Sunday 27 January 2013


I'm back. I caught the morning ferry on Thursday, after dropping the kids off at school. They complained that their Dad turns the house into a work-camp when I'm gone. I figured they'd survive. 
Big hugs and off I went.

The ferry was delayed 45 minutes because something was wrong with the "anchor winch." So we all sat in our vehicles waiting and waiting. At the terminal, I ran into my Uncle Pat. He was just heading over for the day to check on his house and pick up the mail. I told him to pop by the cottage on his way home. 

I stopped in Miner's Bay and picked up some milk for my tea at the grocery store...







...went into the Sunny Mayne Bakery and bought a few cranberry-apple scones. I have to say this: unless you've had a homemade scone, you really don't know how they're supposed to taste. They should be fairly small, with a crumbly texture and a toasty golden crust. The scones you buy at Starbucks and other places are glutinous and cakey. They're chewy because there's no air in them. They sit in your gut like a sad lump of dough. 

The Sunny Mayne Bakery makes a proper scone and they're the best I've ever tasted...







Strolled into the Trading Post to check out the movie rentals...







I knew when I arrived at the cottage I would be seeing all the windows & doors trimmed-out and I was so excited that I refused to look at anything until I had a fire going. I just kept my eyes averted. Once the cottage warmed up and the kettle was on, I looked around. Wow...it just looks lovely. Here is the front door and window...(you have to enlarge these pictures to get the full effect)








Here is the north-east corner...






Here are the closets...












Now let's head into the kitchen/dining area...













They look just beautiful. I'm very pleased. You may notice that some of the trim work is painted and some is not; Lorenzo had to get more wood to finish the job and I'm glad because I decided that I hate the trim colour we chose. I went with my favourite white, which is "Mayonnaise" by Benjamin Moore. Home Hardware matched their paint, but the colour turned out slightly peachy. Their recipe is wrong, in my opinion. Peach and creamy yellow clash. I was really disappointed and I spent a few hours wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me; in some light, it looked fine. In other light it looked terrible. So I went back to Home Hardware and had them mix me up a small can of my other go-to trim colour: Cloud White. I did a sample and it made a huge difference. The Mayonnaise made the walls look a sickly yellow, but against a true white, they look cream - which is how they're supposed to look. 

Sadly, I made this decision after I had taken all the doors off the hinges and applied a first coat. I felt so deflated the first day. And taking solid-core doors off the hinges is really hard, by the way. And then lifting them onto a saw horse is even harder. I think Lorenzo thinks I'm a man.

My Uncle Pat came over and we had a little visit. He sat on my sofa drinking tea while I painted and we had a nice chat. He is 78 years old now...it's hard to believe. He brought me some kindling which I really appreciated, and he told me to start burning all the wood we have stacked outside. I assumed that because it hasn't been under shelter it wouldn't burn, but he said to go ahead. I did, and was quite surprised - it burned fine. I hope it doesn't wreck my stove. Uncle Pat stayed about an hour then left to catch his ferry. I feel an enormous debt of gratitude to my Aunt and Uncle who introduced so many of us to Mayne Island. Were it not for their hospitality over the years, I doubt any of us (myself and my cousins) would have come to love the place so much. I doubt we'd have known it existed - just another a little island dotting the west coast of British Columbia.


I ate soup for dinner, then had my delicious scone with a cup of tea. Bliss. 

The next day was Friday, and it was a beautiful clear sunny day. Because I knew our painter was coming back, I decided to let him re-paint the doors the new colour and finish the trim. I had too many other things to do. I put the doors back on their hinges (I cursed many times) then I began tearing up the laminate floor. This took me several hours...






I pulled out the stove and fridge, ripped up the laminate and the underlay, then put the appliances back in place...







My goal was to do everything I could to make things easier for Lorenzo. We knew we wanted to get rid of the tile foyer, so I decided to tackle that as well. With a crow-bar...








It was at this point that I turned off my Irish music. I needed something heavier, so I switched to Jimi Hendrix. Music really affects my energy level. Anyway, I've never done this before, and it took me a bit to get the hang of it. It was very hard work - probably the hardest thing I've done at the cottage. I was happy when it was over...








