Rude Mechanicals Press Blog

You know the saying: We plan; the gods laugh.

I fully intended to by now be ripping out the bathroom on the second floor, and framing a new doorway from my bedroom to said bath. (The current design is circa 1985; the only spa-like touch is the cloud of steam that turns the room into a sauna when I shower. It’s causing the wallpaper to bubble off the walls, and the ceiling paint to peel. There’s an exhaust fan in the plan.)

But my front stairs are still in a state of disarray; I refuse to start on another major project before the current one is less sub-functional.

I’d like to blame the work stoppage on my cats. Along with some feline dental work I put off for too long, I had to have a growth removed from the base of JJ’s tail. And the other cats were overdue for checkups, shots, etc. That consumed all the funds I’d set aside for near-term house projects. My excuse doesn’t really fly, though, because I’m doing the stair work myself; I’m not so strapped for cash that I can’t afford a 2×12 for the framing. I’m just too strapped for time.

There’s the day job (always lots of deadlines there), plus some freelance editing that’s been keeping me crazy busy (Christopher Schwarz’s latest is at the printer and Hayward is close behind. As is the premier issue of Joshua Klein’s new magazine, “Mortise & Tenon”).  And my couch is comfortable.

But this weekend, darn it, I’m going to scavenge some floorboards from the third floor to finish the landing (that sound you hear is the gods cackling).

The two bottom steps? Well, those may have to wait until I come across the right stock. And the cats are healthy. (Reclaimed thick, wide and long pine is a bit dear.) The spindles and railing? Eh – what’s life without a little danger?

These kerf cuts in the original riser are cool. Too bad the last 6″ of the curved treads and risers on the bottom two stairs got lopped off a half-century ago.

This house rehab stuff was easier 12 years ago, when I dug into the first one.

After a Friday evening and Saturday morning spent running up and down ladders with a recip saw to cut out stud walls, and tearing out tile with a 26 lb., 60″ long iron wrecking bar over at Christopher Schwarz’s new (old) Lost Arts Press building, I was too tired and achy on Sunday to do much hard physical labor.

I need to get a move on tearing out all the old unused wiring, ductwork and sundry other crap on my basement ceiling, and removing a 70s-era bar from what will be my finish and hardware storage area. Maybe next weekend.

Instead, I took down curtain rods and patched those and various other holes in the living room walls…then sat on the couch for a little while drinking coffee while waiting for the plaster to dry.

But I’ve little time for relaxation. (Also, I suck at relaxing.)

For almost a month, I’ve been staring at electrical wires overhead as I’ve lain in bed at night – even covered in wire nuts and electrical tape, the wires were more attractive than the large (and dusty) brown ceiling fan formerly there. That situation was due not to laziness, but to a backorder on the fixture I bought…which was then damaged in transit, then on backorder again for the replacement.

And because everything on my second floor seems to be on the same circuit (for now), I can work on electric only when the natural light allows. But it is dark when I leave for work in the mornings and dark when I get home at night, so I had no choice but to haul my ass off the couch and haul a ladder up the stairs to install the new fixture while the sun was out (well, not the sun so much as a watery thin light filtered through clouds).

Installing a ceiling fixture by oneself when ones arms are already sore? Ouch. But it was worth the pain. No more bare wires, and I can finally see into the corners of my room at night.

I should have made the bed. Oh well.

By then, the plaster was dry, so I painted the living room, changing the dull and damaged mustard color for a calming dove gray.

That was probably a mistake; it was getting dark outside and the only illumination in that room comes from the chandelier in the hallway, and a 60-watt floor lamp. I likely missed a spot or two (and I probably need to apply a second coat). I’ll find out next weekend when I’m home during the day.

As much as I dislike Daylight Saving Time, I’m thankful for an excuse of “dark” to sit on the couch instead of working in the evenings. If I give them a few days of rest, my arms, shoulders and gluteus might just stop hurting.

Twelve years ago, 26 lbs weighed less.

Yes, that is a length of PVC pipe attached to the wall into which the washer drains to carry water to the sink. It was either that, or have the hose stretching 8′ to the floor drain.

OK – I know it doesn’t look like much, but do you see that square of cardboard in the picture above? That’s where the washing machine was until Tuesday. And my butt was against the basement door as I took the picture.

Now I can use the basement door (much easier to bring in wood that way), have a small dance floor available (not that I’m likely to use it), and the machines are conveniently located next to one another with the doors opening sympathetically for ease of use (that will not, however, keep me from dropping wet clothes on the floor as I move them from the washer to the dryer).

I fail to comprehend the former routes of the water pipes – there was simply nowhere convenient to hook up a washer. And, there was another water heater where my laundry basket is above.

