Remodeling 101

Remodeling 101 –

KITCHEN FACELIFT
The Saga of Remodeling a Kitchen, and a Marriage

For many years I’ve dreamed of a modern kitchen, filled with contemporary, custom-made cabinets with plenty of storage space, a place for the microwave and the clutter that was swallowing my work area. I dreamed of granite counter tops, traditional customized cabinets that opened easily and were convenient for storage. I wanted pretty wood instead of drab, cheapened boards containing too many coats of monotonous paint and drawers that refused to open easily. Recognizing it was time to sale our home or remodel, my husband and I decided to take on the task of a kitchen facelift. Knowing life is ALWAYS filled with unexpected surprises, we decided it was in our best interest to hire a contractor, a master of remodeling, instead of another Do It Yourself project that would undoubtedly take my husband years to complete. He has the tendency to start a project and finish it when he ‘gets around to it,’ and when he takes on a project, I serve as his helper which leads to many heated disputes.

After meeting with kitchen designers, we finalize the plans, pay for the project, including the expense of custom-made cabinets, new sink, granite countertops, faucet, a new stove and a convection/microwave oven. Our original budget was $10,000. After discussions with the kitchen designers, we decided to increase the budget. After all, we want the kitchen remodeled the right way, without cutting corners.

Next step for the renovation – packing up the kitchen and moving forward with the gutting process. The custom-made cabinets are scheduled for delivery March 22, so now, it is onward and upward! Every night after dinner, I empty a cabinet or two, package the dishes, cookware and ingredients into boxes so the facelift may begin.


Day One

February 26 – with cabinets and the pantry empty, and a portable kitchen area set up on the breakfast room table – microwave, coffee pot, and other incidentals that a family must have just to survive – we are ready to move forward with the first phase – demolition. I inform my husband that for the next few weeks, until the kitchen facelift is complete, we will be connoisseurs of microwave foods, nothing more. No gourmet dinners until. Our dining experience will include Lean Cuisines, Healthy Choice, sandwiches, and paper plates. Bon Appetit!

Thank goodness I do not have a headache today, and if I survive this date without a migraine, it will be a miracle! The contractor arrived early at 8:00 sharp. Before 9 am, the cabinets by the sink are gone. That’s where we run into the first surprise, and I am one who doesn’t like surprises.

Our old cabinets were built over a soffett, a construction term used to describe the installation process of the existing cabinets. When the top of the cabinets are removed, we discover exposed beams leading to the roofing. Apparently when the first remodeling was done in the early 1970’s, the couple who owned the house chose to cut corners and not box in this area. The cabinets they installed were built overhead, leaving the ceiling exposed. Thank goodness we chose not to cut corners and do this renovation the correct way.

Later, when the enclosed pantry is ripped out, we run into a brick wall – literally, figuratively and physically. My husband and I wondered why the pantry was such an odd and non-user-friendly pantry, designed with angles and corners leading to wasted space. I do not question it anymore. When exposed, the contractor discovers the pantry is attached to an exterior brick wall, which was built at a 45º angle. Now we will need to have the custom-made cabinets re-made. By this discovery, my husband is on a business trip and I am stuck at home to take care of all of the incidentals of this mess. Several phone calls later, I am relieved, but furious that I rarely have a husband who will take care of such things. Sometimes I wonder what the convenience of marriage is; nevertheless, I can certainly understand why marriage is referred to as an institution, and I agree with this description. My friends laugh when they hear me grumble about the business of marriage. If only they walked in my shoes. After phoning my husband, I reassure him I have taken care of the matter and everything will be worked out.

“Good,” he replies. “I’ll try to get home early.”

Knowing him as I do, I understand he feels a bit guilty for not being home now, and he should. My one request just last week was for him to be home, but Corporate America dictates his schedule, so I take this in my stride, thankful that I can write even when the hammering and banging sounds like a wild eyed monster is loose in my gutted kitchen.

