The vikings have landed. At least one

At long last, a working stove back on in the almost kitchen.

Last week saw several milestones completed to the almost kitchen.

Tiles went down,
lights went up,
paint went on.

All before end of work week Friday.  This set the stage for the weekend of cabinets which had been assembled and waiting patiently in our now filled to capacity garage.  In they went.  All weekend long.  Very detailed work and a flew design issues resolved we now have the layout we have been working towards for several months.  Suprisingly easy, if you do it ikea’s way.  Leveling and attaching together took some finese, and some modifications with a grinder.

The mid-meeting tile run

The boys loved their new dance floor! (We hadn't cleaned off excess grout yet)

When my phone rang in the middle of a morning meeting this week, I knew it had to be bad.

And then there were LIGHTS!

All the rewiring, pulling drilling and connecting.  Brining in a professional to get us to and past the inspection.  Last week saw drywallers, come in and sand and dust.  This weekend saw Mel in on the action with priming and painting.  Hindsight would state we should have probablly fired up the electrical before all this, but confidence was on our side.

Basil and I rerouted and eliminted old cable yesterday afternoon, and kreeping in on 6pm, it was time.  To see all the work and to light up the room.

Flicking up on the breakers, none tripped.  Good sign.  Going upstairs, we arrived in a strobe of light bulbs.  I had put in CFL’s to test all 19 fixtures.  CFL, ast least these DO NOT LIKE DIMMERS.  result, STOBE EFFECT and a Black Lab heading for the hills.

Heart attack averted and a 3rd trip to Lowes that day saw the replacement to par 20 50w halogens and the room became alive after a few adjustments to wiring in one light.

This is one of the big check marks off the big list of the Tale of the Almost Kitchen.

Divorce dust

A tool to save marriages.

Okay, provocative headline, but let me be clear off the top: We’re not getting a divorce.

When D’Arcy and I began re-shingling a small garage in Toronto, a neighbour said to us “Oi! A married couple doing DIY? They call that ‘divorce dust.’ (He himself had a handyman on staff – something we could and can’t afford to do)

But let me tell you – if there is such a thing as divorce dust, it comes from drywall.

Being your own renovation contractor

The tile declared 'sub standard' by Frank #1.

An alternate title for this post might be – ‘A tale of three Franks.’

Let me explain. The beauty of being your own contractor on a renovation is that you are in charge of the people coming into your house, how much you pay them, and when they come in to do their work.

The drag of being your own contractor is that you are responsible for the people coming into your house, determining how much you’ll pay them, and when they’ll be in to work on your kitchen.

A professional contractor might have his favourite trades lined up, but as amateurs, we relied a lot on word of mouth, many estimates, and our gut. The key moment is the quote.

Enter the Three Franks, a perfect example of the (perhaps unexpected) extra work being your own contractor can create.

The itchy and scratchy show

Not exactly reno chic, but it does the job.

Installing insulation today took me back to sweaty days on the farm.

Years ago, working on a horse farm, it  always seemed the extreme heat of the summer was saved for haying. Hay is cut in the field, lays in the sun for days and dries until it’s baled.

Then, some poor sod (me, on a couple of occasions) has to throw the dried hay bales onto a truck to be taken back to the truck.

It’s hot, stinky work that has to be done wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, lest the hay break the skin and make wounds that will fester in your arms.