunter methodically setting a trap for his prey, Manu has patiently been laying the groundwork for poor Peter to have no choice but install the first floor plumbing in The Tall House. For Peter's downfall is simple: its not the love of money (god knows we've offered!) but the art of the DEAL. Ever since I've known him Peter has been selling used bicycles, tires, scrap metal or plumbing parts all for his sole enjoyment rather than for the additional income. And so one day when Manu had managed to lure his uncle to the Tall House, Peter noticed we had a whole bathroom suite to sell that was barely 10 years old(!). Well, kryptonite comes in various shapes and sizes and in Peter's case it has taken on the appearance of a Kohler toilet. For Peter is in the process of brokering a deal to sell the whole set. Manu, playing dumb, has told him that he wants Peter to take care of the transaction. Peter will then pocket the money which Manu will of course refuse to take and then Badabing! Under the sacred code of Italian ethics Peter will owe Manu, Big Time. And voila, without knowing what hit him, Peter is now our plumber.

Grazie carissimo Pietro.

Hurry up and wait

2009-07-20T11:54:00.017-04:00

Although the first phase of renovations was little more than two years ago, we had already forgotten the amount of down time there is in the remodelling process.

Even before allotting a job, the various trades have to be briefed (which depending on the size of the job can take up to an hour and a half) then it generally takes at least a week for them to arrive at a quote, then in all likely hood they have other jobs lined up... Apparently patience is a learned virtue. Well, we must be in the midst of the master class.

At the moment we are waiting on quotes from two electricians and three door manufacturers. The electric work in The Tall House is creative to say the least so we expect this to eat up a sizeable amount of our budget. So too will the two sets of french doors leading to the backyard which no matter how many concessions are made still apparently have to be custom built.

The event that thrills us the most is the impending installation of a mammoth 35 foot structural beam that will enable us to completely open up the first floor. Being no body's fools we are well aware that this job is way out of our league so we have brought out the big guns and hired no other than Pierre our contractor from the previous stage of renovations. Pierre is extremely talented and we trust him blindly but he is expensive. So while it would be so much simpler to hand over the whole job to him, we can't afford it. So for now we have struck up a deal where upon he acts as a consultant for an hourly wage and when the task is just to tricky we hire him and his men for specific tasks.

The steel beam has to hold up the top two stories of the house, so it will be a MOTHER. At 35 feet long and 14 inches thick, it will weigh over a hundred pounds per linear foot and take a week to install. And of course there are other various mini beams that have to be added under floors, over stair cases as well as a few steel columns in the basement. A tornado could touch down on the Tall House and it wouldn't move. Pierre and his gang will start on Monday, August 3rd at 7am sharp. It promises to be quite a show.

So while we have been waiting for this (yet again) mystical date, Manu has been spending most Friday afternoons and Saturday mornings continuing the demo work. For it seems that one can never open up enough. The basement ceiling had to be taken down in order to make the rewiring simpler, the non structural walls on the first floor had to be cleared out and most exciting of all, the wall separating the upper floors from the lower ones has to be removed. Manu has been wonderful about it, never once complaining about missing out on time at the park with the kids, or about having to do the work alone. He also looks really cute in his handyman outfit.

Poetry in motion

2009-07-05T14:34:00.004-04:00

The flowers, candles and cards have been taken away and the shrine is no longer. But like the unease of The Small Street's residents, the melted candle wax is still stubbornly sticking to the sidewalk as a reminder of that terrible event.

As if to counteract this bad Juju, our neighbors, each in their own way have been making an extra special effort to beautify the Small Street. The Parishioners have planted flowers along the side of the Pentecostal church with the Rev himself, still in his suit and tie, lending a hand. Even Monsieur L. who's purely vintage house hasn't seen a repair in the last 50 years is finally redoing his front steps. Not to mention the numerous other neighbors who have been dotingly improving their front gardens or facades.

