Tea and Sconces

A couple of my friends (rightly) scolded me today for letting a few weeks go by without updating you all on the Happy Headache (the untimely-given-the-recession-gut-renovation of our new place). Truth be told I've been too busy "vacationing" and defending my elitist ways and editing my novel and collaborating on my new and improved website (stay tuned!) to think much about our future home let alone update anyone on its evolution. But I'm back.

Currently, we are scrambling to finalize the lighting plan. We all know that lighting in a home is big deal. Good lighting can mean the difference between a happy, airy sanctuary and a dark dungeon. Fine. So we should focus. But our designer has designated dozens of sconces. Now sconces are cool. I like them. But Husband and I talked about it and neither of us grew up in a house with a single sconce. So are these lovely wall lights truly necessary or a modern indulgence?

This brings me to another more philosophical inquiry. Hypothetically speaking, should one design her home for the (uber-casual) life she currently leads or the (more formal, adult) life she envisions leading some day? A life of coffee and bagels and toys and diapers or a life of tea and sconces and etageres and dinner parties?

I have flashbacks to those good old pre-wedding days when Husband and I were on that cliched registry mission. We wandered aimlessly through china pattern after china pattern, collectively weathering a identity crisis. Should we go the practical route of our then-present-day and pick something befitting a young, moderately hip, childless twosome? Or pick a more pretty and polished and refined china that would be appropriate for our decidedly more formal future? We went with the latter and selected a gorgeous and sophisticated black-and-white set by a designer I can't remember. Shows how much we use our china.

When making design decisions, do you design for your present or future self? Your real or ideal life?

The Sound of Silence

“All men's miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone.” 

-Blaise Pascal.

Pure silence makes me uncomfortable. It just does. Not sure why. Maybe because I am a City girl and I was raised to a soundtrack of sirens. Maybe because when shrouded in silence, I have no choice but to think about things - even the things I'd rather not think about. To remember the things I toil to forget. To dream of the things that linger beyond reach. To worry about the things I can't seem to change. Maybe because when the world is utterly and immaculately silent, I can actually hear the ebb and flow of breath, the scurry of an anxious heartbeat, the melody of my own mortality. 

Whatever the reason, I've always been a fan of background noise. Music. Television. Conversation. Traffic. Fussing. Rain. Anything but the void. And maybe Mr. Pascal would say that my inability to sit in a quiet room alone is a true existential bummer of sorts, a sad and supple source of potential misery. And maybe Mr. Pascal would be right. Maybe he would. I'm sure he was right about many things. Good for him.

Anyway, this has admittedly been a very meandering path to my weekly update on the Happy Headache (a.k.a. the untimely-given-this-recession-gut-renovation of our new place), but, alas, I do have a point and I'm getting there and I was craving a little philosophical Friday afternoon stroll, so I thank you for indulging me. Anyway, I did not attend this morning's weekly construction meeting, but Husband did and he was kind enough to pass along the migraine-inducing minutes of said meeting. Bring on the bullet-points:

• Structural Engineer has uncovered seemingly serious flaws in the foundation of our apartment, flaws regarding gravely important things like pillars and joists. Translation? Bye Bye Budget.
• Addressing these things necessarily expands the good old scope of work. Translation? Add six too many weeks to that trusty time projection.
• Our new place abuts a school. Our project manager says he can hear conversations going on in our lovely neighboring school through the wall of what will be Toddler's future bedroom. What does this mean? We must pay for an ACOUSTICIAN to come analyze the conditions. I am not making this stuff up. We pay someone to specializes in acoustics to come listen to the kids/campers chit chat through the wall and then tell us what we can do to fix it. Translation? RIP Budget.

So, it seems that everything - even the sound of silence - will cost us a pretty penny. And though I am doing everything in my power to pass along my sedatephobia (i.e. fear of silence, there's a word for it!) to my progeny (currently the girls fall asleep every night to the artificial rumblings of rain and the digital crash of ocean waves), I guess I should at least give them the chance to sit (or sleep) in that quiet room alone and decide for themselves. I imagine this would make Pascal proud.

