PHASE THREE by Arnold Bornstein: Living through the remodeling process.
By: Arnold Bornstein
It came to us in the last few weeks, as it must come eventually to all dwellers who own their own home. It’s called renovating, remodeling, renewing or redoing although there are many other informal and strongly uncomplimentary words to describe the undertaking.
Twelve years ago we moved into our abode, an upstairs condo and one of eight units in the building. We became the first occupants of the new residence, which had been freshly painted by the builder and contained new carpeting throughout, except for linoleum in the kitchen.
The wear and tear of living also had a wear-and-tear effect on the painting and carpeting. Hence, a Caribbean cruise was postponed (I hope that’s the right word) and we chose to sit through a renovation job that started Dec. 13 and will be completed by the time you read this, unless there’s another delay.
Perhaps it would have been best if we did flee to the Carib and periodically phoned in to find out when it was OK to come home. We couldn’t even leave the premises for too long a time on any day though, because we wanted to be on hand to answer and ask questions and see that things were being done to our satisfaction, we have a cat that we didn’t want to bring to our vet to stay, and I also had some work to do on our computer in the den.
The painters came first, and as you’ll recall from your own experience, they move furniture from one room to another so that the painting process can be done most effectively.
In addition, they brought in three different sized ladders, buckets and buckets of paint, huge black, contractor bags to be filled with trash and thick cellophane to drape over the kitchen sink so there would be no damage while brushes and other things were being cleaned.
Essentially, everything would be stored in the place it was left when they knocked off work for the day, One of my main jobs was to get up early which is difficult for me because I go to bed late and drive the car out of the garage so that the painters would have an open area to transport things back and forth through the garage to their truck.
To paint the molding running along the bottom of the walls, they had to cut strips of the old carpeting away from the walls. As you know, and as my fingers were reminded of, the flooring near walls is filled with headless nails upon which the carpeting is hooked.
Envisioning a tragedy for Ashley, our cat, I replaced the cut strips and filled in the bare spots with tinfoil after the paint was dry. Otherwise, there was the potential for our curious cat to shred its feet while pawing where the headless nails were embedded.
The painters chuckled at first, but then agreed that the nails could do damage and saved the cut carpet strips for me. They must have also realized that dripping cat’s blood, or human’s, could affect their paint job.
I immersed myself on the computer, but the strain on my wife was more obvious as our occupied home gave us a displaced feeling. Strangers using your bathroom periodically for a few weeks contributed to the over-all feeling.
Ashley probably felt the most stress since as an indoor cat her small world had been literally turned upside down by suspected intruders to her domain. Her eating and sleeping habits changed substantially.
Next came the carpeting crew, and they truly had to shift all the furniture out of a room and into another when they were putting down the carpeting. Then the furniture would be moved back and another shift would be done in another room. Obviously, when heavy, cumbersome, bulky furniture is being moved back and forth within freshly painted rooms, there is a strong likelihood that some of the paint is going to be chipped.
You’re right. It happened. We have plenty of buckets left for us to do touch up jobs in the immediate future. It reminds me of the feeling I’m sure most of you have felt when your relatively new car got its first dings in a parking lot or wherever.
Of the three crews painting, carpeting, and wooden flooring in the kitchen the carpet gang appeared to be the best rowdy conversationalists. Their boisterous but good-natured needling of each other reminded me of the chatter you heard in military barracks. I had to restrain myself a couple times from adding a few comments of my own.
I realized, of course, that the workers were merely passing time and bonding while working, as all workers everywhere have always done.
Then came the wood floor crew. The guy in charge asked me, "Mr. Bornstein, may I use your bathroom?"
My wife and I simultaneously responded, "Of course you can."
And the first day on the job, our kitchen turned out to be uneven, and they had to level it first before putting down the wood panels. A mixture was poured over certain areas and it ended up looking like a hardened lava flow. However, the panel flooring had to be delayed for a week because the leveling wasn’t fully what they wanted and more "lava" was going to be poured.
Even though our kitchen was unfinished at the time, my wife decided to have her first showing for a couple friends and the "Oohs" and "Ahs" helped sooth her jangled nerves.
We asked them, as is customary in Japan and elsewhere, to please remove their shoes during the tour. And as I type this, I’m sitting at the computer with only my socks touching the new carpeting. Like a new car, this will soon wear off.
Even during my customary watching of the New York Jets game on TV last Saturday night, during their playoff triumph, I was very careful about the possibility of spilling any drops of beer or pretzel and assorted snack crumbs on the new carpeting. I’ve even shown a much greater respect for freshly painted walls.
My wife and I are gradually returning to normal and truly enjoying our new surroundings. And Ashley is sleeping comfortably on the new, soft carpeting.
Arnold Bornstein is a resident of Greenbriar at Whittingham.