But by far the most glorious change of all is our Great Poet's new lounge ware. The already spectacular orange Caftan has been replaced by a red and gold silk kimono which the Poet, perhaps afraid of erring on the side of subtlety, pairs quite jauntily with a leopard print fur hat. Needless to say, the effect is arresting. And when the shining sun dances off his robe it gives him an other worldly glow that he will surely tell you is due to the fact that he is a POET and therefore deserves to shine. Interestingly though, this new attire has rendered him quite a bit less verbose, as if he is aware that if such a striking figure were to spontaneously break out in rhyme that it would altogether be too much for us mere mortals. So as we wait for the poems to return his lips, we are content to admire him from afar as the mere sight of him brings a smile to our lips.

The Shrine

2009-06-18T22:10:00.015-04:00

Around the corner from The Small Street, at the end of the next block is a little makeshift shrine in honor of the young man who died there in the wee hours of Monday morning. Two ridiculously young men, one 25 and the other 22 riddled the street with bullets trying to take each other out. The 25 year old died from a shot to the head while the 22 year old is in hospital with leg wounds.

As I drove by the shrine on my way back from dropping off the kids at school, I couldn't help wondering how they felt when they pulled the trigger. Where they shaking? Where they scared? Two men barely out of childhood blindly peppering the street and surrounding cars with bullets. Was it the fear that spurred them on? Did they even for a moment wish that they were safe at home in their beds listening to the soft breath of loved ones near by? Or did they fancy themselves the heroes of a John Singleton movie? Worst of all, when that final bullet hit home did they realize, too late, that this was indeed real life and that they had just made the most monumental of monumental mistakes?

And in those last seconds did either of those boys think of their mother's screams of anguish or of their father's tears? Did they wish to take it all back so that they could feel their girlfriend's kiss one last time? Did they think of the emptiness that death would create in their best friend's heart? And what if they had children? How many nights would those little ones cry themselves to sleep before realizing that their daddy wasn't ever, ever coming back?

And as I thought of all this, I stopped the car. For I too, a complete stranger, was crying.

Aromatherapy 2

2009-06-14T11:32:00.011-04:00

There won't be much growing in the backyard of The Tall House, save for the mounds of debris, for the next few years. But just a few minutes walk away from The Small Street, at The Market, amongst the displays of over priced vegetables and hot-house grown plants, a rather shy, very academic looking gentleman tends the most magical of stalls. Appearing for our enjoyment only on weekends, his simple cafeteria style table is always filled with the most beautiful, seasonal blooms with nothing more than a handwritten piece of paper scotch-taped to the side of buckets to indicate the price. Right now, $4 can buy you a beautiful bouquet of lilly-of-the-valley, $7 a large bunch of peonies or if you really want to splash out $25 will buy you the whole bucket. So while we ply away at the first floor, the upper stories can rejoice in the wondrous smells of those freshly cut flowers, making the ever permeating plaster dust just a little easier to take.

Demolition Week

2009-06-13T12:06:00.025-04:00

Demolition is dirty, disgusting, back-breaking, not to mention painful work. And we loved every minute of it. Maybe its because we are used to days with comparatively little physical activity or maybe because it went far better than either of us had ever thought to hope, but we were positively floating with pride that whole week. Oh, we were in pain, and there were some nights that our arms were so heavy that we couldn't even muster the strength to lift them. Not to mention the black goop that would come dripping out of our noses and that had certainly invaded our lungs. But we were doing it! We were finally (WE! US!) working on the house. Amazingly the majority of the work was done in the first two days. Within that time we had managed to knock down all the walls save for the bathroom as well as uncover the ceiling in the front room. The part that we weren't so sure about was how to get all the debris out of the house and into the large waste container that was parked in the yard. Manu rented some scaffolding so that we could build a bridge from the window to the container. But to move the more than two feet worth of debris would take the two of us days.

Then on the 3rd day the cavalry arrived, quite literally through our back window, in the shape of our most colorful of colorful neighbors, a loud-mouthed, gold-hearted, old school mannered legend on the street if there ever was one named Maradona. Now be it either out of pity for Manu "You're working with YOUR WIFE???!!", as a marketing ploy (Maradona is in construction), or simply out of the kindness of his heart, Maradona volunteered not only his services but also those of two of his hangers on. Within four hours they had cleared all the debris out of the house and into the soon brimming 40 yard bin out back. After a few slices of pizza and a beer on our front stoop off they went onto the next job reentering our house again in order to leave as they had arrived, super-hero style, through back window.