Sometimes it is a good thing that I cannot crawl through the telephone lines because if I could, I would probably want to do something not too nice. Perhaps now he understands why I insisted on hiring someone to remove the cabinets. Our marriage would never survive if he took on these projects. I suppose it is good that opposites attract – since I am the partner in our marriage who is gifted with multi-tasking, and he is good at directing, controlling, and walking off when things do not go as expected. Since today is only Day One of things to go wrong when remodeling, it is the perfect day for his business trip and my stress level to be tested.
In the afternoon, the construction crew leaves and I have the luxury of quiet again. I decide to turn the stereo on and when the music fails to relax my mood, I leave the house to get a manicure. Sometimes a woman needs a bit of pampering! Tomorrow will be another day of hammering, sawing, the constant ringing of the telephone, and more unexpected surprises. Calgon, please take me away!


Three Weeks Later – March 22, 2007

D Day arrives – Delivery Day! Last week I received a call from Kraft Maid. The cabinets are on track, scheduled for delivery March 22. There is a three-hour window of opportunity set for delivery, between the hours of 12:00pm – 3:00pm. At 11:40, the truck arrives with seventeen boxes. Last week I was told, we would need 337 cubic feet of room – whatever that means. I do not claim to be a mathematician! Now, I am living in a sea of boxes – everywhere! Even the front door is backed up with boxes, especially one lengthy box exactly 94 inches in length so large it cannot turn the corner to go into the kitchen. Since we are blessed with a kitchen located in the front of the house, we have no option left. We must place this monstrous box next to the front door! The question at hand is – when the cabinet is removed from this coffin sized box, will it turn the corner into the kitchen for installation? Let us hope we do not have a fire in the house. We only have one exit/entrance now. I created a Caution Under Construction sign, taped it on the front door, in the event someone rings the doorbell, and does not understand why we cannot open the front door.

I confess, I did everything humanly possible to prepare the house for this arrival, feeling as if I was giving birth to these cabinets and this project. Why is it a woman MUST DO EVERYTHING in a marriage???

This morning, I rushed around in anticipation of an early delivery since my husband had something to do this morning and wasn’t around! I had labor pains, excruciating pains from muscles stretching to move so I can lift awkward pieces of furniture. The coffee table bit me when I moved it, leaving a nice scratch and bruise on my leg. Labor pains! I moved living room furniture around, making way – only to discover due to the tall pantry we ordered, we cannot open the front door. If I survive this disaster, it will be a miracle! My husband is receiving the cold shoulder treatment from me – well deserved. This is my way of dealing with his abstinence!
When Phil arrives home, he asks if I have contacted Home Depot to let them know the cabinets are here. My reply, “I’m working on a deadline. Why don’t you call them?” He grumbles, requesting the phone number.

Later we have a slight discussion. Phil reminds me he has done his part to prepare for this project. He was the one who rented the machine to strip and remove the wooden kitchen floor. He was the one who sanded the concrete smooth. He reminds me he worked on this labor pain for two days while I was out of town.

“Oops,” I reply, conveniently forgetting that I was out of town for four days during this process.
“Oops,” I apologize. “I’m so sorry.”

I move closer to him, managing to give him that stupid, innocent grin that usually works to make this stubborn, persnickety man respond to me and forgive me. Then, I kiss his lips. He pulls me close for a moment. Grins. We’ve never been the type of couple to remain angry for long, so the moment of silence and cold shoulder is gone. Anger never resolves issues. Never.

Friday, March 23, 2007

The representative from Home Depot arrives a bit late, due to traffic in Charleston. No surprise there. Traffic is ALWAYS a problem in this holy city. After a couple of hours of opening boxes and investigating what is inside, it appears we have one or two damaged cabinet doors. I must say, the cabinets are beautiful. Later, while basking in the sun, the phone rings. I ignore it since I am outside enjoying the beautiful spring weather we’ve been blessed with. My cell phone rings and I’m surprised to hear that the scheduled installation is set for Monday, March 26, 9:30 am.

“I had no idea,” I shriek, excited that soon I might be able to do my spring cleaning, instead of having a sea of boxes and kitchen clutter everywhere in the house. The dining room table is covered with items we might need during this process, and there is not a corner left to place anything else. At least for now, I’ve recognized that I can sort mail and put it away, instead of allowing it to clutter the kitchen and dining room tables. I make a mental note to self – Never allow mail to be left on the tables. Put it away.

