DIY Rhytidectomy
Rhytidectomy is a surgical procedure meant to counteract aging. A face-lift.
My friends all believe that I have an irresistible urge, bordering on an obsession, to renovate each of the houses we’ve owned. ‘Though I’d vigorously deny that accusation, there may be a grain of truth to it. What I’ve learned about myself is that renovating doesn’t just improve and restore the building. Each of those projects has been a vehicle for me to revise the story of the house. In turn, that facilitates a connection between me and that residence and only then does it feel like home to me. Like my home. And that’s a bond I need and treasure.
Our first home was a post-war, story-and-a-half brick and siding home on Ellington Drive in west Scarborough, two blocks from Mum (a very safe first landing for me). We purchased it early in the 1980s and it had not been updated. Anywhere. It was prime for a DIY rhytidectomy.
The kitchen was especially crazy. Crazy-bad! It had a countertop made of 2” square, black and white ceramic tiles set in concrete. Thick, heavy concrete. I quickly lost track of how many glasses and dishes were broken being put down on that surface. The cast iron sink was big (and deep) enough to swim in. Like most others of its age, the house had a milk box that opened both into the kitchen and onto the driveway, dating back to the days when the milkman called early each morning. Can you imagine the draft that came whistling through that box during our first winter? Most of the cupboard door hinges were broken and the drawers were made of (by then) warped wood, sliding on more warped wood. They got stuck very often. Two of the three bedrooms were upstairs but the lone bathroom was on the main floor. I won’t even describe the state of the bathroom or you’d be convinced that Cam and I are witless.
So why did we buy it? It was on budget. It was in my home neighbourhood and, with Dad’s recent death, we wanted to be close to Mum. Mostly, though, because we saw its potential and - crazily - believed we could ‘easily’ do all the work ourselves.
About two decades later, I read an article in the Globe and Mail by the amazingness that is Rebecca Dubé. She offered sage advice, the gist of which was: Renovating tests your relationship like nothing else. Truer words were never written.
This is our ninth home, two of which were brand new, two were newish and five were older. We gave each one a facelift of one type or another and, as cautioned by Ms. Dube, each one was a veritable tug-o-war between Cam and I, over just about every aspect - design, colours, fittings and fixtures. Sometimes over the scope of the project, sometimes over realistic (Cam) and unrealistic (me) timeline expectations, and always over the budget.
The bathroom in our new home is in desperate need of rhytidectomy but this time it is only a partial DIY project. This week, construction began and with it, of course, another Pushmi-Pullyu* between me and Cam.
The current shower stall is a small (24” X 48”) fibreglass affair, made even smaller by the built-in seat and rear wall ‘elegant’ moulding. The shower head is 66” above the floor - perfect for anyone 5’6” and less. That is NOT us. The niche it occupies was actually reduced by 12” (six each side) to accommodate the smaller unit. Happily, our new shower stall will be a whopping 42” X 60” — elbow room to spare.
Before any project begins in our home, we always do thorough research and based upon our findings, develop a strong, workable plan and a sensible budget with a contingency. Our experience has been that with every project, no matter how big or small, there have been unexpected (expensive) problems behind the walls. Having a contingency fund goes a long way towards mitigating the stress of those unforeseen costs.
We’ve done our due diligence and are in agreement on the scope of work and the timetable. The budget is not as tight on this project as it was back in the Ellington days, but the design process is every bit as fraught with contrary opinions, but… We are always united on substance. Our mutual design DNA is function over form and our shared aesthetic includes a happy mixture of vintage and contemporary elements. In this bathroom, the old is the gorgeous oak cabinetry already there. I know that oak is passé but we love it. I’m even on the hunt for a vintage oak cabinet door that Cam can repurpose into a medicine cabinet. The new is everything else - the shower stall, a marble countertop with integrated sinks and a porcelain tile floor.
We want our new bathroom to suit us. It should be both practical and pretty. It must be cosy. I know there will be bumps along the road (we’re already on our third set of showerhead/faucet/sprayer/controller kits) but, by now, we’re world-class troubleshooters and I know that together we can sort out any problem.
A blank canvas:
This was no gentle demo. Hammers were wielded, saws buzzed and pry bars were leveraged to their maximum extent. Drywall was ripped out. One light fixture was removed (and destroyed!) and the wiring rendered safe with marrettes. The shower stall was cut in half, top to bottom, and is now resting peacefully in a trailer in our garage pending interment at our local dump.
‘Though it won’t be any day soon, I can’t wait for tiling to begin!
When the surgical facelift on this bathroom is complete, we both hope it reflects our style and our love of this sweet little home.
’Til next time, y’all…
*The Pushmi-Pullyu is a two-headed hybrid animal from The Story of Doctor Dolittle, written by the oh-so-brilliant Hugh Lofting. During the winter term, Miss Welch (my first grade and very favourite teacher) read a little of Dr. Dolittle aloud to us each day and I was hooked. It remains a favourite of mine to this day.