The other angel of note that day was no less a personage than The Don himself. The Don's legendary status spreads much wider than The Small Street, The Don being a person of renown among the famous, the not so famous as well as the infamous of The Big City. The Don is also Manu's second cousin and our Little Superhero's godfather. A prince among men capable of endearing himself to even the most cold hearted of beings, The Don loves the good life and everything that goes with it. He is the only person we know who will bring a homemade picnic lunch to friends "on the inside" one weekend and be off to the Hamptons the next. He is also the last person you would expect to see on a construction site. He arrived that 3rd morning in his "work attire" designer jeans (Zegna Sport!), a lime green polo (Lacoste!) and a black baseball cap (Mercedes!). But despite appearances The Don worked his designer clad ass off beside Manu as they stripped the remaining two ceilings and started in on the bathroom.
Day 4 and 5 were perhaps the most difficult as the compounded movements had our muscles begging for mercy. But we kept at it, albeit at a much slower pace. And eventually, as the last walls came down we started to see that The Tall House was living up to its promise, that it would indeed be as beautiful as we had hoped. Funnily enough though, when the end drew near that Friday afternoon and we turned our newly purchased ShopVac off for the final time, we found ourselves searching those bare walls for pieces that we had forgotten in the strange hope of somehow prolonging the experience. But then we realized that this was just the beginning.

The first visit

2009-06-03T09:16:00.012-04:00

Well, Christmas actually came a little bit early: on the 31 of May to be exact. We had spent the day at a dear friend's son's 1st birthday party where the children, fueled by cupcakes, had spent hours running (more like flying, there were a LOT of cupcakes!) around a parc. Fearfull of the impending meltdown that the inevitable crash from the sugar high would bring, we decided to try and convince the kids to leave and have a nap.

Mummy: Okay, shall we go home for naps?

Little Superhero: But Mummmmmmmy, I don't want to go!

Mummy (feeling guilty about the bribe, but doing it nonetheless): We could go and see the other half of The Tall House, the Tennant said she would leave the keys in the mail-box.

Little Superhero: Okay Mummy lets go! HURRY UP!! Aaaach, you guys are taking FOREVER!!!

And so, our first visit as a family was exactly as we had hoped. The children, although exhausted, did indeed chase each other around those beautiful, beat-up empty rooms and their laughter filled the house as Mummy and Papa started to realise, just a little, the immensity of the task that they were about to undertake.

Before

2009-06-02T13:44:00.009-04:00

Looking down the front hall onto The Small Street.

What will soon be an open space.

The view from the front door.

The living room. This wall is coming down.

The front living room window.

The future dining room. The window will be french doors.

The future kitchen. This window will also become french doors.

The back wall looking out onto the yard.

The Small Street

2009-05-29T13:20:00.014-04:00

The warm weather brings more than hallelujahs to The Small Street. It also brings all manner of tradesmen, scaffolding, and the constant whirring of power tools as our neighbours too work on their dream houses. The winds of gentrification are sweeping over the Small Street with a gale force, but it is the original residents that give it its character.

There is an old stone Pentacostal church on the corner that still boasts a very active congregation, and if you are lucky enough to walk by it on a Sunday morning you will hear the very souleful sounds of the church's gospel choir as they too bring Hallelujahs to The Small Street. The congregation often holds fundraising car washes during the summer, where a mere five dollars will buy you not only a (mostly) clean car but a good half hour of lovely island-accented banter as the neither young, nor particularly athletic members of the flock gamely hobble about, hoses in hand, good naturedly reminding each other that they "ain't what they used to be". Interestingly enough, most of these church goers seem to have left The Neighbourhood, preferring to seek a better life in newer parts of the city, proof positive that one man's ruin is another man's castle. These lovely souls are in the hands of a very personable reverend. A man who is no slouch in the style department, the Rev can often be seen on the Small Street, impeccably dressed, even during the dog days of summer, in a black suit, black shirt and black tie, entering and exiting his very large, VERY gold Cadillac. The Rev's wife shares his sense style and often jauntily sports a large plumed hat for Sunday mass. We can see her holding court on the sidewalk after the service from our living room window, judiciously left ajar in the hopes of enticing even more Hallelujahs into The Tall House.