There was a lot of mortar left on the sub-floor and I had a very tough time bringing it up - we don't have a shovel at the cottage and the crow bar was just not cutting it. I did about half and had to stop - I was so tired. The pile of crap to be taken away outside has expanded to rather disturbing proportions...










The hard part was moving everything around in order to get to the flooring. I had to move the piano, all of the boxes of hardwood flooring, Lorenzo's tools, etc. So many times I boxed myself in, shouted out curse words... Anyway, it got done, and I re-arranged the living room furniture in such a way that the painter has clear access to the windows and crown moulding. As you can see, the area is boxed-in by the hardwood flooring...






The floor in the eating area is covered by random pieces of plywood - this was the former bathroom, so the floor is a mess. I don't know how Lorenzo is going to level everything...








I guess it was around 7:30 pm when I finished and cleaned up. My muscles were twitching and I was so tired that I was starting to do stupid things - putting something down, then spending ten minutes trying to find it, putting the kettle on and then forgetting about it... I staggered upstairs and had a shower, figuring I'd turn in. But then I got my second wind. So I re-arranged the furniture, just to see how the sofa will look in different spots. Here it is on an angle in the north-east corner...







I don't think it looks it very good. So I tried it against the wall...





I'm not keen on this either. 






This is a hard room to figure out. The north-east corner is where the piano is going to go; maybe we can put a comfortable arm chair over here...







I didn't get to sleep on Friday night until about 2:30 in the morning. I assumed I would sleep well, given how tired I was but I didn't. I couldn't sleep, and then I had my recurring nightmare which I experience every three or four months. I dream that I'm my age now, but I don't have any children. I haven't been to school, I have accomplished nothing in my life. In my dream, my mum is alive and she is disgusted by what a failure I've turned out to be. I am overcome by panic and regret; I forgot to have children and now it's too late! The feeling of desolation is so intense.  I wake up relieved that I have my children, I have a husband, I've got my degree, everything is fine...


I have consistently disturbing dreams on Mayne Island. Lorenzo says he does, too...it must be a combination of stress and fatigue. The cell phone reception is usually non-existent and sometimes I feel very isolated not knowing what's going on at home. Maybe this plays into it on a sub-conscious level. The last time Lorenzo was there, he dreamt that his car was surrounded by four or five guys and he had to fight all of them. He woke up feeling as though he'd swum the English channel. But in his dreams, he wins! That's right - Lorenzo takes on a gang of marauders and comes out victorious. In my dreams I can't even tie my shoes.



When my mum was alive, I'd tell her about the awful dreams I'd have about my kids - that I'd lost them in a store or that I'd forgotten all about them, only to find them starving somewhere. She said, "You're going to have those dreams for the rest of your life." Motherhood. Before kids, I had great dreams. Dreams about hot looking men, dreams about lying on a sandy beach (with hot looking men), dreams where I'd be soaring high above the clouds with the eagles...


Now I dream about confusing things; I can't find my keys, something is wrong with one of my kids, I am in high school and I can't find my class.... And lately, I'll dream that I'm in the company of young people and I'm feeling happy until I realize that I'm old - I'm not young anymore! It's so depressing.

Woke up this morning (Saturday) feeling like I hadn't even slept, and decided to catch the 5 pm ferry home. I gathered up wood on the property for Lorenzo and stacked it on the front deck. I  looked around our property...there are a lot of trees that I want gone...





I can envision how this could look with blossoming trees of various heights and foliage. Maybe some dogwoods and flowering crab-apples.. And the end of the property could be a lovely sitting area with a camp fire. I love trees but we are so hemmed in that even on a sunny day it still feels rather dark. And my brain needs light - without it, my serotonin dissolves and I start to feel like I'm pushing through mud. Lorenzo agrees with me - he isn't sentimental about trees the way I am and figures if we're replacing them with other living things then we've offset the damage, so to speak. I just wonder about the little birds in their nests when the guy shows up with his chainsaw. Speaking of animals, I didn't see a single deer on this trip, and that has never happened. Strange.

I cleaned up the cottage and organized a paint-station for Freddie the painter, then I noticed that I had a couple of hours to kill. I popped in the screen that came with our wood stove to see how it looks. Not bad! This allows you to enjoy a fire on a summer night without over-heating the house...