This sea of brown boxes is confusing our pups, The Three Stooges, Shamus, Shakespeare, and Shasta. Shakespeare continues sniffing at the boxes, as if he cannot wait to find the perfect spot to lift his leg and claim his territory. When I scold him, he rushes away, as if to say, “I was just testing you to see if I could do it.” Our pups do not like change and this clutter is mystifying to them.

Shamus likes things clean and tidy, with everything in its proper spot. He prances quickly through the rooms, as if to say, I gotta get out of here. This mess is driving me nuts.

Shasta, our princess of a Maltese, the smallest of our troop of rescue animals, doesn’t like change – in any way, shape, or form. She is the ditzy little blonde in our household and each time I open the door to let her outside, she scatters back to her little bed, her private territory. Her tail is tucked between her legs, and she looks back at me as if to say, I’m so confused. I may never survive this change.

Tomorrow at 1:30, Phil and I are scheduled to go to Home Depot to learn how to paint a textured wall. Since the walls in the kitchen are plaster and quite defective – fifty years of age has not been graceful to them – I made the suggestion to texture the walls with a textured paint, and use stencils with a nautical theme. I found some cool looking dolphin and nautical stencils at a craft store and I’m hopeful they’ll give me the look and creativity I desire.

Home Depot was swamped on Saturday so I suggested we could play with the paint technique at home. If this textured effect works well, I have a master bathroom to do, using the nautical theme, or maybe I’ll get more creative and do a lighthouse on the wall. Wouldn’t that be cool!

Monday, March 26:

Today is the day. Installation of cabinets. Let us hope it goes well. The installers are named Scott and Kyle. Not your typical construction workers, they are tall, lean, and hard working. They arrive on time and go straight to the task at hand. I am impressed with the quality of work they do. With saws grinding a painful tune into the wood, I am reminded of dental visits, and I clench my teeth, thankful it is not me on the cutting board. I am so grateful I do not have a headache today.

Phil arrives home at lunchtime, no doubt to stupervise. Yes, I said stupervise!

He walks through the kitchen, looking at things, especially looking for things that can go wrong. He questions a few things, makes comments and suggestions. Again - stupervising!

After a few minutes of his getting in the way, I remind him the kitchen is long and narrow, only having so much room. He looks at me, turns his head, continues to ask questions. Always in charge!

And the Plot Thickens!

Enough of this Anna Nicole melodrama. Why can't someone make a decision and bury the woman???????

She's gonna rot before her body hits the ground!

In my last blog I mentioned how some people compare her life to Marilyn Monroe. Well, the only comparison there is is death, unhappiness and drugs.

Just bury the woman. Let her rest - where ever she is!

Stay tuned for new blogs from me -- on writing!

When Life Gives Changes -- and Isn't that What Life is -- CHANGES, CHALLENGES, AND THE TOAST TO LIFE

Today is Monday, the beginning of a fresh week to write and move forward with life. Looking out my window, I can watch the construction crews working on the water construction of the Old Village of Mt. Pleasant. My pups, Shakespeare, Shamus and little Miss Shasta, are barking, perhaps telling the crews to stay away from 'their territory.' Shamus and Shasta are rescue animals, so they do all they can to protect their peaceful, loving territory, and they are determined not to share!

Observing my sweet animals, I am reminded of different times in my life with Phil. Times when changes were not welcomed - especially by Phil. He is a bit territorial too. A Vietnam Veteran, he strives to protect all that is close to him, even IF he does not share his emotions or affections. He tells me that is a part of his training, before the war and beyond. He uses the phrase which I now detest, and I am quoting it here -- It Don't Mean Nothing.

Right. That is in a perfect world. Life, along with the challenges we confront, definitely means something to us. Whenever Phil would repeat to me during times of disagreements, "It Don't Mean Nothing," REALLY MEANT SOMETHING - TO ME.

I confess, it is extremely difficult for me to understand those words because I am a writer, and I express my thoughts. My mother accused me of wearing my heart on my shirt sleeves, or my shoulders, and she was correct. I've always been the type of person to 'open a vein and let it bleed.'

