The Great Tile Adventure

I love my new tile. 

I love that is it not blue, even though I think blue is a nice color.

I love that when it is wet I don't feel like putting on a little skirt, sparkley tights, and practicing a Salchow Jump. 

I love that it goes with my Little Condo: sort of rustic, not perfect, and doesn't show dirt!

Looky here. Do you see any dirt? What you think might be dirt is just the tile. Really. I figure I could go for six months without mopping.









This is the front hall before the blue tile was removed. 

It was also before I removed the ledge/shelf thingies for collections of whatever.

And before some of the bead board was removed.

And some was painted. But, I digress.




I don't want to whine, but removing 100 tiles that were stuck good and tight was not easy. 

My daughter was living with me at the time and got just a teensy-weensy bit annoyed at being awakened on Saturday mornings by the chink-chink sound of metal hammer on metal chisel. I said it sounded like progress. Better not repeat what she said. 

I get very excited when I can see progress.  Every time one of those tiles came up I could see the fruits of my labor. Sort of like having a baby. Lots of grunting and a prize at the end of it all!

I am not sure why I turned into some sort of lily-livered chicken when it came down to laying the new tile. I am my own worse critic and I knew if I did the job myself I'd pick it apart for the rest of my life. Some friends needed the extra money, they had done their own tile floor, and so I employed them. I worked on scrapbooks while they sawed, crawled around on hands and knees and went home each day covered in whatever that stuff is that's used to stick tile to the floor. 

And we are still friends. 

 After watching them lay the tile, from my scrapbook table in the living room, I decided that if I ever needed to lay tile again, which I won't, I could do it myself.

Before

After

Kitchen before. (Yea! The big honkin' refrigerator is gone.)

Kitchen after. The Inspector General is giving it a cat scan. (Just pretend the refrigerator is not on the left side of the kitchen. You should also consider it a figment of your imagination that the escape hatch/pass through has been opened up into a doorway.) 

And the paint is NOT pink. It is Holmes Cream. I need some professional photography help from my sons. They know all about white balance. It is obvious that I do not.

By the way, I did have to lay some tile by myself after all. When I moved the refrigerator that you are pretending you don't see from one side of the kitchen to the other I had to put tile where the refrigerator had been. And you know what? It wasn't that bad. 

So, The Great Tile Adventure has come to an end. 

Onward and upward!!

It all started with a wobbly loo

 It really did all start with a wobbly loo in the half bath downstairs. 

Sigh. Sorry. No wobbly loo pictures. Or pictures of the water seeping out from the base of the loo onto the floor.

The vanities in all 2.5 bathrooms were the same: wood face and doors and the box made of something that swelled and disintegrated when wet. Plywood, or maybe it was chip board? Don't know and don't care. My little condo was built in 1982. Bet I didn't have to tell you that, did I. 

The sinks were all the same, too. 1982 was a good year for metal rimmed sinks.













And faucets with plastic handles. UGH.

I am not sure at what point I decided that I could rip out a toilet and a sink all by myself. 

Does anyone remember waking up one morning and saying, "Gee, I think I'll gut the house today and start rebuilding it?" 

I did have enough innocent sense to turn off the valves to the toilet and the sink before getting out the wrench. I have heard horror stories about people who forgot this crucial step.

Uh, what wrench? I didn't have a wrench. I had a box of straight pins used to hang pictures. (It really does work if you aren't hanging heavy pictures.) I also had a hammer that I bought at the dollar store.

I remembered helping my dad with little projects around the house and I was always fascinated by his adjustable wrenches. And screwdrivers. And pliers--especially one pair he called "gas pliers." (I am still not sure why they were called that.)

Since I was removing a toilet and vanity and would be hanging pictures in permanent locations, then some basic tools would be a good investment. Off to Sears I went. Hammer. Flat blade and phillips screwdrivers.  Needlenose and regular pliers. Cordless "housewife/girl" drill. Jig saw. (One never knows when a bit of sawing might be called for.)  And the best two things I've ever purchased: 

Robo-grip pliers 




and

 


some sort of useful tool with the words "Red Devil" on the handle. 




I have singlehandedly demo-ed every square inch of each project with these two items.
 

So, when I was done shopping and actually employed my new tools this was the result:

 Awesome, isn't it?! 