Then I played the piano...





This piano was given to me by my cousin. It was sitting in Uncle Pat's house not being played and she suggested that we take it. Thrilled, Lorenzo and I somehow managed to load it into a rickety trailer and bring it into our cottage. I don't usually like playing most pianos except for my own, but this one has a lovely warm sound. I played for about an hour - no interruptions, no phone ringing, no dog scratching at the door... I can hardly express how much it means to have that instrument there. We even renovated the cottage around it; Lorenzo made sure we had a wall span of 63-inches. Hence, the single French door instead of doubles. We chose music over design. 

Lorenzo plays too - he's very good. When we were in Las Vegas, he decided to play the piano at the Bellagio. Which was against the rules. As you can see, the other guests were thrilled. Check out those two miserable faces in the background...







And then I took the road home...






When I arrived at the house, Lorenzo walked out to the truck to greet me followed by my dog who was going nuts. We talked for a few hours and hashed out the next sequence of events: he has to level the sub-floor and fill in all the areas where walls were taken out, then put down an underlay, and then the hardwood... He looked at my pictures and was very pleased that the flooring was all taken up. He says I've saved him a whole day of work. 

I said, "When this cottage is finished, what the hell are we going to talk about?" He said, "Oh, there's still so much to do - I have to put up new gutters, we have to deer fence the property..." In other words, we have many months and years of gruelling work ahead of us to keep the conversation going. In any case, we're getting closer...










(I hung a sheet on the window for privacy)

*     *     *     *

There was a full moon tonight. It's damp and cold outside and the ground is wet...my thoughts are turning to spring. I really need winter to be over...






Until next time...




Wednesday 23 January 2013


I am going to Mayne Island tomorrow. Lorenzo showed me how to remove a door from its hinge using a screwdriver and a hammer, so hopefully I'll be able to manage it. I have eight doors to paint and if I have time, I'll start ripping up the laminate flooring. My daughter made a sad face when I told her I was heading over there and now I feel guilty. She feels really out-numbered when I'm gone. 
In any case, I need to prepare for - get this - the kids' semester breakThey just had Christmas vacation, and now they'll have a week off. And if that weren't enough, the following Monday is a pro-d day. So I'm going to enjoy a bit of solitude before all hell breaks loose.

Before I leave, I'd like to pass this along. I went over all the books I read in 2012 (I keep a list) and it was fairly lengthy. And the best book I read all year is "The Tortoise and the Hare" by Elizabeth Jenkins.




I found this book sitting on the shelf at the condo we rented in Puerto Vallarta. It knocked my socks off. Her writing is beautiful, evocative, and she creates subtle tension in her story that reminds me a bit of Jane Austin.

Anyway, this story takes place in England just after the second world war. A woman lives with her husband who is a lawyer, and their eleven year-old son. The protagonist is a very intelligent woman, but she isn't particularly ambitious. Her husband is an alpha-male type who treats his wife with thinly-veiled contempt; he is irritated by her. And her son is already adopting his father's attitude and begins to perceive his mother as being somewhat deficient. The wife begins to lose her confidence - she's always on edge, always lamenting the fact that she keeps annoying her husband, whom she loves very much. You begin to see how displaced she is in her own home and the reader perceives something sinister developing.

You see, the husband is falling in-love with the next-door neighbour. She's an aggressive woman who sees something she wants and is relentless; she makes herself continually available, offering to drive the husband to work, and even insinuates herself into the life of the little boy. As the reader, you see this unfolding and it's almost horrifying because the wife is such a gentle and trusting human being. It's an excellent story, deliciously English, and the writing is astonishingly good.

I have searched everywhere for books by Elizabeth Jenkins, and most are now out-of-print. I am currently reading one of her novels called "Brightness" and so far, it's excellent. I purchased it on-line from a second hand book seller in Boston - it cost me $42. and it's a mint condition hard cover. Worth every penny. I am determined to collect all of her novels, even if I have to have them shipped from across the globe.

I can't believe I never heard of this author - I feel like I've discovered my new favourite writer.
So, if you want to read something unusually good, I highly recommend this. Hands down, the best novel I read all year. 