There is a famous writer who stated those words years ago, and for the life of me now, I cannot recall who it was, but those powerful words have been a part of my life -- 'open a vein and let it bleed.'

Working as a writer makes life interesting. People imagine the life of a writer as a glamorous, exciting life. After all, we are able to allow our fingers to dance across the keyboard, writing words, characters and stories that are so easy to compile.

LAUGH. Laugh. L-A-U-G-H!

Just picture it. A writer awakens at 3 or 4 am, ideas, characters, and story lines, dancing inside our minds. We roll over, frustrated that we cannot sleep. We tell ourselves we must sleep. We focus on deep breathing, we count sheep. Defeated, we rise from the bed, turn the coffee pot to brew, find the keyboard, and pound into the computer the ideas we must preserve.

At the moment, I am sipping my first cup of coffee. My fingers dance a graceful ballet of manicured nails, tapping the words onto the monitor. I am dressed in my nightshirt, a gigantic teal blue garment from Victoria's Secret, embracing the secrets of me.

My hair is not styled. My face is nude of makeup, so if this is the way to glamour, I shall never make it to the glamorous life.

I confess, I do my best writing when my makeup is on and my hair is styled for the day, so within a few moments, I shall tip toe to the bedroom to find my face for today.

Valentine's Day is two days from now. The daily headlines contain more stories about Anna Nicole Smith. Listening to the news during the weekend, I feel I know her almost intimately. She left this world completely unhappy and all alone - so similar to Marilyn Monroe - in so many ways. Such a tragic life she led. Now, if only that precious five-month-old baby girl can find someone to serve as a role model for her, to guide her into a happy, productive life. She will certainly have the money she needs, but like Anna Nicole and Marilyn, what good is the money if you cannot have someone to love you and care about you?

Most Interesting Characters

For this week, the most interesting characters I've met were three ladies at the Dollar Tree. While all of us were rushing around to make our purchases, one of the ladies, a tall strawberry blonde with penetrating blue eyes was looking for the perfect balloon, a colorful Get Well balloon.

"Do you think she'll like this one, or should it say something else."

While loading items in a shopping basket another of the women wiped tears from her eyes.

"She knows how sick she is, so just get it. Let's get three of them. One from each one of us."

The third lady and I made eye contact and she smiled at me.

"We're having a little party for our friend. She's having chemotherapy and her hair's falling out. We want to make her laugh again."

"God bless all of you," I said. "She's fortunate to have such devoted friends."

On the way home from a busy day of errands I could not get the three women and their ill friend out of my mind. Perhaps I was envious that three women took such time to do something so thoughtful for a friend.

After all, it is the little things in life that mean so much to all of us. When we are healthy and things are going well, we have the tendency to take things for granted.

I have promised to make the most of each day while enjoying the little things, especially since 1998 when my world was falling apart. My dad was fighting to survive chemotherapy and radiation. My husband, Phil, was rushed into cardiac surgery, and I was spinning on an endless wheel trying to keep my career on target while caring for my dad and husband. My valiant attempt to be Super Woman.

On February 4, my husband will have another 'Heart Day.' A personal celebration for he and I after his heart surgery and recovery. This will be his 9th anniversary of 'Heart Day.'

Since that time (every year just before the anniversary approaches) I buy him a small heart trinket, a little something of insignificance to show I respect how hard he has battled to change his life and work habits since February 4, 1998. Today, I bought him a "Leonardo" stuffed animal -- the one Hallmark is advertising. He has a beautiful red heart and his tail wags, and of course, he speaks to you.

I have it gift wrapped and ready to give to Phil on his "Heart Day." Just like the three ladies at Dollar Tree, I am attempting to do something of little significance for a friend -- my husband -- to show him it is the little things in life that make us smile and appreciate life. Just like the thoughtfulness of three women searching for just the perfect balloon to make a friend smile.

As a writer, I am always observing people, wherever I go. Watching and reading their actions. I suppose it is because I love to read what isn't said, but shared.

