Rambling…

The bathroom is down to twos and threes, from sixes and sevens. Even worse than sleeping in the guest room and traipsing down and upstairs for a toilet a couple of days has been finding the baskets my heart desired for my storage shelves. The first set became too wide when door trim was added. 

The second set was returned when I learned it is necessary to inquire which dimension is which, shopping online. Length, width and height are interchangeable, I found; set two was returned, set three is being shipped.

The faithful old toilet brush, veteran of almost thirty years cleaning, did not reappear when the renovation was complete. Inquiries returned blank stares, so I shopped tonight for a new one. When did toilet plungers and toilet brushes become a combo? One base, two handles. Pop it open and one handle belongs to a plunger, the other the brush.

I stood in the aisle sadly surveying the display of brush, plunger combo packs. Suddenly in the back, almost behind the mop display, a single handle. I pulled it and found a brush, not a plunger. Granted one must open a little door to transfer the business end to the toilet; nevertheless, bonanza, and less than half the price.

Sitting here I realize I missed one item on my mental shopping list. Coffee filters. My monitor is liberally splattered with coffee. You know why. I read it can be dabbed away with a coffee filter dampened with distilled water. We’ll see, when I remember the filters.

I had an hour around town tonight, returning the nine inch deep and ten inch wide baskets, shopping, because Laura’s art teacher is up and teaching, although only two of her old students. The hip replacement was extra complicated and Mrs. P won’t be back in her upstairs, downtown studio until next year.  We went to her home, an hour’s walk from Laura’s school.

Laura’s art assignment over the next two weeks; turn her sketch of two fried eggs into a color portrait of two fried eggs.  The yolks are orange yellow, she explained on the way home; the whites are really grey white, but with crispy brown edges. I like mine over easy, with many little crispy brown circles looking back, but hers already are sunny side up.

A house in town. The ivy makes this tree seem to have leaves, but look at the bare branches beyond the flag pole. We expect winter by Wednesday.

I'm exhausted!

For Ellen, to resolve the orientation.

Standing in the living room, looking through "the little hall" into the bathroom.

Boys! I spent plenty of time moving their stuff to make a path into my room, on the left.

OK. All I'm showing you is today. Day twelve!

Sean by the window, fooling with sink plumbing.

The sink is in the shower.

The shower door directions are in Eric's hands.

Don't miss the cubbies on the right of the shower.

They are the only storage in the entire 6'x8' bathroom.

Twelve of them, floor to ceiling.

The canvas totes to hold bathroom detritus are due any day.

The sink is on the vanity; we have water.

Up front, Eric has some of the door frame installed.

We have shower doors.

A little piece of construction magic that fascinates me.

Eric holds the molding inside out against the wall,

makes a mark, makes a cut,

And has right angle molding, like on the other side of the shower.

Inside the shower. You've seen this before, but not with the doors on. Changes all the angles.

The mirror.

I had a chat at supper with the two lovely young ladies who brush their teeth at this sink.

It is not necessary to look in the mirror to brush one's teeth,

and the grandma expects to see no more toothpaste splattered on the wall.

Finally, they were done.

Wonderful men; fabulous work.

My turn to putz.

Sheers, and reclaimed curtains I wove fifteen years ago,

for the old bathroom door that had a window.

I cut these down.

Purple towels.

Lots of treasures. 

Split oak wastebasket came from a show in Illinois.

Old couple, he ran the machine to split the staves and she wove the baskets.

This clock was in my kitchen in Mentor; I've had it since the late seventies.

It has no glass.

Every grandchild has removed its hands at least once.

Most left them on back of the toilet, but some put them in the wastebasket, so I wouldn't notice.

The beadboard behind the toilet goes to the ceiling. My only statement.

The purple tank topper is a sample Beth made for a rug she wove many of.

The pattern is dog paw; though we affectionately called it puppy toes. 

The toilet paper holder came from an art show in Virginia, the first time the grandchildren lived with us. Becca twisted my matchy, matchy brass tp holder until it broke.

This one spoke to me, so I bought it.

Who knew.

Tomorrow two bucolic water colors by a friend go on the wall, and that's all.

I'm too tired add one more thing tonight.

Not there, yet, and another plan is coming together

It's not a bathroom, yet.

The only "spray" will be from the nozzle of the paint sprayer.

At seven this morning, the bathroom remains in the hands of the crew for another couple of days.

Some of what it takes to paint.

