Quick Little Update

Like many things in life, the house is moving along at the pace of a turtle. It's full blown crunch time for RJ and his current job, so he's there every day doing finishing work. BUT, on Monday we closed on the small second mortgage that will allow us to get started (eventually--AT LEAST I can order materials) and then finish the downstairs bath, the addition siding and trim/baseboard stuff.

On my career front, however, I feel like I've been thrown into a pit of wolves. Well, not quite like that but I've been mostly unemployed with a verrrrrry flexible schedule for many months and suddenly...I'm not and have no free time at all. Do I love it? Yes. Is it causing me to snap at people and eat too much sugar? Perhaps. Working on that.

But before I run off, I got a small little pot of basil as well as a new purple hanging plant for the front porch--something I wanted last year when we finished the outside but didn't live in it yet. It is glorious. It is purple. And to RJ's relief, I can put off bitching about things not being done for at least another week.

Yay. 

Sir Basil. 

Fees and Finishing: A Neverending Saga

Mann House Phase 237:

This blog has a lot to do with building a house on an extremely small budget. Most of you know that this year has been rough for us financially to say the least. Rough mostly BECAUSE of this little house project.

A few weeks ago, I started thinking, huh...even though RJ is making money again and I'll soon be starting 4+ months of employment at Creede Rep, my mom and step-dad are coming to visit in mid-June. And staying with us. So...how are we going to get this freakin' downstairs bathroom done in a timely manner AND out of pocket...? And oh god the siding...

In any case, shit needs to happen. And soon. I decided to ask the bank what it would take to add a bit more of a balance onto our mortgage/construction escrow loan in order to finish our final, larger projects. These projects include the downstairs bath, siding/paint on the addition, and trim/baseboard throughout the house. We had tapped out the last of the original loan in December. Though it got us to the point of moving in, the loan is based on the appraisal of the finished house. And while there's technically no time limit required to finish it, for our mental and financial sanity we need to get this thing done.

I told RJ early on in this process that I never wanted to live in a construction site. And truthfully, he's kept it all pretty well under control. I also accept the fact that he/we will be constantly "improving" this house and I'm all for that. And I also know that RJ truly does want to finish it as much as I do. But I can only take uncovered walls and no trim for so many months before I start emotionally eating Hostess products on a daily basis.

I want to add that putting together an estimate for a construction loan/refinance when you've never done anything like it before is a huge learning experience, complete with a good dose of failure. As I may have mentioned before, when you apply for this type of loan and are doing the work yourself, they have you write out a detailed budget. VERY early on. So, you do the best you can. But, you always end up underestimating or leaving SOMETHING out. And oh...did we do both these things. Plus, when you work on an older structure, terrible surprises are around every rotting corner. We didn't figure in that the homeowner's insurance, property taxes, and flood insurance we didn't know we needed, would be escrowed in and therefore taken out of the total construction loan. That, plus realizing that doing the plumbing ourselves was basically impossible if we wanted to move in before the end of the year, left us with a lot less money for materials than originally anticipated.

So, I emailed the bank. They responded to my request and it's a bit more complicated than simply adding on to the balance of the original loan (of course). As I understand it, in order to balance out the debt to appraisal ratio of the original loan, we have to go from a 15 year to a 30 year mortgage and then add a second, short term mortgage for the additional funds, which are well under $10,000. We got a second opinion from RJ's former banker sister-in-law to make sure the details seemed sound. She said they did. On the plus side, we'll have a bit of a cheaper mortgage payment, though the interest is a bit higher on the second mortgage. But this will allow us to get all the major stuff finished. We've sent in the necessary fees (OF COURSE) to set this up and now we wait for approval in the form of an updated appraisal, which is done simply from a paperwork standpoint (and costs $150 frickin' dollars!!!) and then we can close for another couple hundred dollars. (Sick of fees yet? I certainly am.) Once that happens, we can start to pull money from the new loan to pay for the materials, exactly like we did the first time around.