A few doors down from the church lives Mister W. or the Mayor as we like to call him, an eighty year old-ish irish catholic who pretends to be a crotchety old bugger but really has a heart of gold. Proud as a peacock and stubborn as a mule Mister W must have been quite a terror in his day but now his declining health keeps him close to home. A fixture on the Small Street if ever there was one, Mister W spends his days standing guard outside his house ready to strike up a conversation with any one who has the time to stop. The only problem being that Mister W is deaf as a post, which makes the conversations rather one sided albeit well worth it for anybody interested in the lore of the Small Street, not to mention choice gossip about all the current residents. On the really hot days Mister W will often fall asleep on his front stoop, legs akimbo on the stairs, seemingly dead to the world which invariably causes panic amongst the neighbours. Thankfully, Mister W is a very capable snorer and rarely naps too long in silence, much to our collective relief.

Mister W's arch nemesis is his neighbour Monsieur L, a very dapper gentleman in his 70s, Monsieur L is the Ying to Mister W's Yang. Despite living side by side for years (or perhaps because of this) Mister W and Monsieur L refuse to speak to each other. Nobody remembers why this is, least of all Mister W and Monsieur L, but they seem to enjoy it, as they both while away the summer days standing guard outside their respective doors scowling at each other. We know very little about Monsieur L as he mostly keeps to himself. Except for during the christmas holidays when he proudly dons his prized fox fur coat and fox head hat. Now Mister L is rather a large man rendered even larger by the thickness of the fur coat, but the pride he takes in this otherwise comical outfit is touching beyond belief. That old fox must have been a magical beast for it completely transforms our dear Mister L. He preens like a veritable peacock during those holiday weeks as he cheerily wishes all the neighbours the very best. And we gratefully and happily return those wishes both to him and his fox.

The Small Street even has its own poet: a toothless, scrawny, but strangely elegant 87 year old man whose day job was as a baggage carrier for Air Canada. The Poet too can be found holding court outside HIS house, a tiny little victorian capped by a beautiful, if rather incongruously ornate turret. We are unsure whether his title is self-proffered or not, humility being a trait that is quite foreign him, but he is known amongst the residents of The Small Street as The Poet Laureate. Often dressed in full African garb replete with Juju stick, the Poet looks more like a witch doctor than a man of letters. A man with many ex-wives and even more children, our Poet actually has two daughters with the same firstname, a fact that he has proudly mentioned on more than one occasion. Although born long before the birth of rap, The Poet will spontaneously rhyme on any given subject, oblivious to the time constraints of the non-poets that he accosts. Because as he says so well himself "that's what we poets do".

So if ever you happen to be in The Neighbourhood, particularly on a Sunday, take a swing by The Small Street. You will be greeted by island accented banter, rhymes, hallelujahs and of course the high pitched whirr of power tools. And you will see too, that it is a most wonderful place to live.

Christmas in June

2009-05-27T13:44:00.004-04:00

Like the Christmases of our childhood, June 1st looms large on our calendar as the most magical of days. Our plan for that first evening is to have a picnic supper in what will eventually be our new kitchen. We are counting on the fact that the kids will doubtfully be able to stay still for very long. And with any luck within a very short time their squeals of delight as they chase each other around the empty rooms will fill the air, giving notice to those old walls that The Tall House is finally ours. All ours.

Aromatherapy

2009-05-15T10:52:00.005-04:00

The Tall House is full of surprises. Beside the ruin that we rather euphemistically refer to as our front staircase is an incredibly hideous weekend-handyman-special of a flower container. This box is so ugly that we have had to restrain ourselves more than once from impetuously hacking away at it. But for about 10 days out of the year this eyesore is the most beautiful part of the house. For during the first few weeks of May the planter is filled with the most delicious smelling lily-of-the-valley in full bloom. The headiness of their aroma somehow makes us forget the decrepit old exterior facade and we tend to linger a little longer outside as we lovingly admire the beautiful features of the Tall House and marvel just a little bit more at its incredible potential.

Hallelujah!

