Home "improvements"

We had a realtor come to the house Monday.

Do not look for a FOR SALE sign soon.

We are conflicted. . . as well we should be living and raising a family in this house these past 20 years. Nevertheless, whatever the outcome, my date and I have both agreed -- there are things that need updating around the Nine-One-Four. And so we have new floors, countertop, appliances.

We tackled the living room shutters this weekend. Or they tackled us, depending on how you look at it.

The living room shutters came with the Nine-One-Four -- in all their rockin' 70s glory -- back in 1992 when we bought the joint. They were part of a package that included shag carpet (I know, I know, some would say shag is back -- but not this kind of shag, trust me), orange laminate, wall paper-matching valances (avocado and orange -- boom!) and a tumored-encrusted cocker spaniel with booger eyes.

Actually the cocker spaniel did NOT come with the house. He belonged to the Incredibly Dour Lady Lawyer renting the Nine-One-Four at the time of purchase. He was thankfully removed from the house when we finally moved in.

Over the years, we have mostly tamed the our little Lost-in-the-Seventies cottage. I've even documented a couple of these sorties here. But the shutters remained. . . until this weekend.

These were not Pottery Barn-type shutters. They were 70s shutters -- tight, narrow and impossible to clean. Grimy, stained (don't ask) and a mausoleum to numerous dead insects (don't judge), these shutters also refused to open uniformly -- with at least a half dozen slats always going the opposite direction of the others when we attempted to bring a little more light into the living room.

Can you feel the shutter love here?

And so it was I had a vision:  The windows flanking the fireplace are tall and narrow -- how 'bout one curtain panel, some curtain rings (for that Hip Metro Look, right?) and a simple, understated curtain rod?

How 'bout not.

It took me weeks to find the right curtain rod and curtain panels -- located, of course, 30 minutes away at a big-box store on the far north side of town. And, so, finally, Saturday was designated for the big install.

It took about 45 minutes of my date wrangling with the Nine-One-Four's near-impenetrable lathe-and-plaster walls to get the first curtain up -- and to determine it was all wrong.

There was marital terseness. ** sound of crickets **

We then ditched the curtain rings, Hip Metro Look and tried two curtain panels simply gathered on the rod.

Much better. The sun came out, birds sang. . . .

And I got in the car and made the 30-minute drive to the big-box store on the far north side town to get two more curtain panels.

The second rod went up, the first panel attached and. . .

The second panel was. . .

too short.

About 21 inches too short.

** more crickets, please **

The packaging earnestly tried to convince us
both panels were each 84 inches.

At this point, my date and I wisely adjourned the home improvement portion of the day's programming and, once I recovered from a not-so-stifled case of the church giggles, shared a glass of wine, gazing at our lop-sided DIYer Gone Bad.

Sunday -- you guessed it --I got in the car and made the 30-minute drive to the big-box store on the far north side of town to exchange one short curtain panel for a long one.

Home.

Sweet-and-5-hours-and countless-car-miles-later.

Home.

Closet irony

Despite the fact the Pulitzer committee has passed me over YET AGAIN, I rally to share this small tidbit of closet irony.

(Yes, it is possible to find irony in the construction of closets. Happens all the time.)

In the process of deconstructing our old "closet" to make way for our new closets, John the Builder told us yesterday he discovered what appeared to be the footprint of a past set of closets -- closets VERY MUCH LIKE the ones we're having him make.


This means -- irony alert -- we're basically re-installing the closets that were there to begin with.

The Former Lord and Lady of the Manor strike again.

Out of the closet

Now THAT got your attention.

At ease, soldiers. This is not going to be some sensational behind-the-bedroom door true confession.

Instead it is about home improvements. Two new closets to be exact. We are finishing our master bedroom closets.

My own design! Not to scale. . . by a long shot.

I can see it. Can't you?

Some background: When we moved into the Nine-One-Four 20 (!) years ago, we inherited a number of, shall we say, interesting home improvement challenges opportunities. It was apparent the previous Lord and Lady of the Manor fancied themselves as something of a whiz in the DIY (him) and decorating (her) departments. Turns out they weren't.

I know, I know. Taste is a personal thing. But I think you would have to admit four bedrooms with four different types (and colors) of carpet. . . purchased used from hotels that were remodeling their guest rooms . . . could be interpreted as a bit over the top.

As was the orange laminate countertop in the kitchen and downstairs powder room (said orange laminate also was used as the kitchen backsplash complete with strips of stainless steel covering its seams). . .

And the oversized matching valence-curtain-wallpaper look in the dining room, featuring a charming palette of "Lost in the 70s" avocado green, burnt orange and harvest gold.

Naturally, there was shag carpet (which I'm told is making a comeback) in the living room and cheap paneling in the basement, which appeared to have been distressed and white-washed for a charming country look.

It just looked distressed.

That's all behind us now. Gradually, over the years, we've pretty much re-done the entire place top to bottom.

Well, pretty much everything, except our bedroom closets.

When we took possession of the Nine-One-Four, the master bedroom closets consisted of four behemoth, louvered doors spanning one full wall and concealing two closets and a charming bedroom window. It took a small army to slide them back and forth.