In my ideal world, this will happen in a week--though I'm not optimistic. Then we'll need to order the supplies, and some of it will have to be transported from Denver. Plus, my season at CRT starts in less than a week, so my time will be much more limited. And all the while, RJ is furiously finishing his current work project. So...we'll put our faith in the gods of housebuilding to pull this one off. Otherwise we'll be sharing our master bathroom with my parents. Awkward...

In small time news:
*I primed all the downstairs windows so they'll be ready for paint once the trim goes on and paint colors are selected.
*I also painted the large back door blue. Because why not.

Blue door. But it's not sad.

Rethinking It

One of the perks of having a house that's 80% done is that you can still make significant changes that don't require major effort. Looking back at November and December, we were very much in "git 'er done so we can move in as soon as humanly possible!" mode. We have now been living in the house for almost four months, and RJ has pretty much recovered from his plantar fasciitis/bone spur repair. It still aches at the end of the day, and probably will for a while as with any foot surgery. Though fortunately, the pain is nothing like it used to be. In any case, he's full speed ahead for a job that must be completed in a month. My point: the time he has to work on our house is very limited.

I wasn't planning on repainting anything this week. We'd talked seriously about the fact that we should. The jewel tone color (almost ruby) I'd picked for the ceiling, once paired with antique white walls, red oak flooring and the blue stained pine in the kitchen, looked...well, terrible. The photo I'd used as my inspiration had a jewel tone ceiling with the stark white walls and trim of an old city apartment. But our house had way too many other colors and tones going on to pull the ruby color off successfully.

Unexpectedly, while I was in Denver last week for an acting job, the friend who I was staying with gave us a $30 gift card and a five gallon bucket of unused primer as a house warming gift. Awesome. When I got home to Creede on Tuesday, I figured what the hell. In a month, Creede Rep would be starting up and I'd have no time to do stuff like this. We had about two gallons left of the color we painted the walls initially (vanilla bean) and I had free primer. I spent the gift card on a couple gallons of a lighter white (to lighten the vanilla bean juuuuuust a smidge), some paint tray liners and super shitty rollers (more on those later). After my gift card, the grand total was only $16! Yes!

Now, it wouldn't be a Berry Mann blog post if I didn't point out something that sucks about this process. I don't know if any of you have ever painted a ceiling, but it sucks balls. I've gotten better at it. I'm more comfortable using an extender and roller kit. But it's a damn hard job and quite a shoulder workout. Your neck gets sore from constantly looking up, and using your upper body to smoosh paint all over the ceiling is not an action the occasional painter is used to. And you have to be somewhat coordinated or you'll get paint everywhere and in places you DON'T want it to go. (Side note: When not feverishly rushing to move into our house, I found taking things slowly makes for a much better job done.)

That said...about the shitty rollers. RJ had told me to buy the nice rollers but I didn't listen. Ms. Budget-Friendly thought, oh, the cheap three pack is okay it's just primer plus I can just throw them out when I'm done. FAIL! The thing about shitty rollers is--they don't hold much paint, they streak and run and are just altogether terrible things of the devil. But when a fantastic roller cost $5 for one, and the crappy ones cost $5 for three...well, we all make mistakes. The unfortunate result being, (though I did buy a better roller for the actual paint) there are visible roller marks all over the ceiling. The good news is that it's a very light color and not terribly noticeable unless you feel like starting at our ceiling. And it makes the house look old, which is an aesthetic RJ and I like. But I learned my lesson with the cheap rollers. Never again. NEVAH!

After you spend 4 1/2 hours priming over a ruby colored ceiling, the painting is like heaven. Paint is thicker, it goes on more smoothly and therefore takes less time. So, I had the whole thing finished in another three hours.

But why stop there?! I mean, the tarp and paint supplies are already out, the furniture is moved out of the way, let's do it! RJ and I met at the local hardware to look at paint colors for the wall. We'd talked about an orangish red for the living room. It would bring out the beautiful red oak in the floor and still create the visual pop I'd intended with the failed ruby ceiling. For an additional, yet reasonable 40 bucks, I walked out with a gallon of "Crush" and a cheap gallon of a mis-mix to use as a primer. A mis-mix occurs when a paint color doesn't turn out right and/or isn't what the customer wanted. They'll sell it for a big discount just to get it out of there. Oddly, this particular mis-mix was eerily similar to the ruby color we JUST painted on the ceiling. Weird. In any case, I was off!