"Perhaps the greatest reading pleasure has an element of self-annihilation. 
To be so engrossed that you barely know you exist."  (Ian McEwan)



Tuesday 22 January 2013



Our entire neighbourhood has been shrouded in heavy fog lately. Tonight, I walked the dog and imagined myself in Whitechapel, London...in the late 19th century....when Jack the Ripper was on the prowl! It was most exciting. 





Lorenzo returned home this morning and had taken some pictures on the camera. Unfortunately, when I downloaded them something went wrong and they were inadvertently deleted. Sorry. 

We talked for a long time and hashed out what our furniture placement should be. It is such a small space, and we have two large support posts which are real obstacles. Lorenzo says we should ditch the piano and bring over his electric keyboard which would take up far less room. My position is that without the piano at the cottage, I will never be fully relaxed. Playing a keyboard is akin to drinking instant coffee: it will suffice in a pinch but it doesn't really satisfy. 

He's correct that an acoustic piano takes up a considerable amount of precious floor area, but it isn't a piece of furniture - it's an instrument. It is part of the soul of a home and without it, I would not feel the same way about being there. So the piano stays.

I have done endless 3-D designs of the cottage and I have to say that at this point I am really disheartened. I thought it would be nice to put the harvest table with two benches in front of the wood stove. I only came upon this configuration recently and it looks very welcoming and appealing - I can envision the family around the table on a chilly winter evening with the fire crackling beside us...singing Cumbiya...







 And with this idea, the dining area could be home to some comfortable chairs and a small table - a cozy space to read a book or have a glass of wine with friends. Lorenzo vetoed the idea and started yelling about how hard he worked installing those windows to accommodate a dining area and here I go throwing a grenade onto his happiness. Then he accused me of a coming up with a bad kitchen design. I scoffed! He actually came home today and announced that we should have a galley kitchen. I said, "What about the plumbing?!" He says, "I can move it." 

Here's the thing: I had a galley kitchen in our previous house. This home was built in 1902 and was quite possibly the oldest house in our neighbourhood. It was so horrible when we bought it, Lorenzo referred to it as "our east-end crack house." When I first called the realtor he sounded so weary. He said, "It's in really bad shape." I said, "I know." He said, "I don't think you understand....it's uninhabitable." Here was the back of the house before:





We painstakingly renovated it, right down to the studs, and to this day I regret selling it. My heart went into this home...but we had a refinery practically in our back yard and I couldn't take the stench anymore. But if we'd stayed, we would have been in a position to buy waterfront on Mayne Island....ah, regrets. They're a killer. ("Never look back unless you are planning to go that way." - Henry David Thoreau). Here is how it looked right before we sold it, after a bidding war:





Anyway, the galley kitchen was a giant pain in the ass. Here is it...




So, I had my stove on one wall....




and my sink on the other. Unless you rarely cook, constantly turning from one side to the other becomes extremely frustrating. Christmas dinner was especially joy-filled. You wash vegetables in the sink, and when you turn your body to put them into a pot, there is water on the floor. Back and forth you go, spinning like a top, taking unnecessary steps over and over again, leaving trails of food everywhere. So many times I would be carrying something hot from one side or the other, and one of the kids would come racing through the kitchen and it was potentially dangerous. Lorenzo did build a cute nook in that kitchen, though...




These pictures make me nostalgic..so many birthday cakes, so many images of my three kids sitting in the nook with missing teeth and flannel pajamas on...  Anyway, as cute as it was, the galley idea was not ideal. So I told Lorenzo that I do not wish to change my kitchen plan. It works, and I am just so desperate to finish this blasted cottage that I can't even discuss making alterations. Even the single French door is going to stay; why start causing more delays?

So we hashed out various plans, stated our cases emphatically to each other, interrupted each other in mid-sentence, and still we are no closer to an agreement. All this cottage talk is exhausting. And Lorenzo is determined to have not one, but several areas in which to "crash out." He envisions lounge-chairs, recliners, sectionals, giant ottomans, enormous pillows...a veritable harem of comfort; the floor littered with puffy cotton balls in case he needs to suddenly collapse.
I tried explaining to him that we can't turn 500-square feet into a furniture show room - it will look ridiculous. And if you're that tired and in need of "crashing" go to bed, for crying out loud.

