Catching up: Fence

Catching up: Floors

so, if ya'll recall, we found original hardwood floors under grey carpet that smelled like grandma (the carpet, not the floors, and not my grandma, for the record). We also found that there were two big patches separating the living from dining areas where a wall had once been, as well as a big patch near the kitchen. I got on the BBB website and called up a hardwood floor repair/refinish place, and while we can't in good faith recommend the company because of the jackass owner and shotty patch job, it turned out beautiful! ('after' pictures to follow - I sware)

scribbles on the floor are there to map where the 'lacing' guy was supposed to remove and replace boards to make the patch in the floor (where there once was a wall) disappear. He didn't do it right the first time. Or the second time. Third time's a charm.

This guy, "G", is an ex-Pro Turkish Soccer Player who came to town on a scholarship to study plant genetics for his Masters. He rocked sanding and finishing the floors, told some good stories, and we all loved him. He even had his sub-sub contractor sand our back entry stairs, for free (assumably because jay tore up the nasty carpet on them to expose all kinds of hazardous glue and linoleum and lead paint, and G felt sorry for us)

sanded raw wood floors.

bits and pieces of an old house

one week in. oh my..

found: 6 new razor blades, a handful of chewed and spit sunflower seeds, brown shag carpet remnants, and an unopened christmas card from 1993 marked 'return to sender'

(no money inside)

coastal beige

there goes the kitchen floor. oh no.

texture. texture. texture. texture.

check out where there used to be a wall. drat!

the architect working up a sketch for how to proceed.

the best seat in the house. by far.

union requires us to let them rest for 15 minutes every 4 hours.

july fourth ='ed freedom from house rehab

imported child labor

good old fashioned game of "milk the latex glove udders"


buying lunch for the hired help

not pictured: grown man with ice cream sandwich

help has arrived to the woodford project.

she hasn't been here a day and she's already looking for a way out.

scrape. mud. sand. repeat.

the proverbial light at the end of the wall.

scrape. mud. sand. repeat.

racing the storm.

measure. measure. measure. cut. shit, screwed up. try again. repeat.

again, a door would be easier, but too obvious.

they're baked chips.

allen-sanctioned break.

erradicated pink and purple from the house by painting the kitchen with three coats of appletini. patched three living room walls. sanded the ceiling. tore down old painted paneling. argued about whether the arch should stay or go (whether it is support or no), sealed several windows, talked wainscotting, roof leaked, tried to repair it with flashing and too little tar as a storm rolled in, cut/screwed/hung/began to tape drywall where the old paneling revealed glue, sanded and chipped away at lead-based paint (yes, I know), beet salad for dinner, high-fives all around for fitting the 4runner into the 'garage' in time for the predicted massive hail storm that never materialized, congratulated boan for winning the bet that the arch was once a wall separating the living from dining areas. wine.