Why the hell use a ruby colored primer you may ask! There is yet another crappy thing about painting I learned about while finishing the outside of the house last May. One would logically think that a dark color would easily cover over a lighter one. It's actually the opposite. If your primer isn't darkened, you'll spend the entire day putting on coat after coat after coat to cover that light color. For the siding we had them put as much black as possible into the white primer, so it would be grey. For those of you who've seen those photos, you'll notice this. And while a second coat is usually needed to even everything out, red covers grey easily. And actually...any darker color will work.

Clockwise from top left: 1. Priming ceiling. 2. Priming finished. 3. Ceiling painted and wall primer on (bizarro). 4. Finished! (Well...you know)

While hanging the artwork back up tonight, I found that with a colorful wall, I no longer needed the "art wall". I moved several pieces to other parts of the house. And honestly, even though we still have no trim or baseboard (yes, yes, RJ knows!), it's feeling more and more like home. And I keep being reminded that I really like making things!

A novel thought. Art in the dining room. 

Little extra awesome things:

We moved the refrigerator out of the center of the kitchen and it looks way better. After living with the small retro fridge at the cabin, a modern day side-by-side seems HUUUUGE. It had become the focus of the kitchen and that shit just ain't right.

We have drawers in the kitchen! RJ spent most of Tuesday making them perfect. We still need doors on the cabinets (as well as the rest of the cabinets) but it's the little things, folks.

As the weather is getting warmer, I installed screens on all the windows we have screens for. Colorado may not have many mosquitos, but man does it have flies. Horrid creatures. I spent 30 minutes Tuesday night chasing about seven of them around with a fly swatter. Dagnabbit. Screens!

Now I just need some baseboard and trim...someday.

Backyard Blues

There's so much left to do (on the 20% of the house that still needs doin') it's a bit overwhelming sometimes. As we've finally start making a little bit of money again, both of us have gotten antsy to get things moving on the finishing of our beloved home--though no big projects are possible until RJ gets his current job done by its late spring deadline. So, in sticking with projects that are easy on the wallet, we celebrated the joys of manual labor this weekend and sort of, almost, created a semblance of a backyard...that's almost ready for grass!

Recently, one of the top priorities in Houseland became moving things around in the backyard, which is almost more visible to people than the front yard, that contains two, big, pine trees. Right now, across the alley from us is the parking lot of the "Gift and Gas", which is the only gas station in town. Locals and tourists obviously frequent this location for gas, sodas, ding dongs, Colorado belt buckles and night lights (you think I'm kidding...).

When B (the previous tenant) lived on the property, in addition to the hoarding that extended through the entire backyard, he had a tall fence covered in an art-like installation of aggression towards the many persons he felt had screwed him over in some way. As I've mentioned in previous posts, this fence held upon it elaborate signs of anger and woe, nooses, even a toilet seat (you think I'm kidding...). The inception of this whole crazy house project started in that very backyard, where RJ and two of his friends had been hired to clean up.

Long story short: in the middle of the backyard clean up, one of RJ's friends had mentioned that the owner of the house had wanted to sell the structure and property for dirt cheap simply to not have to deal with it all anymore (it had been very close to being condemned). Though I'm anxious to see them now, I may have mentioned before that I was not allowed to see any of the "before" photos (or even inside the actual house) due to RJ's fear that I would wonder what in the name of Jeebus we had gotten ourselves into, and back out of the whole thing. But I do know this: that it was a complete shit show to say the very least.

In the last year, we've done a lot of work back there already. I've moved the same stack of random wood back and forth approximately 46 times (well, maybe three), and we've aggressively used a backhoe on it to remove the old addition and dig out a spot for the new one.