How do you feel about silence? Do you crave it or avoid it like I do? Is this Pascalian malaise an urban or more universal human phenomenon?

Counter Points?

What to do when I've promised to give you a weekly update on something, namely that good old Happy Headache (a.k.a the untimely-given-this-recession-gut-renovation of our new place) and (because the construction gods have pressed that big bad pause button) I have no update to give? Hmmm.

I know. Cook up a delicious dilemma. Make it spicy, dramatic and dire... 

One day we will have a new kitchen. In my dreams, it is ethereal and light and lovely. In this kitchen, we will gather as a happy family and trade stories about our days, about aced spelling tests and job promotions and fabulous book reviews. We will laugh deeply and celebrate the magic of good food and good wine. And it will not be a formal kitchen, but the casual hub of our home, the heart of it all. There will be no rules. And if there are, we will break them. We will sit atop glistening white countertops and swing socked feet while snacking and sipping and savoring life.

Dreams are divine because they don't require decisions and details. But real life does. Of what material will these magical glistening countertops be made? Well, it seems we have a bevy of choices:

1. Granite

2. Engineered Stone

3. Solid Surface

4. Ceramic Tile

5. Laminates 

6. Butcher Block

7. Stainless Steel

8. Soapstone

9. Marble 

10. Concrete

Now, I've always dreamed of smooth white marble. It's romantic. Old school. Illustrious. And per my research? Expensive. Porous. Easily stained. Easily scratched. Utterly impractical.

What to do, friends? You all have kitchens. Don't pretend you don't. Tell me what works. Tell me what doesn't. If you're so inclined, tell me you just looooove white marble and I should forget about price and porosity and prudence and practicality. 

I'm in a devilishly desperate bind here and I need your counter points! 

Prudent or Purple?

Well, it's Friday again.  And time for my weekly update on the Happy Headache (the untimely-given-the-recession-gut-renovation of our new place).  Anyway, things have slowed. Or, more precisely, stalled.  We are still waiting on an all-important report from the structural engineer.  And Husband and I have some dire decisions to make about replacing rotted joists and installing insulation in ceilings. But for the most part, things are standing still.

Which is just fine because this allows us to focus on the more fun and frivolous stuff. Like what wallpapers we will use or not use. I happen to like this one here for Toddler's room. It's delicate and yet funky. Bold, but feminine. A shred regal. 

Per Professor Wiki, the color purple carries with it the following connotations: royalty, imperialism, nobility, Easter, upper class. Hmmm... 

But here is my real dilemma: will I like this paper five years from now? Ten years from now? And, will Toddler like it? Because at age two, she is already becoming a little lady and if she is anything like her Mom, she is going to sprout a proud personality and maintain a healthy stockpile of opinions. Some strong opinions that will probably make her parents a wee bit crazy.

So, do I play it safe and pick an innocuous paint color? Something nice and neutral? A shade that no one will hate now or later? Or, do I go with my gut and have a bit of imperial funky fun?

My feeling (for now): life is short.  Your home is your sanctuary.  A bit of crazy color, of intelligent impulsivity, of regal risk, is good. Sure, Toddler will one day (gasp) become Teen. Sure, tastes morph and mature. But papers can always be stripped. And moms and kids, apartments and aesthetics, can always be, and perhaps should always be, reinvented.

What do you all think about my admittedly indulgent decor dilemma du jour? Should I be prudent or go purple?

Should We Let Toddler Decide?

So, we are experiencing a bit of a "built-in delay" on the Happy Headache.  Apparently, demolition exposed some "existing conditions" that needed to be analyzed by a structural engineer and we are waiting on this guy's report to proceed. 

So, in the meantime, Husband and I accompanied our incomparable architect (Gordon Kahn) on a trip to look at hardwood floor options.  We came home with some fun samples which Toddler immediately turned into makeshift hardwood floor skates.  And, unlike her waffling parents, she seems to know what she likes.  As you see, she is leaning toward the darker breeds.  Should we let her decide?  Sure, she's diminutive.  But she's also decisive. But truth be told if we had let her make all tough decisions, we'd probably have a seven-month-old named Dora.