Like friends searching for just the right shape, color and comments on a balloon. Or, something red and filled with hope - to signify to my husband that I do acknowledge that he does have a heart. Until 1998, I questioned if he still had a heart left, but when his chest was opened and a zipper left after surgery, I realized he does have a heart. The tears he allowed to slip onto his face just before surgery, and his actions after his surgery showed me everyone in life has character - if we just dig deep enough to find it and allow it to blossom.

My most interesting characters come from life. People walking on the beach. Meeting neighbors while walking with my three children, my beautiful pups. Children laughing. Older couples holding hands while strolling along the sidewalks. Saying hello to a complete stranger. Doing something unexpected -- just for absolutely no reason at all!

Here's a toast to all of life's most interesting characters!

Weekly Events January 2007

Today is Saturday, the 27th of January. This month is almost over, with much to do, catch up on, and organize.

This has been another busy week for me as a writer. Catching up on letters and correspondence, researching, sending query letters, catching up and organizing e-mail, and of course, the never ending stack of snail mail to file, and trash. This week, I sent out ten query letters, and more thank you letters. This was not a week of responses from publishers and magazines. Mostly junk mail - straight into the kitchen trash, or shredder it goes!

Now, I'm reorganizing my work area. If there are writers out there who have things organized at all times, I would love to know the secret to this. Yesterday, I spent the bulk of the day going thru old files and magazines on the book shelves and in file cabinets. My new rule is anything over a year old gets trashed, or placed in a box. Since I am a travel writer, I have many research stacks to complete. Anything over one year old -- file - shred - or trash. In the travel industry materials change - restaurants close, hotels change hands, etc. and that is why when I write a story, I confirm the resources. After all, I have a reputation to maintain, but the sea of paper work and research material collected leaves me overwhelmed. Today, I have three boxes to file and put away since most of the material is less than six months old.

I can't help wondering what my family would think if I died suddenly and they were left with all of this material to sort through. Perhaps they'd call me a pack rat? Gosh, I hope not.

Enough of the blog for today. Those boxes are calling my name and I want to experience the thrill of accomplishment, not the frustration of being overwhelmed.

Maybe I'll just pile all of this 'stuff' into one gigantic stack for the trash collectors!

Have You Ever Had a Day When---

No matter what you do, everything is filled with gloom? You awaken with dark thoughts, telling yourself you are overreacting? Such was a day for me this week -- Friday, to be exact. Checking e-mail early in the morning, I discovered the usual suspect collection of SPAM. Suggestions of ways to 'enlarge my anatomy,' improve my condition of erectile dysfunction, and suggested ways to improve my single social life.

The people who send these collections of SPAM, must be totally clueless. Most of them cannot spell a simple e-mail correctly, and if I needed my anatomy improved, I don't think I'd have a sex change since I am a woman. As for my improving my 'single social life,' I'm not single and I certainly would not attempt to meet people online since I do a great job with meeting people in person. And, let us not discuss erectile dysfunction since modern technology on the TV does a fine job discussing that, especially when young children are around! I ask you, just how do you explain Erectile Dysfunction to a six year old?

After deleting all of these endless e-mails, I practiced deep breathing and Yoga techniques, telling myself I was tired and needed to relax. I drove to the gym to work out my frustrations, convinced that if I allowed my body to work out the darkness would leave.

It did not.

Arriving at home, my children (my three affectionate pups) rushed to greet me and let me know they wanted to take a walk. When I recognized the darkness was still thumping inside me, I grabbed my 'puppy bags and papers,' leashed the pups and rushed outside to walk. It was chilly outside so I chose to lead the dogs into a different direction. Inhaling and exhaling while noticing Jasmine, tulip trees and azaleas blooming -- in early January, I shook my head. Signs of freshness and new life are around me, I thought. It's OK. Everything is A-O-K. Nothing to be alarmed about.

Later in the afternoon, with the darkness dancing around like a gray cloud of fog, I still could not shake the feeling. I went to my favorite window to have a chat with God, pleading with Him to shake the feeling away.