I called plumber* Ryan Smith, who came highly recommended by many of my neighbors. (I also heartily recommend him – if you’re in Cincinnati and want his info, let me know.) He spent all day Tuesday at my house removing the unnecessary second water heater, rerouting water and gas lines, moving the machines, replacing some old and drippy shut-off valves, hooking up the water to my refrigerator**, fixing the shower in my first-floor bath, and taking out the extra gas meter for what used to be the second-floor apartment. Or maybe it was for the first-floor apartment – doesn’t matter; I need only one.

So just in time for cold weather and cold-weather utility bills, I can stop paying to heat water in two tanks, and stop paying a $40+ “Fixed Delivery Service” charge and attendant fees on the extra meter every month, if only Duke Energy would return my call or email….

Come and get it, Duke.

* Yeah, I decided to go with a pro. I’ll stick to the wood-related projects. And tile work. And painting. And minor electric. And everything else.

**For the first time in my life, I have a working ice maker and filtered cold water. It’s the little things….

Following a couple recent hard freezes, I figured most of the wasps and spiders would be dead (I was right about the wasps), so it was time to face the wee beasties in the top of my garage and clean out the many bits of wood, old galvanized pipe, rusted metal mesh and sundry other bits. I had some vestigial hope that the handrail was lurking somewhere under the crap.

It was not.

But I found some other nifty stuff. (And some less-than-nifty stuff.)

December 27, 1952.

The newspaper above (which pretty much crumbled under a light touch) was wrapped around some mysterious lengths of wood with slots and measurements on them, likely to protect hands from the many thin nails poking through.

Most of the marked sticks are joined at one end with a hinge, and two have shorter pieces hinged to them about 12″ up from the bottom…or down from the top. Below is a picture of them, as well as a close-up. Anyone know what these are?

Hinged sticks, with slots, measurements and nails.

Close-up.

Also kind of cool is what I’m guessing is a 1940s-era X-frame; I’ll bet there were two at some point. What I like is the bridle joint and clinched nails. I have no use for this thing…but I’ll keep it.

X-frame for…?

I also uncovered lots of what appears to be original trim work from the house, including fluted door and window casing, and door and window caps almost entirely intact and in good shape. Unfortunately, much of it is painted, but I’ll be able to strip it, refinish, then replace the not-original trim from where it’s missing.

Door and window trim, along with a lot of base moulding pieces.

But perhaps most delightful to discover is what appears to be the entire casing for the pocket doors that once led from the front hall into the adjacent living room. While I can’t put doors back (there are now HVAC ducts in those walls), I might be able to re-frame the opening, and I won’t even have to refinish the trim – though I’ll clean off the dirt.

Likely the casings for pocket doors. (Also, an old enameled bowl, peeking out from behind.)

But then…

After climbing around in the space for about two hours and sorting the “keep” pile from the (much larger) “toss” pile, I got down to the bottom layer.

Lift with caution.

“Oh – cool door!” I thought. “I wonder if that might be from the original kitch….AAAIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!!!!”

Unexpected tenants.

I’m told those are carpenter ants. I can tell you that whatever they are, they make a loud and harrowing clicky-clacky sound when disturbed, and that it’s a very bad idea to be atop a ladder when one finds them.

After recovering from my shock and revulsion, I flipped over every remaining piece of wood in the space (using a 10′ or better pole), then set off a couple foggers.

I have hopes that, because there are no walls in the space to block its spread, the killing fog will do the trick. And when, like my handrail hopes, those are dashed, I’ll call the exterminator.

I knew when I bought this place, there was a ton of work to do. But I swore I’d work methodically, tackling one big project at a time and not moving on to the next until the former was completely done. Further, I swore I wouldn’t make anything “just for now” – I’d wait until I had time to do it properly, and only once.

I’m typing this at the “just for now” desk (of sorts), that I pocket-screwed together in two hours after work tonight. The tiny vintage sewing table bordered by boxes just wasn’t working for me.

The model above shows a rough idea of what I’m supposed going to make, complete with a drop-down door that hides my computer and, more important, serves as a keyboard tray. Because of a doorway, the desktop can be only 14-1/2″ deep – that’s a little too narrow for a large iMac and keyboard…I feel like my mom’s going to yell at me any moment for sitting too close to the screen.

Mom would be right. I’m typing this with my computer and keyboard on a 14″-wide slab of semi-planed sugar pine, sitting as far back as possible from the screen, and it’s a strain (on my eyes and my arms).

However…I now have shelves on which to store more books. Empty boxes trump empty promises – particularly those made to myself. I was, at least, smart enough to build the base and plywood cases the correct size (or at least they will be once I remove the baseboards); all I have to do is slap a face frame on those in a few weeks months years.

It’ll do. For now.

In the meantime, it’s back to the Rail-less Staircase of Possible Death…right after I unpack four or five more boxes of books.