It is beautiful.

But not done.

What do you think of this?

I think it looks like an old lace curtain, on stretchers at my grandmother's front door.

Everything old is new again.

A few more bits will fall into place, and the loom and I will begin a new adventure.

Three days of week two--the bathroom

Make it snappy; they're back and I'm in a hurry to leave!

Monday, sub-floor and wallboard.

Monday evening, my friends, the nightlight and the toilet.

It's there.

Tuesday morning.

Sailor take warning.

Snow by Friday.

Meantime, back in our cozy bathroom and little hall,

Mudding and skim coating the walls.

 Serious sanding going on here.

And lots of venting.

Tuesday afternoon.

Jim's goal for the day, lay the tile.

This is a little demo to show me I really didn't want my tile long way.

You can't make a 6' x 8' bathroom look like anything except a stubby bowling alley.

Width wise it is.

Beautiful!

"You can't walk on it," Jim and Michael both said, and for fun Michael crossed the duster in front of the door for the night.

This morning I found one of Toby's leaves on the tile.

Don't tell him what to do!

Wednesday (today!)

Priming the walls.

The bead board!

Treatment of the shower riser.

This was the whole Plan A, Plan B shower plumbing issue.

Instead of sitting on the floor with a three inch lip the base is on a three inch platform, so the shower drains properly (for the first time in 26 years).

To sit on the floor the drain needed moved, but where it needed moved to is a heating duct.

Old houses!

No grout in yet; that will happen after the paint.

Michael installed all the bead board today.

There was an emergency run to the lumber store, as you can tell.

My toilet has been reset, again.

Jim's stockpiled wax rings, just for me.

Jim says they will be done Friday,

So Good Night all

Until the reveal.

More levity in a 6 x 8 foot bathroom

The three red trucks on the end yielded five plumbers on Tuesday,

to tackle the drain issues we've tolerated for twenty six years.

(Remember Mom's carpenter friend Bill? Yes, he "redid" everything, and winged it more often than not.)

I now know more about drains than Bill probably ever did.

Bathtubs have two inch drains.

Shower stalls require three inch drains. It's something about the way the water goes round and round.

Bill left us with two inch drains where three inch drains were required.

How many tradesmen fit in a 6' x 8' bathroom, stripped down to bare walls?

Three. For a few moments, four, but three was the consistent number.

 More plumbers downstairs.

This one stayed upstairs.

Between all of them, including Jim and Mike,

they removed the old cast iron stack in the corner 

and put in shiny new PVC.

Whoops.

It's a balancing act with the rotten old floor removed.

They gave young Mike the toughest perch of all. (The forward pointing toes.)

By Wednesday's end, new flooring and a good deal more prep work done.

Jim couldn't reset the toilet; I slept upstairs!

When I came in from work today, the shower stall was framed in. Jim was even putting down the sub floor, while Scott, a leftover plumber, was finalizing the terlit hole.

I think these guys are pleased me and my camera are missing a good half of every day!

Still holds three people, but one is now technically in the bathtub. Well, the shower.

Concrete, to set the shower base.

"You know you're standing on something!" Jim explained. 

I'll bet a hammer and a crescent wrench are standard tools for setting the last quarter inch of a reluctant drain.

The plumbers are gone, it's back to Jim and Mike.

Contemplating the wall.

End of day four.

Jim reset my toilet for another night.

I'm sure the poor old thing thinks perhaps I love it and it, of all the old fixtures, will prevail.

Ha! This time next week there will be a lovely tall toilet there.

Keep checking back.

It's happening

Good bye 1988 bathroom.

My house was built in 1940.

Small.

The downstairs bath is seven by eight feet.

The demo begins.

Jim, in the red shirt.

He's bailed us out of the problems of earlier substandard contractors.

Mike, his young helper, on the right.

My old bathroom, in a dump truck.

More for the dump truck.

More to come down.

The Plan B problem.

That's the shower drain, in front of the water pipes.

It needs to relocate about a foot south (Plan A).

Unfortunately, a foot south proves to hold the heating duct.

Jim's solution is Plan B. Later.

A completely unexpected problem.

The diagonal planks are from 1940.

They should have been repaired in 1988.

That carpenter was Bill, a friend of Mom's.

I hired him on her recommendation.

She stayed out of sight the day I fired him.

End of day one.

Jim and Mike even reset the the toilet,

So this old lady could still sleep in her own room yet tonight.