But back to privacy. We essentially have none back there. If we have the lights on, you can see right into the ground floor through our large glass door. Yes, we could hang some blinds, but it's low on the priority list for that particular spot--we've spent most of our winter evenings upstairs. We also found out that the new owners of the Gift and Gas may be starting their own remodeling project as early as tomorrow.

The new plan is to stabilize and move the garage (let's be honest, it's only big enough to be a tool shed, which we mostly cleaned out earlier this month) so that the length of it is parallel with the alley and then add some privacy fencing on either side, closing off the gaps. We will then add some high-altitude-loving grass and a small deck. RJ will re-side the garage (it's ugly as shiiiiiit) so it looks less like a white trash shop of horrors.

What remains one of the most satisfying things about these budget-friendly projects (usually costing only the paltry charge of a trip to the dump) is throwing. shit. away. I love it. I admit it. RJ has a slight tendency to want to hold on to certain things (for good reason--he makes old stuff absolutely sing in terms of design) but can easily be persuaded to let something go once I make "that face".

So, I spent yesterday once again hauling the pile of random wood to the other side of the yard to make way for the garage move, and created a pile of semi-organized "good stuff" and a nice big pile of "throw that shit out." We also raked leaves, filled in holes with rocks and soil and generally leveled everything out. Today, we actually put the pile of trash into the trash trailer. Sooooo gooooood.

Then I enjoyed a Dr. Pepper and a feeling of accomplishment.

You think I'm kidding...

Look, LOOK! It's even ground with a nice, organized pile of random wood.
Ready for grass, yo!

The pile for the dump. Ahhhhhhh.

Gift and Gas parking lot across the way, with just the top salmon colored gas station building visible to the left.

Other People's Surgery

I'm usually reluctant to write too much about my husband. He's a fairly introverted and private person. But I wanted to write about his experience mainly because I'd gone through something similar somewhat recently. As my six readers most likely know, I got hip labral repair surgery just 18 months ago. I blogged about it all--the pain, the recovery, the depression. Angry Crutches Game Face emerged as a sort of anthem of our time...well, not really, but because of it I felt slightly better about feeling fucking terrible.

This time, it was RJ's turn.

Two days ago he had surgery on his right heel to break up a bone spur and relieve some terrible plantar fasciitis. He'd been living with this pain for several years, almost as long as I'd known him. And perhaps due to the recent Medicaid expansion, he was able to have the surgery without sending us into terrible medical debt.

The foot. Poor foot. 

Lucky, I have had the time to be home with him, helping with whatever he needs. It's strange and difficult to see such a big, powerful guy first full of drugs, then in terrible pain, and now entering into the very real feelings of frustration, boredom and uselessness. Unlike my surgery, which was on a joint, RJ should be able to get around pretty well in a week or two, and at least be able to go back to work in a limited capacity. When he was released from the surgery with his big black boot, the surgeon told me he could walk on his foot at once with no damage to it. Jealous!

What they recommend with his type of repair is that you get a nerve block, which completely numbs your leg from the knee down and can last from 1 1/2 to two days. The anesthesiologist hooks up an ultrasound machine, locates the nerve, and then carefully injects the numbing agent around both sides of the nerve. This was pretty cool because you could watch the doctor perform the whole thing.

Just before, RJ had been given some meds to help him relax. Those lovely drugs are the best part of surgery, I think. Instantly I saw his eyes glaze over, and then out of his mouth comes this:

RJ: What do you call a boomerang that doesn't come back?
Nurses: What?
RJ: A stick. (Hee hee)

On his "four beer buzz," he told several more jokes before being wheeled off into the OR. Luckily for RJ, he was only put into "twilight" in terms of anesthesia. So, while not aware of what was going on in surgery, he would spend way less time coming out of it in recovery.

The few times I have been into surgery, they've knocked me completely out. I'm a lightweight with drugs and alcohol anyway, so when I come out of it, it takes hours and I struggle with nausea, dry mouth, and insanity. I. hate. it.

RJ didn't have ANY of that. He was what he called, "fuzzy" for a few hours, but he had no nausea or vomiting, so we made the two hour trip from Durango back to Creede and were home by 1:30 in the afternoon. We got him upstairs resting comfortably, and he complained about how weird the numb leg felt--as though you had a limb that was constantly asleep.

