A Dream House It Isn’t, but Nightmare Finally Is Over
Our contractor delivered. Our remodeling project was finished in time for the Super Bowl. So we were able to observe that sacrament in our new surroundings.
One reason for my absence in the past week is that there is something devastating about the ending of such an undertaking. I had what used to be called a nervous breakdown but is now called stress syndrome or something like that.
Also, it required a prodigious effort to get our house in order. We added a workroom for me, a workroom for my wife, a bathroom, a service porch, a breakfast nook, and a dining room made by expanding my old garage-den three feet into what had been the living room before, some years ago, we added a large living room at the back. What is left of the old living room is now an entry hall.
Our ingenious architect, Walter Brucker, allowed for floor-to-ceiling bookcases in the entry hall, the service porch and the two workrooms. I think I rather oversold him on the number of books we had. We must have at least 2,000, plus my wife’s 1,000 cookbooks, but now that we have moved all the books from their former shelves into the built-ins, there are several large spaces left over.
Because I am trying to weed out my collection, rather than increase it, I’m afraid those spaces will remain empty. On the other hand, they make excellent cubbyholes for teddy bears, pots, vases, statuettes and other objects that we previously didn’t know what to do with.
As I promised, I did not complain throughout the job, although I had to stay home and endure the sawing, hammering and dust while my wife went off to work. As I have said, the contractor, Keith D. Rogers of Burbank, was most solicitous of our comfort throughout, but in the best of hands a remodeling project is noisy.
I breathed paint fumes and dust for weeks. Both my wife and I endured dreadful colds. I am not sure that the job has not shortened my life. My wife’s attitude is that, although it may be shorter, it will be better.
I must say that I am pleased with the result. I am ensconced in my new room and am enjoying the extra space and the light. As my wife said, my old den had become a cave.
For the first time we have a real dining room. However, my wife is dissatisfied with our old dining room set.
She is not terribly happy, either, with the old rattan living room set. It is upholstered in green, which does not match, she says, our new sky-blue carpet.
She also complains that the kitchen looks shabby, in comparison with the new service porch. We had the kitchen remodeled several years ago, and she picked out the dark wood finish on the cabinets, which she now says looks old-fashioned.
I really do not think that I could bear to undergo a kitchen remodeling right now. It would probably finish me off.
The main bonus may be yet to reveal itself. My wife is moving all her cookbooks from her bedroom into the new service porch bookshelves. She has also filled her new 10-shelf spice cabinet with dozens of spices, seasonings, powders and leaves, many of which I had no idea existed.
Surely it is not too much to hope that these cooking aids will seduce her away from the microwave and that we may expect to entertain our guests with home-cooked dinners.
The bar remains from the old house, but I have hopes that it will enter a new life. For years it has been our mail center. It was always piled high with letters, bills and catalogues. One side of it was hers, one mine. I don’t think I had served a drink from it since the 1970s.
If the bar is restored to its true function; if we may hear again the sound of laughter in our dining room; if our kitchen once again is filled with the aromas of savories and spices; if piles of books will no longer rise from the floor; if communications between my wife and me are improved by our new intercoms; if our new bathroom is enjoyed by friends and grandchildren using our swimming pool--then perhaps it will all have been worthwhile.
