The Big Fix-Up : Once You’ve Bought a House, You’re Never Home Free
I THINK I’m going to lose my mind. I’m sitting in my office, which used to be a sanctuary, listening to Pedro and Martin sing “ Volver, Volver “ as they chip paint off the windowsill with a scraper. Are they ever going to finish working on our house? I wonder.
Actually, I’ve been wondering that for quite some time now, and the end still isn’t in sight. Though when it comes to home improvements, the end is never in sight. To own a house is to be its slave. No matter what you put in, no matter what you rip out, there is always another imperfection that demands your attention. And that imperfection (be it large or small) invariably leads you into the Land of Chaos.
Still, I feel guilty for complaining. I’m lucky to own my own home. For years, I dreamed of living in this little white house by the sea. I imagined a cozy cottage with a picket fence, peg and groove floors, a flower garden and plenty of storage space. But I never imagined how much time, energy and aggravation this fantasy would actually take.
Who does? “You’re fed this bill of goods that it’s smart to buy a house,” says my friend Marjorie, who bought a house last October. “You get equity. You get a tax break. You’re not wasting money paying rent. But rent isn’t a waste of money. It’s what you pay to not have to deal with a house.”
Of course, Marjorie’s deal with her house sounds more like a deal with the devil. She’s taking off the roof and building a second story--just as soon as she finds a contractor. Meanwhile, she and her mate are shelling out mortgage payments, interest on their construction loan and rent on the house they’re currently living in. “And we don’t know anything of misery yet,” says Marjorie, “because construction hasn’t even begun.”
Why not? “It takes months to make the design. And even longer to get the permits,” Marjorie tells me, thus strengthening my resolve to never build anything bigger than bookshelves. “And if you’re asking for a variance, you’ve got to get approvals, which take forever. And then you find a contractor, and he gives you a bid, and the bid is $50,000 more than you ever thought you’d spend.”
In my experience, any home improvement costs more than you ever thought you’d spend. Then again, I used to believe that God gave you kitchen cabinets, asphalt driveways and hardwood floors. Other people are more realistic.
“Whatever the problem, it’s always a thousand dollars,” says my friend Nina. “It’s this magical figure. It can be a pane of glass. Or a little plumbing. You name it.” (While this seems impossible, homeowners quickly discover that there’s no such thing as a minor repair. You go out to replace a $5 bolt, and before you know it, a man in a giant payloader is pouring concrete in your window.)
But Nina has never hired anyone, so she has no idea of what the actual cost could be. “When someone gives my husband a price, he flips out and says, ‘I can do it myself for much less,’ ” she explains. “And I can’t justify spending the money when he’s so handy. Though I’d like to say, ‘Honey, I don’t doubt that you can do it, but I was kind of thinking that it would be nice to have it done this year.’ ”
The problem is, like many do-it-yourselfers, her husband finds it easier to start a home-improvement project than to finish it. The demolition always goes quickly, even for semiskilled laborers. But as for putting it back together . . . Nina has been doing without a kitchen floor for eight months now. And the wife of another Handy Andy I know has gone two years without ceilings. I would find living in a house with an open wound to be more than a little bit stressful. Of course, I get nervous watching my husband drill holes to install mini-blinds.
Ironically, “many people become slaves to their homes to reduce anxiety,” says Los Angeles psychologist Gary Emery. “They’ve got something else in their life that they can’t manage, so their house becomes the distraction, the one thing they can control.”
As far as I’m concerned, the only person who has his house under control is Pop Larsen, the fictional sage of Builders Emporium. As for the rest of us . . . “The more you try to control something, the more out of control it becomes,” Emery explains. “Nothing stays perfect. Even if you get it fixed for 15 minutes, something else goes wrong. You start by changing the doorknob and wind up having to redo the whole house.”
Case in point: Three weeks ago, my husband arrived home from the office with Pedro and Martin. “They’re looking for work,” Duke said. “I thought they could clean up the yard.”
It seemed like a good idea at the time. The yard was overgrown with withered rye grass and weeds. It had to be cleared out before we could plant whatever mystery shrub happens to thrive in total shade and sand. So Pedro and Martin started digging.
“The yard looks a million times better,” Duke marveled that evening, his heart swelling with the pride of homeownership. For a moment, I, too, basked in the satisfaction that comes with putting your house in order. Then he suggested that the back of the house could use a coat of paint.
We really hadn’t planned on painting the back of the house. But making home improvements is an addiction that can be cured only by bankruptcy. “As long as they’re here,” said Duke, who eagerly rushed to Standard Brands and wrote a large check for brushes, rollers, masking tape, a 14-foot ladder and a 5-gallon tub of paint.
“You bought the wrong color!” I wailed with dismay two hours later when I discovered that the back of our house was now French vanilla and the rest of the house was snow white.
“ No hay problema, Senora ,” Pedro said cheerfully. “ Podemos pintar toda la casa. “
“The whole house really does need to be painted,” Duke said. That was easy for him to say. He doesn’t work at home. While he’s safely insulated in his office, I’m home juggling deadlines and Pedro and Martin. The minute I receive a long-awaited long-distance call from an interview subject or editor whom I’ve been chasing for weeks, I hear another urgent cry of “ Senora! “ Which is my cue to drop what I’m doing and fetch “ mas pintura ,” “ mas Hefty bolsas ,” or “ mas dinero. “
Still, I must admit that Pedro and Martin are doing a wonderful job. And I would be thrilled except that a freshly painted house just points out how shabby the fence is, how dilapidated the roofing tiles look and how badly the driveway needs to be paved. And my editors are beginning to wonder why all my stories are late.
“You know what we should do to our house . . .,” Duke says when he returns home.
“Live in it,” I reply.