2009-04-14T13:25:00.002-04:00

Hallelujah-on-a-bicycle drove by today spreading the gospel of spring to all residents of The Small Street. We don't know Hallelujah from Adam but he brings us great joy. A reed thin black man with a rather unruly beard, Hallelujah cuts quite a figure pedalling along on his beat-up old bicycle. And on warm days, when the hallelujahs float through the wide open windows of The Tall House it makes it seem like its the most beautiful place in the world.It is also the single most important reason why we will never get air conditioning. Hallelujah!

The plan

2009-04-08T15:54:00.016-04:00

Okay so here's the thing. We know we're nuts but we do have a plan. Really. Well, sort of.

Our dear tenant will be leaving on the 1st of June. The wait has overstayed its welcome and we are ready to move on. There is so little that we remember about that part of the house. The late 80's reno job is nothing but a foggy memory in our sleep deprived parents-of-young-uns brains. Is there a hardwood floor under the carpet? Are there any original architectural features left? What are the mouldings like? How about the view? The electrical is newer, but is it as funky as in the rest of the house? And the plumbing? All will become clear on that glorious June day.

Once we have taken stock the real fun will finally begin. The biggest lesson learned from our previous stage of renos is that professionally done demo jobs don't come cheap. We paid $7500 to have our fourth floor stripped. So this time around we will be doing it ourselves. A whole two weeks of our precious annual holiday time has been allotted to this task. Apparently wielding a sledgehammer is therapeutic. With any luck we will come out of this experience with the serenity of the Dalaï Lama, although I know of very few Buddhist monks who are in the construction business.

We do have preliminary architectural drawings for the main floor but nothing has been finalised yet. And seeing as we are trying to keep costs down in this phase we will try and find our own solutions. In keeping with the times, the whole space will be open concept except for a minuscule powder room and a large closet (young children have a LOT of stuff). Here's the conundrum: seeing as the house has a rather small footprint of about 700 square feet per floor, finding a place for even the most minute of powder rooms is no easy task. Put it near the entrance way and it will be mistaken for a coat closet, put in in the back of the house and it eats into the kitchen space, put it near the dining area and run the risk of people being to embarrassed to use it during mealtimes... it is a problem that even our esteemed architect was unable to solve. But there is nothing like a blank canvas (or an empty shell) to inspire one. And although we have no pretensions of being Mies Van der Rohe, we do art direct for a living. Could laying out a page be so different from laying out a floor plan?

Even though the money is limited, we have budgeted for a few key elements: plumbing and electricity will be left to the professionals as will all the structural work. And lucky for us our contractor Pierre has agreed to act as a consultant whenever we feel that we are truly out of our depth.

So... is it June yet?

Prologue

2009-04-06T20:00:00.002-04:00

We bought a house. Well a duplex actually. A long, tall, beautiful, four story victorian dream. It was decrepit, it was falling apart, it was everything we were looking for. With a naiveté fueled by too many hours watching home renovation shows, we hired a great architect and drew up a wish list. New windows! A wine cellar! Skylights! 3 bathrooms! New kitchen! Move the stair case! New balconies! New brickwork! Landscaping! It was going to be breathtaking. It was going to be fabulous. It was going to be four times our budget.

Yet our dream remained intact, it would just be achieved in stages. Intent on doing things right, we hired a general contractor and watched from the sidelines as the fourth story was transformed from something out of the Blair Witch project to something more reminiscent of a Greenwich Village brownstone.

We were thrilled but broke. Our $125 000 had bought us one story replete with new plumbing and electrical, a raised ceiling and newly insulated roof, replaced an old skylight, rid us of an old shed in the back yard and afforded us some new brick work. A drop in the bucket as the house is still falling apart.

We had blown our entire budget and then some. As we planned our next move, we laid low for a year, had our second child and hoped that all the good vibes from our loving family would somehow rub off on the house. Well, love may conquer all, but it knows diddly about living in a ruin.

We were ready for the next phase. We gave our tenant notice, doubled up on reno shows, devoured decorating magazines, scoured the internet for DIY renovation tips and planned our vacation around the demo work. Not to mention an entire FOUR MONTHS experience watching how the pros had renovated the fourth floor.

We could do it too, right?