Three Trips

Our First New Sticks


Dominic’s dad and brother came back for more fun in the arenas of floor joist replacement and cast iron drain pipe removal. Steve also introduced us to a basic tenet of home improvement, one that we have returned to time and time again, and one that is a metaphor for life, really.

Each project entails three trips to the hardware store.

Trip #1: The Stuff You Think You Need
Armed with your carefully made list of supplies and a fresh supply of energy, you stride confidently through the aisles on this virgin trip. You gather the necessary materials, and begin to do the mental math about how many hours the project will take before you can have lunch and begin the next project on your “To Do” List.

Trip #2: The Stuff You Got Wrong
On this next trip, you are a little less perky as you wait first in the “Returns” Line before returning to the shelves to pick up the supplies again – this time in the correct size, shape, gauge, color, motif, ____________ (fill in the blank here). Now you’re hungry and frustrated, as it’s almost lunchtime and nothing has really been accomplished yet. You have no new chitchat to make with the cashier.

Trip #3: The Stuff You Didn’t Realize That You Needed
After the meltdown you have when you discover that you must, indeed, return to the hardware store for some forgotten or overlooked component, you call upon your inner do-it-yourselfer to buck up, baby. You pick up a high-calorie meal to restore yourself, and choose a new hardware store where you won’t have to look the same employees in the eyes. Hopefully you’ll have what you need by nightfall, so that tomorrow morning you’ll be able to begin the project anew.

We have found that all three trips are important. While we do need to have a “big picture” sort of plan to endure the home improvement process, we have learned a lot from our mistakes and surprises along the way.

Our Architect

Floorplan - BEFORE


Floorplan - AFTER


We were already thinking of changes we wanted to make to the floorplan. The current design involved too many walls and doors that only further closed in the tiny square that was the main part of the house. Much graph paper was wasted as we each tried to figure out magical ways to turn our small space into a roomy home. Keeping the central load-bearing wall intact, we came up with a new floorplan that would change every other interior wall. Removing the unnecessary wall between the kitchen and the dining room seemed important to open up the space, and we rearranged all the rooms on the other side of the house, putting a larger bedroom in the back and a small office nook and bathroom up front. Dominic’s sweet Grandpa Holland bravely took on the role of architect, taking measurements and then dusting off his drafting tools to create beautiful plans that we could turn in to the city office. The folks at the building inspector’s office were surprised and impressed by the plans. We were relieved as we were still trying to stay on their good side.

But Wait... There's More!

I was a little shocked by what the house looked like with no drywall. Rather than looking larger because it was now empty, the dark redwood siding made it look miniscule, and the spiderwebs and mold did nothing to alleviate the “haunted house” feeling. Well, we supposed that there was really no turning back now. Though most of the interior could not be salvaged, we had originally intended to refinish the Doug Fir floor. However, it soon became apparent that there was just too much dryrot, so we added “replace flooring” to our constantly-growing “To Do” List. Ever optimistic (and naïve), we reasoned that now we would have easier access to the plumbing and would also be able to insulate the floor. The “house” was seeming more and more like a shell of a house, and the project was starting to seem a little extreme for amateurs.

Everything Must Go

At this early stage of the project, I was spending my days teaching summer school to middle-schoolers while Dominic demolished our new home. We would meet up at the house in the afternoons, identify any new vermin that had been discovered, have lunch and continue the work of the day. Using our bathroom was still possible at this point, though the utter lack of walls made some people shy. On many days, charitable friends and relatives would show up for a few hours to swing a sledgehammer or remove nails (Joel and Christy are two of our friends who deserve a big shout out, hella fat props, and whatever else the kids are saying these days).

Almost "Red-Tagged"

The Kitchen

The Living Room

Because we really did plan on following the rules of legitimate remodeling, we turned in some preliminary paperwork to the city’s building department, which is conveniently located directly across the street from our house. This resulted in a stern message from the Building Code/Permit Czar on our answering machine. He requested a meeting with us right away, and we were nervous.

On the day of the meeting, I was shocked to see Dominic changing out of his grubby work clothes into a button-up shirt (the equivalent of a suit on Dominic’s scale of dressiness). We went over our “story” like criminals, fearing the worst. In all honesty, we weren’t quite sure what we had done wrong, but we felt guilty anyway. In the inspector’s office, we shook his hand, and found out that he had “stopped by” and seen “way more work” than we had said that we were going to do. Apparently, one needs a permit to tear down a house’s interior, not just to rebuild anew. He told us that he could “red-tag” us (I’m still not sure exactly what that means - it sounds menacing), but instead he would issue us a retroactive permit for what we had already done. Grateful for his benevolence, we smiled a lot, laughed loudly at his jokes, and I think there may even have been some curtsying as we left his office.

Determined to stay on the right side of the law from then on, we have since abided by the building codes, which, for the most part, make sense. (I’m glad that a firefighter carrying his gear has to be able to fit through my bedroom window to save me, but I don’t understand why the first light switch in my kitchen must be fluorescent – must we all look a little greenish while we’re cooking spaghetti?) Also, lots of people warned us that permits cost a lot of money, but, compared to how expensive everything else has been, they didn’t seem to cost that much at all.

What's In a Wall

Because it was uninsulated and neglected in general, it was pretty obvious that most of the interior of the house would have to go. We removed the trimboards first so that we could tear down the walls. Though I had a shadowy idea that there were "studs" in the wall, I really didn't have a clue what a house would look like without drywall. Up to this point in my life, walls had always seemed so, well, solid. I found out that there actually isn't much in a wall but air and a few wires and pipes (and hopefully, insulation, if the job is done right). Dominic and I had the romantic milestone of filling up our first dumpster as a couple. We also had the much-needed help of his brother Marek, who faced the toxic dust with unwavering bravery. Oh, and we put up a hammock.

Finding a Happy Place

In his own way, Dominic also had to “find a happy place” in order to cope with the massive endeavor in front of us. One of the things that drew us to this place, for better and for worse, was the big, wild yard that borders open space behind our property. We imagined relaxing with margaritas in the backyard at some future date, but had to settle for small steps at backyard beautification for the time being. I thought it was cute that Dominic’s very first project was a small planter box for vegetables. Who cares if we can’t live in our house yet? We’ve got zucchini!

There's Just Not Enough Sage

Suddenly we were homeowners, but our home was uninhabitable. Honestly, it was difficult (and potentially harmful to one’s health) to even go inside our home for a brief visit in its current state. So many things needed to be changed, most of all the feng shui/mojo/vibe or whatever else you might call it. I burned some sage for purification (we are, after all, in Northern California, and I figured it couldn’t hurt) and also for stench coverage. Dominic thought it was funny that I put a rose on the counter and wiped down surfaces that would soon be demolished, but it was psychologically helpful. We were grateful that the many friends and family members who visited our “project” those first few days never told us that we were nuts to our faces – we figured they said it to each other in the car on their way home, which didn’t bother us one bit.

575 Square Feet

In our very grown-up pursuit of home ownership in May of 2003, we searched through real estate listings of condos because they seemed to be all that we could afford. Concerned that Dominic and his hobbies couldn't be contained in a condo, we were elated to see a listing for a house. Yes, the picture the seller selected seemed unconventional, and yes, it seemed impossibly small, but it was a house! Despite the fact that it was filled to the brim with junk and in such a state of disrepair that our realtor had to wait outside to prevent an allergic reaction, the house charmed us right away. I signed my name on many pieces of paper that I didn't really read, and the house was ours. Dominic bought me my first tool belt and assured me that he had acquired handyman skills working alongside his dad. We planned to continue living in our rental while the major work was done, which we estimated would take about three months.