In all seriousness, do you guys like light hardwood floors or darker ones?  I know.  This decision is not going to dictate future levels of happiness, but it seems like a relatively big call. So help me make it. Pretty please.

Baby Steps

In case any of you lost sleep over last week's Happy Headache hiccups, everything is going to be okay.  We have procured proper tax designation and our insurance coverage has been reinstated. Phew.  

Last night, Husband and I made our weekly visit to the site and managed to not set off the temporary alarm system that was installed this week.  The place looks good; an empty shell, a tabula rasa, a box of brick and plywood.  But to my amateur eye, it did not look like much had changed since last week.  Sure, the floors are marked where walls will be and it's nice to know that we will in fact have rooms one day.  Rumor has it that they are about to start "framing walls." I don't know what exactly that means, but it sounds profoundly important. Anyway, we're inching our way there.  

And, on the second attempt, I actually picked plumbing fixtures. This is the faucet the girls will use to wash their grubby little hands.  Not bad, huh?  Baby steps...

Progress Is Always Pretty

Yes, it's still Friday, so I'm making good on my promise to keep you up to date on the Happy Headache.  And, slowly but surely, it's becoming a headache.  There's that whole issue with the improper-tax-designation-under-city-code-so-we-can't-get-our-electrical-permit-issue.  Oh, and then there is that whole insurance-company-decided-to-all-of-a-sudden-decline-coverage-in-the-middle-or-rather-beginning-of-our-project-issue.  But, really, who's counting? 

After all, demo is done and all the stuff is gone and the place is bare.  A wonderful and ruefully raw blank slate. And I can kind of imagine rooms and furniture and happiness. And any progress (however fraught) is pretty, right?  I think so.

And this morning, I went shopping with my fabulous architect so that we could nail down all the plumbing fixtures because we need the plumbing fixtures or else.  It was an intense task, but I was game.  And how many fixtures did we pick?  Um, zero.  

Until next week, friends...

This Is Where Our Christmas Tree Will Go. In 2011.

I'm a girl of my word (most of the time).  For those of you who weren't with me last week, I started chronicling the Happy Headache (a.k.a. the untimely-given-this-recession gut reno of our new place).

Anyway, so far, so good.  For now, the headache is still a happy one.  The vast majority of the debris is gone.  As are the ceilings.  And walls. And floors. And toilets.  

Last night, Husband and I held hands and tiptoed through the mess.  And while he was all smiles, presumably imagining a fairy tale future involving walls and floors and ceilings and our family, I was fixated on a major mystery.  Where do all the construction workers pee?

This lovely image here?  A fair representation of the ordered chaos.  See the ladder on the right?  That's exactly where our Christmas tree will go.  A Douglas Fir.  Because they last longer.  At least a ten footer.  And no, not in 2011.  I'm prone to hyperbole.  But not next year either.  We're talking 2010.  Toddler will be four and little Baby two. Crazy.

Yes, I tend to focus on the odd, indulgent details.  Like where construction workers pee and where the tree will go.  Which is probably why I didn't last long at the firm.  I was much more interested in the symbolism of the shimmering tin of chicken fried rice that sad senior associate scarfed every night hunched over her cluttered desk than the fact that she and I were engaged in the common and noble cause of defending yet another CEO.

But I digress.  For now, the Happy Headache is more happy than headache.  Until next week...

The Happy Headache Begins

"Every act of creation is first of all an act of destruction." Pablo Picasso

After a lovely almost-two-year-waiting-game, work officially began yesterday on our new place! Last night, Husband and I waded through the devastation depicted here, giddy with excitement that this is actually happening.  Now everyone I know who has weathered a gut renovation has some sordid saga to tell me -- of blown budgets and improperly-installed tiles and last-minute leaks. And everyone seems to agree on one point: this process, however smoothly it proceeds, will entail a constant stream of headaches.  And, yes, they are probably right.  But sitting here, buzzed by morning coffee, I look at this picture -- the storm before the calm -- and smile.  

For those of you who know better, please allow me my delusions for a few minutes. And check back every Friday morning for an update on the Happy Headache!