I wish I had the pictures he took; he did an amazing job and it just looks delicious - he finished it all: the window & door trim, as well as the crown moulding. I can't wait to go over again. I think I'll head over Wednesday. The doors need to be painted and the hideous laminate floor has to be taken up and chucked into the bin. My cousin and his wife will be on the island too, so that will be nice.


*     *     *     *

There is only one show on HGTV worth watching (in my opinion) and that is "Love It or List It." The show follows a fairly predictable format, but the hosts are intelligent, funny, and the final results are usually worth the wait.





 Recently, "Love It or List It Vancouver" was created, so it was with real interest that I tuned in...




Tonight's episode left Lorenzo and I stunned. First of all, the female host is a former "Bachelorette" whose design skills are dubious at best, and she comes across like a bit of a dim-wit, delivering her lines in a somewhat valley-girl style of diction. I don't believe she understands anything about construction and I cannot help but wonder if she became a "designer" after taking a few night-school classes. What I find really comical is her requisite designer side-kick who appears on screen looking stunned and never has anything to say. The realtor fellow isn't too bad, but whoever is responsible for spending the client's money should be seriously investigated. I think it might be Bernie Madoff.

Anyway, tonight her job was to renovate a Vancouver bungalow to satisfy the homeowners into staying as opposed to selling. Her budget was $80,000. The couple needed a complete kitchen renovation and alterations made to the main floor - ie, opening up walls, improving the floor plan,  adding storage, etc. The main floor was not working for a family of four. But this "designer" chose to renovate the basement instead, and relocate all of the bedrooms to the downstairs. Leaving the main floor in appalling condition and focusing on the basement is bad design sense and a poor investment: kitchens and bathrooms sell houses, not basements, and their basement was already finished.

I don't know about you, but I would not want my bedroom to be in the basement unless it was a stunning transformation. And I wouldn't want to be hunkered below-stairs with my kids like Victorian scullery-maids. Kids and parents need distance. Lots of it. To make a long story short, somehow she managed to squander $80,000 without doing anything significant on the main floor (no kitchen reno, no bathroom reno) and the basement looked, in my opinion, really bad: Three bedrooms, none of which were remotely interesting, a puny "walk-in" closet that did not provide sufficient clothes storage for one person let alone two, no en-suite bathroom, bad wall colours, horrible window treatments, cheap flooring materials, cheap-looking furniture, tacky art work, etc.

Eighty thousand dollars. Lorenzo said, "No kitchen, no bathroom...where the hell did the money go?" The only structural change was re-configuring the stairwell to meet code. It was bewildering.

I am mentioning this show because our next-door neighbours are going to be on it! They live in an adorable character home that looks like a cottage one might find in the Cotswolds and I am truly concerned that this ding-a-ling is going to ruin their house. I am cringing at the thought. Because if a designer wrecks your house, who is going to buy it if you decide to list? What if you hate the final outcome? I will be keeping my fingers tightly crossed...


*     *     *     *

One of the best designers in Canada is a woman named Sarah Richardson. I have learned a great deal watching her shows, but for some reason she is nowhere to be found on tv these days. She renovated her own cottage a few years ago and the results were stunning. I have referred to these pictures many times...










There is a profound difference between decorating and designing. Anyone can paint a room or change the carpets. But the ability to envision space; to visualize a room three dimensionally, is a genuine skill and one that requires an artistic eye. Look at her finishing: the way trim wraps around a structural element; the implementation of salvaged materials like the barn-board on the island and the corbel supporting the counter-top. These are added features that take a room from looking nice to looking spectacular.

Her understanding of space, light, and the importance of scale is one that comes with many years of experience. Sarah Richardson has a genuine talent for design that I do not believe anyone can teach you. My favourite style is what she achieved in her cottage - it is many elements combined: vintage, salvaged, contemporary, and modern country. And it is blended together seamlessly - this is just a gorgeous space from top to bottom. There is isn't a single thing that is wrong or out of place. Most admirably, is that her cottage is completely off-the-grid.













My cottage will never...(gulp)...ever...(sniff).. look like this. 

Click on this picture: Here is Lorenzo's ultimate crash pad.





Ciao for now...