Since early childhood I've had visions of doom so when I have these feelings I listen to them. The last two I can remember that refused to leave was at 3:45 am on July 6, 1999, and in the early morning hours of 9-11. My dad was terminally ill with esophageal cancer on that July morning and not expected to live much longer. When I awoke to that sick feeling gnawing inside of me, I chose to ignore it, thinking if I called the nursing home to ask about his condition at this early time of morning, the nurses would think I was losing my mind.

I went to work on that date and could not tell anyone what I did at work. I was numb inside while the gloom draped me with a fear I could not escape. At 5:45 pm I arrived at Sandpiper Convalescent Center, excited to see my father. He would be proud of me. I had balanced his personal check book the night before and I had it in my hand, ready to share with him.

Rushing by the nurses desk, I nodded, speaking to the charge nurse on duty. I noticed Violet, my dad's favorite nurse, pushing an oxygen tank. "That isn't a good sign," I said to her. She would not acknowledge me and was following me. I didn't understand why she didn't speak, until she placed her hand on the doorway of my dad's room.

"No...No...Oh God, No." My voice screamed as the door closed and Violet pushed me away from the door. I dropped the check book on the floor. I heard Violet asking someone in the hall to take me somewhere. A stranger, a medium sized woman with a soft voice and face I cannot remember approached me, picked up the check book and encouraged me to join her on the bench in the hallway.

Now I knew why the gloom would not leave me on this date. The visions I knew so well were a sign -- a warning that something bad was going to happen. Moments later, my dad was pronounced dead. The heaviness in my chest lifted when my husband arrived to take me home.

Early morning of 9-11 I had a brief dream of a plane crash and some men dressed in black. I brushed it off. A nightmare, I said.

Friday was different. I checked with friends and family members to make certain everything was OK. Phil was scheduled to come home early on that date and I knew he was all right. I'd spoken to him at least a couple of times, hoping my voice did not give my fears away.

At 2:52 pm the phone rang. My dearest friend was on the line and when I answered, I heard her sobs.

"I have some bad news," she said.

Immediately, my mind rushed with thoughts of another friend we both knew who had been battling esophageal cancer and was riding the cancer roller coaster ride again.

"My brother-in-law is gone," her voice quivered. "He died this morning, when he was dismissed from the hospital. He got home, said he couldn't breathe, and he tilted over. Dead."

I was in shock. Only yesterday we had discussed his heart surgery procedure and how great he was doing. Only yesterday we shared intimate stories of husband's and male bashing, laughing like two innocent school girls. Only yesterday we laughed nervously just to release the tension.

Now, another life was gone, just like in the blink of an eye. Life is so short, isn't it.

Moments later, I hung up the phone, recognizing the gloom had lifted and now, I knew why. My visions were back. I must listen to these signs because they are warning signs to let me know something is happening. Just like on July 6, 1999 and on 9-11-01 in the early - early darkness of morning - when I had that warning dream of plane crashes and men dressed in dark clothing. The pieces of a puzzle dancing inside my mind, warning me of something suspect.

When Phil arrived home, I rushed to him. He followed me to the den. Sitting on the plush carpeting of the floor, we played with our pups while talking about how quickly life can change. "Only yesterday I laughed with Lou, telling her it would be OK. Modern medicine has come a long way. Phil, we are so fortunate. We've been blessed with a second chance. Let's don't lose it this time."

My husband wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. The warmth of his body next to mine gave me such comfort and I realized, the feeling of gloom was completely gone.

The Mystical Beauty of Beaumont Texas

Imagine living in a city where the air is fresh, people are friendly, and when you walk into a room, you feel right at home. Welcome to Beaumont, Texas.

Beaumont is a mystical city, filled with personality, charm and Texas Style Hospitality at its finest!

The photograph of the tree and swamp on the left was taken at Big Thicket. I was captivated by the sweeping branch filled with resurrection fern, a fern I've seen in Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia and the State of South Carolina.

Most people are not aware of the mysterious quality of the resurrection fern. When the weather is dry, the fern turns a dark brown, almost blending into the tree branches. In Charleston where I live, the fern isn't noticed until it rains. After a slight drizzle or a downpour, the resurrection fern turns a bright, healthy green, lacing the tree branches. I was amazed to see it so bright and green in Texas.