Prior to my sixteen-year career as an educator, in the Laytonville Unified School district, I spent exactly half that length of time toiling in the trades. I worked first with a couple of my brothers, and then later with either my brother-in-law, Rob, or Davy, who had migrated to Laytonville in the eighties.
During this period of time, I learned how to frame structures, up to and including sealing them for winter conditions. I was a good carpenter but not a good businessman. That’s why I stuck to a time and materials formula, and eschewed the idea of making a profit on my endeavors.
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| This was then... |
Though I could frame a house, work with concrete, including cinder block and river rock, and I could do so comfortably, I spent little time doing interior finish work. First, most folks up on the mountain are pretty down-to-earth, so most figured they were up to finishing the inside of their new homes, on their own.
Second, It’s challenging to say the least, to do quality work where imperfections are unacceptable, and do it at a cost that does not bankrupt the customer. Compared to framing houses, where every day the march of progress can clearly be seen, finish work is a slow crawl, with each step proceeding incrementally slower.
Finally, the need to provide the customer with a reasonable time-frame, is a tricky business, particularly when you are dealing with a remodel. There is no way to predict the kind of time-consuming issues that may arise, so to a certain extent, you always go in blind.
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| One coat of mud, with two to go... |
Now in the late autumn of my wood-working days, I have seen the light! I have discovered the sheer joy of taking chaos, and converting it into order, the classic Virgoan task. I am making improvements to my own home, that resonate with the old axiom, “The shoemaker’s kids always go barefoot.”
When I built my home originally, I was doing so simultaneously with my day job, which was building homes for others. Not only did I have little extra time available, I had even less money.
And then I became an educator, where my first year as a full-time language arts teacher, I made just over $18,000.00.
As long as our home was weather-tight and comfortable, we went without the frills that accompany a “Better Homes and Garbage” palace. The best I could do, metaphorically speaking, was put out fires as they cropped up. Only the loudest of the squeaky wheels received my attention, and at that, the supply of axel grease was depressingly low.
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| Is there a problem? |
For starters the laundry room door has been a curtain for thirty-five years; ask me if I care. In fact ask me if I care about any of the following:
Having no light switch for either the laundry room or the downstairs bathroom. Pull-chains were preferable because who knew how to install light switches?
Light switches? We haven’t even had a light in the laundry room, the past ten years, give or take. When the pull-chain light gave out after a decade or so, I replaced it. When it gave out the second time, I never got around to replacing that fixture. Electrical was something I never messed with, except for pulling Romax through the holes I had drilled in the studs, so that the electrician could do his thing.
Having a washing machine that only functions when a hose is stuck through the window from outside, an electrical cord is strung out from the generator to the laundry room window, and then inside, and the drain is in place for the gray water to flow out that same window, onto the side of a hill. Anything beats the heck out of going to town to wash clothes.
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| No pain, no gain. |
Not having a dishwasher. I have never lived in a home with a dishwasher, and at 65, have no plans to alter this. I am floored by the social media meme which inquires, incredulously enough, “Does anyone still wash dishes by hand?” I do. That awkward moment when I think negative thoughts towards an obvious twit.
Staring at bare dry-wall and joint compound tracks on the wall of the laundry room, because I never squeezed in the time to finish the interior. Heck, the laundry room has served as the designated smoking room for this past decade; the walls may be ugly but they are friendly and welcoming.
I work as many hours daily on this current project, as I possibly can. I have the unwavering support of Gluten-Free Mama, despite the fact that the arena is a constructo jungle. I do clear the floors of dust and debris each day, but the place is still a wreck.
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| The shower unit lying on its side before installation. |
Oh, and did I mention? For the first time in 35 years, GF Mama will no longer have to drag an extension cord into the bathroom, from another part of the house, to dry her hair.
We have an electrical outlet in the bathroom!
Looking good, brother!
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