Friday 18 January 2013


Lorenzo took the evening ferry to Mayne last night, and I actually had butterflies in my stomach. We are nearing the end of this bitter slog-fest, and now is where it starts to get really exciting. Moulding is everything!  

Here is my design philosophy: a room should be beautiful empty. And how do you achieve this? With moulding and trim. Before you buy new furniture or paint a room, take a good look at the bones of the room: wimpy trim is ugly; two-inch baseboards are ugly; popcorn ceilings are really ugly.

Lorenzo emailed me a picture this morning to get my approval on the math - trim is all about getting the math right. I am so so pleased!

We decided to do a real arts & crafts style of trim at the cottage which looks like this:







Check this out. The west wall just after installing the new windows...





And as of today...




Oh, this is going to look so gooood!

Lorenzo says he isn't coming home until all the trim (except for the baseboards) are done. 

Ciao for now!





Monday 14 January 2013


On Thursday morning I bid farewell to the kids, hauled my gear out to the truck, and headed for Tsawwassen. Traffic was heavy and I felt rather dull, thinking about how cold the cottage was going to be and all the work that needed to be done. As is always the case, as soon I boarded the ferry and we pulled away from the mainland, my spirits lifted. When it was time to disembark, they soared. Here's a picture I took while sitting in my truck...




Whenever I drive off the ferry, I feel like my heart is expanding with happiness and excitement: This is my island. The air is razor clean, the trees are dense, whispers of smoke trail into the sky from wood stoves, little houses peer out from the forest, and I drive along - owning the road it seems - and I still can't believe that I am going to my very own cottage.

It was cold - minus two degrees - and when I entered the cottage I wasn't expecting just how bone-chilling it would be. Lorenzo had prepared a fire for me but it wouldn't light for some reason. It took ages, and I had to sit on the couch in my coat waiting for the place to warm up before I could do anything. I made a pot of tea, and once the fire took hold things began to feel much cozier...




The purpose of this trip was to paint all of the wood that will be used for the crown moulding, the baseboards, and the trim around the doors and windows. It was all in a stack on the floor, which looked pretty manageable. I set up the sawhorses and laid the pieces out...




We're using primed MDF and it was very dirty, so I washed everything first. I couldn't find a bucket, so I used a pot...





After I painted the first stack, I laid them out on the table and the boxes of hardwood flooring to dry...





And then I cursed my husband. The other pieces to be painted were sixteen feet long. I looked around our tiny cottage, wondering where the hell I was supposed to put them. So I figured I needed to move all the pieces I'd just painted to the upstairs to make room. Carried each wet piece, being careful not to touch the walls, up a flight of stairs. MDF is heavy - and my left elbow has been bothering me lately, making my left arm half as strong as my right. (and I'm left-handed) Regardless, once I cleared a space, I picked up the first two long pieces, and laid them on the saw horses...




These pieces were sixteen feet by about 20-inches wide. Again, I washed the pieces first because painting is all about prep. When I finished the first two pieces, this is what I was dealing with:




I picked up the first piece, arms straining and sweating profusely, and attempted to carry it over to the area I had just cleared. Guess what? They were too long. So it was back to the north-end of the cottage where I had about sixteen feet and two inches of width to play with. It was maddening and I must have yelled out the f-bomb about twenty times. Luckily, I had my Irish tunes playing the whole time so I managed to stay in a reasonably happy mood. Compared to 700 years of English oppression and being starved to death I felt I couldn't complain, really. It's remarkable that the Irish were able to write toe-tapping jigs and reels about being treated like second-class citizens... 





However, I digress. By around 7pm, I was done the first coat and called it a night. But not before I nearly set the cottage on fire. The tea towel was wet, so I foolishly draped it over the stove to dry. Within a few minutes it burst into flame. What if I had been in the shower? Imagine having to call Lorenzo and tell him that his cottage is burnt toast. It gave me shivers. When I was a little kid, my grandmother's house burned down. My mother had a psychic flash about it and suddenly we were all racing over to her house for seemingly no reason. When we got there, the house was a black, charred box. Legend has it, that when the firefighters asked my Nana what she thought the cause was, she said (while puffing on a hand-rolled cigarette) "It was Satan." 
She was Irish; anything bad happens, it's Satan. Or England.