The doors were stained dark, dark brown in a room that was white, white, white. We ditched two of the doors immediately, leaving two lone panels to dangle and lean precariously as they gamely tried to conceal our garments.

But we did gain a window.

The closets' interiors were fairly expansive -- at least for a house built in 1941 -- and the Lord of the Manor had done some updating, adding shelves (nice) and raising the hanging rods to within inches of the ceiling.

This latter decision still mystifies me. (Much like the Lord's insistence in installing light switches that work in reverse.) With his "enhancement," the closets were basically only suitable for Andre the Giant. Or a homeowner willing to use an extension ladder to hang his or her clothes.

A clear-cut case of closet disfunction. Bathrobes and dress slacks peeking out from around our two remaining panel doors -- and me performing an odd little dance of bunny hops and javelin throws as I put away the laundry each week.

But not for much longer. John the Builder is here, saving us from ourselves -- and our closets. Within the next week or so we will have closets with doors! functional rods! and a window seat with storage!

This can only mean one thing. We're running out of projects. It's time to move.

The Matt Cave revealed

Without further ado, I present the new and improved Matt Cave. Except we really can't call it the Matt Cave anymore.



Three months. . . several gallons of paint. . . new baseboard and trim. . . one stacked slate stone fireplace veneer . . . and a smokin' new futon cover, pillows and TV stand later, we've gone from cave to family room. With nary a Gatorade bottle, dirty sock nor cell phone charger in sight.



Good-bye, weird partially white-washed, partially distressed wood paneling. Au revoir, oddly recessed painted brick fireplace. And sayonara, scratched and dirty basement ceiling. Our work here is done.

We've gone from this:

To this:

It's been a pleasant transformation, and while youngest son Matt loses his subterranean grotto, we gain a family room that we can now, with full certainty, proclaim as booger-free. You can't say that about all basements.


Matt, you will always have a place to hang your boxers when you come home to Bermtopia. We love you to death -- AND every minute of your visits. But now, you have new accommodations -- also known as "the guest bedroom."

We love you, Matt. Come home soon.








And, by the way, how do you feel about the color yellow?

The Matt Cave 2

Phase 1 of The Matt Cave makeover is complete. Ceiling painted, primer coat up on the wall, baseboard down and cool accent trim on the walls. Plus a vicious piece of driveway concrete has been tamed. Check, check, check, check and check.

Aside from breathing the noxious fumes that only oil-based paint can produce for about 24 hours, it was painless. (And, well, actually I was out of town so just Brad and Ben were breathing noxious fumes. No worries, though. All survived, I'm happy to report.)Remodeling Dude John (aka, God with a mitre box) was fabulous, carrying out all tasks efficiently, neatly and with the precision of a surgeon. Did I mention we worship the ground he walks on?

Between now and March 11, when the stacked stone goes up on the fireplace (and blue pearl granite is applied to the upstairs bathroom countertop), Brad is charged with priming the accent trim on the walls and doing a little patching.

And I'll be doing what I do best -- collecting color paint chips and plotting our next remodeling adventure.

The Matt Cave

The Matt Cave, aka the basement, is getting a face-lift.

Nothing major -- some fresh paint, new baseboard, and best of all,the fireplace is getting a stacked-stone surface. Hello, 21st century! Meet the new and improved Matt Cave.

About "The Matt Cave" moniker. Let me explain. Sometime when he was in high school, that would be about 5 or 6 years ago, our youngest son Matt sort of decamped to the basement, choosing it as his primary mode of abode. Maybe it was a hot summer night when his upstairs bedroom was too stuffy -- or a late, late night of movies and video games. But at some point, Matt took up residence in the basement and it became The Matt Cave. It all seemed to make sense at the time. It usually does with teenagers.

It's a man pad, all right -- TV, DVD player, foosball table, laundry room (with a shower!) all just steps away. Bathroom and kitchen right at the top of the stairs. Room to spread out for entertaining. (I can't tell you the number of mornings I've tiptoed down to the basement to grab some clean underwear or new can of coffee only to find a jumble of arms and legs belonging to an indeterminate number of Matt's buddies that seemed to sprout up from the basement floor sometime in the middle of the night.)And a comfy futon that nicely accommodates an afternoon snooze -- or long winter night's slumber.

Now that Matt's in college and is only home for holidays, we venture down into The Matt Cave every now and then to host a Gonzaga basketball game or escape a particularly gnarly thunderstorm with dog Ben. It's at these times when The Matt Cave loses a bit of its exotic allure and you see it for what it is -- a somewhat beat-up basement family room that is finally getting a little bit of love.


Somehow, you just don't see that when Matt's home. It's amazing what layer of DVDs, video games, XBox cables, cell phone chargers, sketch pads, textbooks, dirty socks, rumpled sleeping bags and empty Gatorade bottles can do for a room. It's these special accessories that make it The Matt Cave. Every household should have one.

So, with this in mind, I am approaching the basement makeover with some bemusement. It will look awesome when it's done, trust me.

But it won't be The Cave till Matt comes home. HGTV, take note.