We'd been told that his nerve block would last about 36 hours. His lasted just over 12. I mean, he's a big ass dude, so this wasn't totally surprising. I had dozed off a bit around 9pm when he woke me in terrible pain. He spent the next 24 hours taking the blessed Oxy, not sleeping, and trying not to throw up from the intense pain.  He described it as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to his heel. Thankfully, yesterday in the early evening, the intensity began to subside and he could finally sleep. Today has been much less of a battle. He's bored. He's not in much pain until he moves the foot, and hopefully in the next week he will be able to get around fairly normally with his boot.

Das Boot, which looks somewhat like this. But has a little pump on it for more stability.

It seems that the big difference between our respective surgeries is pain and recovery. While I didn't have too much intense pain, because my repair was on a joint, I could bare way less weight on my leg. I was on crutches for a full two weeks and had very limited movement. RJ seems to have had much more pain initially, but his mobility should return quickly.

In any case, the hope is that he will eventually be in WAY less pain in the long run and stop getting fatigued at 3pm because it feels like he's been standing on a nail all day.

This wouldn't be a Mann's World if I didn't post something about the house, even if a it's small thing:

Yesterday the parents of some friends of mine, who own a fine dining restaurant in Dallas, saved and brought to Creede several cool wooden wine boxes at my request. I planned on possibly using them as cabinets in the bathroom. Well...they look friggin' rad! They fit our house and our aesthetic, were cheap (read: free) and super easy to install. I did it myself in less than half an hour. Had I not had a connection to these boxes, you can usually call a larger liquor store--I inquired at Argonauts in Denver--and they'll sell them to you for cheap. They quoted me $5. Anyway...

Behold the majesty:

An elegant place for your petite tp. 

Stuff we regularly use in the open box, the other two contain storage.

Death, TV, and a Guest Room

As I sit at my desk, breathing in the fumes from the polyurethane and stain I used today, I can't help but think...what a fucking week.

But first...this is mostly a blog about my house, and though we've been on pause for the last month, RJ's brother mentioned recently that he wanted to come down for the Super Bowl this Sunday. This, in addition to another friend of RJ's who takes one winter weekend a year to go snowboarding at the nearby Wolf Creek Ski area, wanting to visit soon. Currently, we can provide a comfy loveseat that would likely suffice for someone under 30. But, dammit, isn't this what being a responsible adult with your own house is for?! Providing pleasant accommodations for your buddies! So, this weekend, I cleaned out the guest bedroom (aka tool storage) and prepared it for some flooring. Sunday, RJ installed more of the lovely blue stained pine we have in many places in the house. I put the first coat of polyurethane on Monday, with a second coat going on 24 hours later. By Weds., we'll move the guest bed out of storage and into the room. Combined with a kick ass little desk/table thing I picked up, we will now be able to provide a semi-finished sleeping experience for our visitors.

That's the good news. That, and I was on a network tv show last week, which was pretty cool. Yay, Acting!

In other news, we had to put our giant pup Buford down this past Tuesday. He was an amazing and loving English Mastiff we had for over 5 years. He was around 10 or 11. His age was only a guess because when RJ got him through his brother in 2008, the shelter said he was 4 or 5. Large dogs like the English Mastiff, have a life span of 6-10 years. Not long at all. Being so big is murder on their hearts and joints. So, for a giant dog, he was doing pretty well. But in the last year, his arthritic knees were clearly causing him pain. We put him on an anti-inflammatory as well as paid medication, but for the last few weeks, it didn't seem to be helping much. A couple of weeks ago, his back right ankle swelled up like a tennis ball and he could barely put any weight on it. It was around this time that he started hiding behind the dining room table instead of on his bed, which he's never done. He was clearly in pain and facing the end. We could either keep him around for us and watch him totally lose the ability to walk, or end his pain. We chose the latter. Tuesday morning, he was spoiled with treats and hot dogs, and I spent a long time with his big head in my lap. Around 11am, a couple of friends came by and helped us get Buford and his bed into the back of a truck. RJ rode with him in the back to our vet, Dr. Howard. They administered the pink vial of death in the back of the truck. Buford was a champ. Being as old as he was, his veins kept collapsing, so it took a while to find a good vein. But he remained calm throughout the pricking ordeal. We stroked his sweet face, while the injection slowly went in. He gave a couple of sighs, like he would do when I would rub his ears with my thumbs (his favorite thing) and let go. What a sweet, sweet doggie. We assume he is wherever doggies go, "running" after something little and fuzzy. Rest in Peace, dear Buford.