What this picture doesn't show is the blue slippery tile that was in there. And in the front hall. And in the kitchen. Here's what it looked like in the kitchen:

I t didn't match anything. I was just there. Every drop of water splashed from the kitchen sink or tracked in from outside made it slippery. I pictured myself with multiple lawsuits from guests who had done the splits in my front hall and wound up in the ER.

That stuff had to go. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We are talking about the half bath. Just out of curiosity, when did it stop being called a "powder room" and start being known as a "half bath?" 

This--my very first DIY project-- was one of those chicken-and-the-egg situations (aren't they all?) I couldn't finish the half-bath until the tile was installed. I couldn't get tile put in until all the old tile was removed. 

And after a couple of phone calls I decided I was not going to pay someone $1.50 per tile just to chisel up old tiles.  (I am 1/16th Scottish, after all.) There were 100 tiles. That was $150.00 I could put toward new tile if I did the job myself.

Surely I could chisel up 100 tiles. Two per day, that's just 50 days. But if I did three per day, I could knock this job out in no time. By the power of the Internet I can hear you thinking, "Who is she kidding?"

 

After the half bath, I started in on the hall. And then the kitchen.

If you look closely you can see a painted concrete floor in the Ten-by-Ten Den.  

Uh, I thought we were redoing a half bath.

  

Well, haven't you ever gotten up on a Saturday, sipped a mug of coffee, read the newspaper, and suddenly thought, "Let's just rip up the carpet!"? I can't explain it. I was overcome by an insane desire to remove the carpet and padding in the Ten-by-Ten Den. And ripping it up was the easy part. Getting up the tack strips that had been nailed into concrete clear down to China was a wee bit of a challenge.

 
I am woman, hear me roar.

 The Inspector General kept tabs on my progress, checking and re-checking to make sure it was all up to code.

I've lost track of how long I lived with bare concrete floors before I finally made a decision about the tile. My daughter suggests a couple of years, but come on! How could anyone live with bare concrete floors for....


I wanted flagstone or slate. Doesn't that just sound so cottage-y: "Today I mopped the flagstone floor in the kitchen." The cost was out of my price range. I wanted something with irregular edges so that it didn't look all prim and proper.

I wound up with a nice beige-y tile that wouldn't show dirt. You wouldn't think I would be concerned about dirt after living with concrete floors, but even I have standards.
  

Okay, okay! Back to the half-bath. 

 Without further ado here we go (wonky white balance and all):

Ta-Da!

 

In my spare time I machine pieced and quilted the little bird house wall hanging. 

Nora

Next up....The Great Tile Project

 

The Inspector General

This is Marmalade, supervisor and inspector of all things DIY around here. She has been (accidentally, of course) painted, plastered, caulked, poked with numerous baseboards and trim pieces, and shooed off of many things that were stacked--even if only 1/4 of an inch tall. Once she was "lost" in the house for half a day only to be discovered in the space between floors. I had opened up an area of the upstairs floor to have bathtub plumbing repaired and apparently she thought I had added a cat exploration element. 

She supports all my color choices, decorating ideas, and re-do projects. Her biggest contribution is curling up in my lap at the end of an exhausting day (I'm exhausted, she's certainly not!) and purring her approval.

 
 FYI: it is none too easy to type while The Inspector General walks between my face and the monitor.

A Little Bit of History

I was born in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, and lived my first eight years on a non-working, 100 acre farm between York and New Cumberland. The memories I have of those years are nothing but pleasant and happy. 

My dad and me in front of our farm house.

We moved to Florida when I was eight. I've never been the same since.

Every summer, as soon as school was out, we would pack up and spend two days on the road (pre-interstate days)  traveling to Pennsylvania where we would spend the entire summer. I loved being around aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and family friends. I loved the weather. I loved that you could spend two days lying about like a lizard because it was so hot and then a refreshing rain would come through and cool things off. I loved the little mountains, the Susquehanna River, the beautiful farms and patchwork quilt farmland. I loved seeing Amish buggies tied up outside the shopping center. I loved how no matter how warm the day was that the evenings were nearly always cool enough to sit on the wide front porch of my grandparents' home. I loved Sunday evening concerts in Reservoir Park. I loved being able to walk in town without being soaking wet sweated.

