Remodeling nightmares
Fortunately, the memory is a fickle thing.
Often, we don’t remember the painful parts of things; instead, we remember only the more positive outcome. One example of this is childbirth. After each of my first two deliveries, I still seemed to forget the excruciating pain that comes with going epidural-free, and insisted on doing it a third time. Yet, even now, it is hard for me to remember the exact nature of the pain, and I mostly remember the beautiful moment my children were each laid on my chest.
Another example that comes to mind is home remodeling. I seem to remember only the lovely new paint, the freshly finished wood and the absolute lack of dust that a newly finished room presents. And while the pain that accompanies these type of repairs is merely mental (Who am I kidding? You know I injure myself during nearly every attempt to try something new), one might think it still leaves scars.
My husband and I planned for quite some time to remodel our hallway. We dreamed about how it would look, with old barn wood gracing two walls and stonework gracing the other two. We had saved project and labor money, and had purchased enough materials to get a good start under our belts. This past weekend, we had some friends come in to try to help us get a jump on the heavy lifting.
Almost immediately, I began to remember the pain that accompanies this type of project. Between the sounds of tools, shouts between floors, measurements being called for and echoed back, hammers banging and compressors kicking on, there is a lot of noise.
Then, there is the dust. Even with the majority of the cutting being done outside, there is sawdust. Everywhere. Add in that this particular hallway was made of 100-year-old horsehair plaster that had begun falling off the walls, along with the fact that what can only be described as super-fine particulate matter was being stirred up into its own weather system, and you may begin to get a picture of how dusty remodeling a late-1800s house can be.
Toss in a little snow and rain, which means every boot entering my house for two solid days brought with it extra dirt and mud from outside. In addition, the door opened and closed every 43 seconds for the duration of the work, so the indoor temperature was barely above the outdoor temperature. By Saturday afternoon, I was questioning my sanity for suggesting this project.
But, fortunately, the memory is a fickle thing. By Sunday evening, the sawdust and plaster bits were swept, the worst of the mud was mopped, and the tools were all silent again. Two of the hallway walls were graced with old barn wood, and enough of the stonework was placed to allow me to truly envision the completed project. The pain was over and the beautiful moment was close at hand.
And now, I can only see the new paint, the freshly finished wood and the absence of dust where there was some mere days ago. For a moment, I can only see the newness, and not the labor pains it took to get there.
Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.