In addition to being sweet, he was also hilarious.

Then, early Saturday afternoon, I received a call from my mom that my last living grandparent, Bill Nunn, had died that morning. This was not a surprise. He was 91 and a half years old and had lost my grandma early last year. Honestly, we were all surprised he lasted nearly a year after her. My mom had called me earlier last week to tell me he'd been moved to hospice.

He spent his last year reading a lot, and having a lot of trouble with his short term memory. It was simply old age forgetfulness. One of my favorite memories of Grandpa Bill was the fact that up until a couple of years ago when he had to be attached to an oxygen machine because of emphysema (he smoked for over 50 years--don't smoke, kids!), he would get up in the morning, get on his rowing machine and then lift weights. He loved black coffee and sandwiches. He preferred to converse with you in the kitchen of their house in Terrace Park because, my mother told me, he could hear best in that room. For as long as I can remember, my grandpa had worn hearing aids. They would buzz and sing out loud every once in a while. His obit is here.

Toasting at their 60th wedding anniversary in June of 2004.

Together again. Or what you will.

Like I've said, it's been a pretty crazy week. I head out Thursday to Ohio to attend Grandpa Bill's memorial. I was unable to attend my grandma's because of a show. Then, in opposite land, I'll continue on to North Carolina to visit my best girlfriend and her 6 week old son, Isaac. Life goes on.

I recently read an article about Russians who just couldn't believe the one word answer most American's give to the question, "How are you?"  A Russian wanted to tell you EXACTLY how they were--bunions, divorces and all. Whereas Americans use the phrase mostly as a simple greeting. So...how am I? I'm okay. I've been lucky that death hasn't come to my immediate family in much of a tragic way. I've always been able to accept death in old age, when one has lived a long and full life. But one's awareness of death does eat away at you a bit. You can't help but think about your own mortality. And that a part of your own life is over. About 14 months ago, my grandparents moved out of the house and little town they'd lived in for 60 years. No more staying in their house for a visit. No more gatherings in the kitchen and eating Capt Crunch and riding the old Schwinn to the local pool. That is what I miss. Those little things are gone and it's time to make some new memories. As a result, I am kind of tired, and sad, and just...ugh. But looking forward to getting out of Creede for a bit.

Okay, enough Bummy McBummerton.

Come visit, friends! The guest accommodations will continue to improve. We can hang out around the kitchen table. I'll even pick up some Capt. Crunch!

And now...pictures!

Bathroom door now matches everything else.

Right after I cleaned. Ahhhhhhh.

Sweet little table I picked up and distressed, since the paint was peeling on the top pretty badly anyway. We really can put this anywhere.

Bedroom door. Voila!

Floor and first coat of poly down!

I wake up to these two animals eyeballin' me!

In: A Love Story* (*first draft)

Well, well, well. WELL, well, well. We are in the mutha fuckin' house!!! (Literally.)

So much has happened in the last few weeks and oddly (or not) I've found it really hard to crank out this post. A post, one would think, that this story has been leading up to. It is probably partly physical and mental exhaustion. It's been almost a week and I don't think it's quite sunken in for either of us yet. Plus, it's been SO cold in Creede lately that we've spent most of the time in the cozy upstairs of the bedroom and tv room. The house is well insulated, but the main room has so many windows and it's been below zero at night, so brrrrr.