Anyway, the next day, my cell phone was dead and I forgot my charger so I had to drive to the Springwater to use the pay phone. I told Lorenzo what was going on, and he said things were fine at home. We talked for about 20 minutes, or until my hands started to go numb. I bought a scone at the Mayne bakery, then I picked up some milk for my tea, stopped at Home Hardware to buy another roller, and then it was back to work.

By the time I was finished, my upper back was really sore from lifting these pieces. It wasn't just so much the heaviness as it was trying to turn them horizontally without bashing into the walls or marring the fresh paint. It was certainly a challenge.





Then I noticed that the ends were bending a bit, so I dragged the boxes of hardwood flooring around to make a better platform...




As you can see, I had barely an inch on either side of the room for this wood. I wanted to kill my husband. I don't know what he was thinking.




And then I brought down all the pieces I had previously carried upstairs as I didn't want Lorenzo to have to do it. But first I got rid of the STUPID kitchen table that kept getting in my way. I was so frustrated with it that I just picked it up and practically threw it outside onto the deck. The area now looks way better...





I finished around 6pm on Friday. I staggered upstairs and had a long shower, then I made tea and looked around at what I had done. 
I felt proud of my work and my physical strength. I felt like Super Woman. My birthday was on January 1st and I wasn't feeling very happy about it. But working this hard reminded me that I still have youth and stamina and that made me feel strong and energized. I love physical work - 
I'd rather chop wood in the rain than sort through mismatched socks or vacuum anyday. Most housework depletes your mind while leaving your body practically inert. The work is necessary, but it isn't hard. It's mind-numbing drudgery. What I did at the cottage was hard; it was a workout for sure and it made me happy. It also made me understand why Lorenzo never wants anyone to help him; there is real pride in doing a job all by yourself. 

Why outsource work you can do yourself? One day you'll have no choice, so embrace the work you are still able to do. It makes you feel good about yourself. And for the guys out there - if you can build stuff, women will really dig you. When I stood in the cottage looking at everything my husband has achieved with just his two hands, I wanted to jump his bones. 

Anyway, I awoke Saturday morning to a clear and frosty day, pleased that I had no more painting to do. I swept the floors, cleaned the stove and sink, hauled useless crap outside, wiped down the wood stove, then I drank tea and read and listened to my Irish fiddle tunes without having to endure any complaining from my kids.

And then, it was time to depart for home. I caught the the 5-pm ferry back to Vancouver...




The house was clean - Sergeant Lorenzo had put the kids to work.  And there was a lovely homemade salad sitting on the counter for me. With pumpkin seeds and red cabbage! It was delicious. Lorenzo and I talked for ages, and I gave him a bit of bad news. While at the cottage, my curiosity about the hardwood floors prompted me to open a box. I pulled a few pieces out and I was thoroughly ticked off. Here is what I thought we were getting. This picture was sent to us by the company we purchased it from, and the sample he gave us confirmed that we were buying distressed Birch prefinished hardwood...





I pulled three pieces out the box and here is what we're dealing with:




I had mentioned this to Lorenzo on the pay phone from Mayne Island and he said, "I can't hear this right now." He was ready to pass out. When I showed him the samples I brought home he was quiet for a moment, then he said, "I'll make it work. We'll stagger it, and it will look fine." 

Then I told him something else I'd been thinking about which made him say, "Are you trying to kill me?"

At the cottage, I found myself staring at the north wall and not liking it. We put in a single French door instead of double doors. Why? To accommodate our piano. And I think it was a mistake...




The piano should be on the west wall. It's an area that is wasted space anyway...




Lorenzo said, "What about the windows?" I told him I could put shutters on the bottom third and it will look fine. Then he asked, with eyes narrowed, if I was suggesting he tear out the French door he just installed, take down the header, open up the wall, move the electrical, all to accommodate a new set of double French doors?! 

I said, "Only if you think it's a good idea." I sipped my tea and tried to look earnest. He groaned. Like I said, it's a mental sickness. We not only renovate everything we buy, but we renovate our renovations before they're even finished. I don't think we're going to do it, but somehow a single door that opens onto a deck looks pokey to me. I guess we'll see what Guido thinks the next time he goes over, which will be this weekend...

Ciao for now.