I'm sitting here, trying to work away, the puppy on the other side of the room chewing away on some type of animal's trachea (and, even though I'm an animal lover and it sounds disgusting, I couldn't be happier because he's not chewing me or my stuff), my contractor Nick banging away on the floor upstairs, his girlfriend's dog Hunter, tied up out front, barking away -- as you can imagine, I wish I could just get away.
But I am happy Nick is here and has started on the work. The plan is to turn the upstairs space into a living suite for me -- bedroom, three-quarters bath, office, and walk-in closet. The woman who sold me the house had had the same plan for the space and had some initial work done, then, it appears, threw her hands up into the air and walked out with it one-tenth finished. Come to find out, her act of despair isn't all that surprising considering that the insulation, the initial framing, and the plumbing were all done wrong, a fact I have discovered largely since I committed to having the space refinished. Every day comes a new surprise -- the old work permit is no longer acceptable by Portland City Hall so I have to pay for a new version (a few hundred $$), new drawings to go along with the new permit would help (another couple of hundred $$), better insulate the full basement along with the attic (now we're into several thousand $$). I realize it's what everyone says about a renovation project -- it always always always costs more than you expect. But somehow, shockingly!, it feels like new news when it's happening to me.
Having said all that, I'm thrilled with Nick. He's already my second contractor -- I had to fire the first one, an old friend who created a fabulous kitchen for my ex and I, after I couldn't get him to talk to me. After sending emails, leaving phone messages, and trying to corral him in the dining room while he breezed through with the plumber and electrician in tow, far too busy to talk with me, I could see this had all the markings of a one-sided love affair. I was going to spend my hours imploring him to spend more time with me, to listen to my ideas and my needs, and he was going to constantly be shaking me off. Bottom line, I needed someone who would pay more attention to me. If I couldn't get it in my last relationship, I was going to find it in my builder, doggone it. And I seem to have, with Nick. He's got a creative flair -- he was the one who came up with the idea to turn the dining room into the kitchen and vice versa, he found the surplus blue glass tiles for the shower at a super cheap price, he suggested the bannister for the stairs that will come down along the inside treads like a fireman's pole. And he's happy to hear what I think, and even take me up on some of my ideas -- as long as I keep paying him, of course. A very fair trade I've decided.
It will probably take another month or so for the upstairs to get finished as we have to wait for City Hall to bless the plans and the historical commission to approve the window design. In the meantime, I will wait as patiently as possible as we live amongst the stuff and the noise. I will not go away.
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