And like I've said before, I never wanted to be just a "lister offer" of things that have happened over the past few weeks. I find that pretty boring as a reader. But the final push has been...like birthing a child. (Like, I said LIKE, for those who actually HAVE birthed a child and are laughing at me right now.) But you wait. Sometimes for longer than your expected due date. You waaaaaait. And in the end, you've done all you can and it's now dependent on outside factors.

Washer and Dryer. They work and everything!

The Sun/Laundry Room. Complete with sleeping, elderly dog.

TV room. Boxes of books and nice glassware.

My l'il office. Much to do, much to do.

Bath.

We spent our first night here the Saturday before Christmas. Our plumber arrived in the early afternoon to hook everything up and left around 8pm. Alas, nothing is ever easy. The city turned on the water a few days before at the request of the plumber--to make sure that if there is any sediment in the main line, it is flushed out into a bucket instead of into your brand new pipes. The water hadn't been turned on in at least three years, so it took quite some doing. The city had to come back the next day and do some light digging in order to thaw everything out. I worried myself sick about this and ended up smudging the house again just to feel like I had some control. Hippie control. It worked. Maybe. Who knows. But I sure felt better and that's what's important. PS. Hearing water moving under the house is my new favorite sound. And that's usually a bad thing.

Positive #3 (of many too numerous to list): Having a place for all your shit. I have been so happy to throw away boxes because, other than the occasional out of town job, I don't expect to be moving in the immediate future. I've been a nomad for my entire adult life and I love having a place to land. I'm used to, and even thrilled by, living out of suitcases from time to time. But not all the time. This is like your real, personal storage space and a whole lot prettier.

Sorry for all the blown out window pics. It's a sunny Colorado day. Living Room! Art wall continually growing. Note lack of trim and baseboard.

Come on over for a sammich.

Sleepy room (with a now inappropriate color of comforter cover).

Positive #2: If you have propane as your main energy source, having an on-demand water heater is "da bomb". You never run out of hot water so you can fill up a large antique tub with hoooooot water. Luxury, I tell you. That was one thing we splurged on as it is over twice the price of a standard water heater. BUT, saves you a lot of money in the long run because it requires way less propane.

Positive #1: Having your own home. (Duh, right?) I'm sure those of you who have one can attest to this feeling. At one moment it's overwhelming because you can't call your landlord to get something fixed if it's broke. But in another moment--so gratifying that this place is YOURS. I see both of us taking more care with things, also because we literally made this house from nothing. Anyone else would have bought the property and torn down the house. Only my husband thought it was saveable. I am now really curious to see the photos that were taken of it at its worst. I was not allowed to see these initially because RJ was afraid I would punch him in the face for taking on such a monstrosity and he was probably right. Only after we started on the outside of the house this May, did I really start to come around. Only then, did the project felt less like a burden and more like an achievable goal.

This story isn't over. As the title suggests it's more like a first draft. There are still many boxes out, but they mainly contain all the books that don't have a bookshelf yet to live in. There are outlets with no covers (on backorder from our delightful hardware store). There are no doors or drawers for the cabinets--hell, we still need a couple of cabinets. We need trim and baseboard in most rooms except the bedroom. The guest bedroom is painted...but has no flooring, trim or light fixtures. The downstairs bathroom is even less done than that. But the house is liveable--complete with all those things that most of us (and me even a year ago) take for granted. We've got running water, electricity, washer/dryer, and enthusiasm. The 180'' shower curtain just arrived today for the antique clawfoot tub, so we can get the monstrous circular curtain rod up and stop those ridiculous European baths ;) But on the flip side, there is nothing quite like a nice hot bath in a large tub. No, sir...not much like it.

As there are infinitely more drafts to come, I will continue to post on house happenings and poor person home ownership. Maybe I'll even start talking more about acting (or maybe not--yawn) or CO mountain town living in general. Though, as a home stylist I admire says, design isn't ever complete. Your style keeps changing and growing and so will this house. I'm just so g.d. happy to finally have a palette to work from.

Door knobs. Installed by yours truly.

I like to call this the Half Kitchen. It's halfway there but at least has all the components of producing and consuming food.