I have tried over the years to love Florida. I really have. Somehow I've never developed an appreciation for Spanish moss, trees that lose their leaves in the spring, alligators, palmettos, and summers that are so muggy and hot that any outside activity, save being up to one's neck in a spring or swimming pool, is impossible. And even the water in a swimming pool becomes un-refreshingly warm by summer's end. I have finally accepted that I live here, it is impractical to move away, so I have created a nest where I can retreat and pretend that if I look out a window I will see farmland and mountains in the distance.

In the spring of 1999, after nearly 30 years of marriage and three beautiful children, I suddenly became single. This blog is not about that, but this blog is a result of that. 

A couple of weeks into being on my own I called my best friend sobbing. I had tried to change the windshield wipers on my car--a car given to me by some wonderful, loving, caring friends--only to find that I just couldn't figure out how to attach them. My dear friend dropped everything, came over to help, and offer advice: get a cell phone and AAA and you will be fine. Oh, she also installed the wipers and showed me how to do it.

If someone had told me then that one day I'd be doing the things I am now attempting, I would have told them they were nuts. Now people tell me I'm nuts. But it is said in love, I'm sure. 

Nora

In the beginning...

 


This is what I started with.


Lovely, isn't it? Curb appeal galore.

Most people would have stepped on the accelerator, but not me. 
1. It was in a neighborhood where I would feel safe.
2. There was a pool that I didn't have to take care of.
3. I would be able to do a little flower gardening without having to do any mowing or edging. 

And it had a garage.

The Living Room

The inside wasn't anything to write home about. I think it was probably overwhelming to my friends who viewed it just before I moved in. Many were speechless. Quite possibly they were just plain appalled.

The carpet looked like some one had changed the oil from a motorcycle without using a catch pan.

The Dining Room Area

Dining area on the left, "No Man's Land" on the right

The dining area would be just right for my round table and having an escape hatch into the kitchen was a bonus. Truthfully, I believe it was listed as a "pass through."

 

 



Who puts a pink upholstered wing chair and foot stool on an outdoor patio?

"No Man's Land" will be addressed sometime in the future.  It is the bane of my existence.

Kitchen - left

The kitchen was white! 
It was the size of a postage stamp.
But it was white! 

Maybe this is what really sold me.

This and the garage.

Kitchen - right

 

There was one small problem. Or maybe a big problem. It had a huge honkin' refrigerator that stuck way out past the cabinets. This baby would have to go. Even if I got groceries every day I couldn't have kept the thing filled with food. 

View of dining area from kitchen

Here is a view from the kitchen into the dining area.

It appears that the only route into the rest of the house is by climbing through the escape hatch/pass-through, but actually just to the right of that opening is a doorway leading into the entry hall.

I am sorry I don't have pictures of the original entry hall. You are missing out. Oh, wait--there's a glimpse below.

View of lots of bead board

I am a sucker for bead board and this place had it in spades.

I like built in shelves for display items, but not when they are lining the entry hall, the dining area, the "den," and the stair landing. Not sure what the former owners collected, but there must have been a lot of it.

And then there was the light fixture that made me think it should be hanging over a pool table. As a bonus there was a matching one in the front hall. Lucky me.

Ten by Ten Den

Just off the entry hall was a ten-by-ten den with a half-bath.
And a wobbly loo. 
And a rotted out vanity, but we'll get to that later.

A sewing/craft/computer room!!

Yes! This was the third reason I wanted this place.

Up to the second floor we go. 

First half of the stairs to the second floor.

While I do love bead board there can be too much of a good thing.

I realize that many people hate small spaces, especially trying to live in small spaces. I am not one of those people. I equate small spaces with cozy. Cozy makes me smile.



Berber carpet does not make me smile. I would like to find the person who invented Berber carpet. I have a few choice words for him. Or her.


 

Master Bedroom

The Master Bedroom or "My Room."

It had a cute little balcony. I love sitting out there in the spring, fall, and winter when the weather is pleasant.

Don't ask about the summer. I hibernate.

This room also had a nice size walk in closet and a tiny bathroom. They are both about the same size.

I will discuss the walls later.

"Spare 'Oom"

The two other bedrooms are the same. Just look at this one, then mentally flip the photo and you will know what the other one looked like.

Also upstairs was a main bathroom. Not sure why I didn't get a picture of it or the master bathroom before I moved in. They were a sight to behold.

So, there's the house tour. I will try to post the renovations in the order they happened. Not sure how successful that will be as I was often flitting from one project to another.

You know how that goes.

G'nite and God Bless,

Nora