Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 108
March 25, 2019
the countdown
Somewhere out there, in the blur of the outside world, I gather that the Mueller report did not deliver what we'd hoped it would - viz, send the damnable crook to prison for life. But that's all I know, because I spent the weekend and today spinning in my reno hampster wheel. Have not heard the name Jody WR, the Liberal trying to elect Andrew Scheer, for days, that's a blessed relief. But all day, I thought it was Tuesday. I gather it's not. A student due to come this afternoon caught the frantic tone in my email voice and, with sensitivity, postponed. Many lists at 3 a.m. last night. I came up with a brilliant solution to an awkward window too strangely shaped for a blind: cardboard. And it works.
You hadda be there.
Today, Kevin, Ed, and Jake got through the last bits - repairs here, finishing there, a giant pile of stuff for the dump. Nicole came to help clean; she vacuumed my office, which is still packed with boxes but at least is now breathable. We put Great-Aunt Helen's Fiestaware back on the kitchen display shelves, removed not because of the reno but because of simultaneous termites.
Usually when I travel, I start many days before sifting through clothes, cleaning, matching, deciding. I leave Thursday and have not yet begun that process, instead am preparing the third floor for the tenant tomorrow night and the next tenant in a few weeks and trying to make the rest of the house presentable. And it is, more or less. The place has begun to feel like a home again. It just does not feel like MY home. When I go upstairs, I'm not sure where I am. I've been climbing those stairs to the second floor hall for almost 33 years and now enter a completely different space. It's disorienting. Good for the brain, I'm sure.
Yesterday, dear friends Suzette and Lynn came to see and talk and offer support. Suzette has been with me throughout, giving advice and counsel on colour and design, so it was gratifying to share the near-final product with her. "Quirky and elegant," was her verdict.
And tonight, my dearest Wayson took me to dinner. He had just been to the doctor and received a diagnosis; the memory is not good. But he's funny and charming as always. I will email him often while I'm away and make him dinner as soon as I get back.
Tomorrow a doctor's appointment, more cleaning and arranging, a visit from Anna and the boys and my oldest friend Ron. This is always the way it is, the extremely busy time before a departure, even only for 3 weeks. With a little added intensity this time. I did not realize what a tense person I am; I have taken all this stress hard.
It was really cold again today, after a few mild days. It's 7.30. I want to go to bed.
You hadda be there.
Today, Kevin, Ed, and Jake got through the last bits - repairs here, finishing there, a giant pile of stuff for the dump. Nicole came to help clean; she vacuumed my office, which is still packed with boxes but at least is now breathable. We put Great-Aunt Helen's Fiestaware back on the kitchen display shelves, removed not because of the reno but because of simultaneous termites.
Usually when I travel, I start many days before sifting through clothes, cleaning, matching, deciding. I leave Thursday and have not yet begun that process, instead am preparing the third floor for the tenant tomorrow night and the next tenant in a few weeks and trying to make the rest of the house presentable. And it is, more or less. The place has begun to feel like a home again. It just does not feel like MY home. When I go upstairs, I'm not sure where I am. I've been climbing those stairs to the second floor hall for almost 33 years and now enter a completely different space. It's disorienting. Good for the brain, I'm sure.
Yesterday, dear friends Suzette and Lynn came to see and talk and offer support. Suzette has been with me throughout, giving advice and counsel on colour and design, so it was gratifying to share the near-final product with her. "Quirky and elegant," was her verdict.
And tonight, my dearest Wayson took me to dinner. He had just been to the doctor and received a diagnosis; the memory is not good. But he's funny and charming as always. I will email him often while I'm away and make him dinner as soon as I get back.
Tomorrow a doctor's appointment, more cleaning and arranging, a visit from Anna and the boys and my oldest friend Ron. This is always the way it is, the extremely busy time before a departure, even only for 3 weeks. With a little added intensity this time. I did not realize what a tense person I am; I have taken all this stress hard.
It was really cold again today, after a few mild days. It's 7.30. I want to go to bed.
March 24, 2019
Getting there, with pictures
Perky is back! Good sleep on the third floor, bounced out of bed and began to sort and clean. Yes, lots and lots to do, overwhelming sometimes, because the morass here also points out just how much crap loiters in every room of this house. But I am sifting and pitching as I go.
A busy day - one tenant coming to learn the laws of the land, then Kirsten coming to take my great-grandmother's wedding dishes that no one in my family wants,
(click to enlarge)
then dear friends Suzette at 2 and Lynn at 5 coming to see the reno and check in. Still many lists, and still have not begun to think about packing. Much much laundry. Much much sorting and cleaning. But - there's hope. A grateful, busy heart.
Some pix - remember, unfinished, getting there:
But first, the office, which has a way to go - but at least is getting cleared of beds and shelves -
My first grown-up linen closet!
The little Matisse room for guests and grandsons.
My closet. Fab.
Blue bedroom coming together.
The third floor - an improvised shelf on the south side, for now - an Ikea trip needed when I get back. You can't see the mini-fridge to the left, and my teak university desk under the skylight.
My bed for now - on Tuesday, Leonie from Montreal moves in for a week.
The main joy is the atrium, the landing at the top of the stairs now cleared of various ceilings and graced with skylight and west-facing window which were there but invisible. Hard to photograph.
You know there is only one thing to say at a time like this: Glad to have breath in my lungs. Onward.
PS Tenant #2, moving in April 1, just saw her room on the top floor. When she was last here, we were in full turmoil, and she and her dad asked dubiously if it would be habitable. Today she said she was "blown away." And so was I, nearly, literally, by getting it done. But it's habitable.
A busy day - one tenant coming to learn the laws of the land, then Kirsten coming to take my great-grandmother's wedding dishes that no one in my family wants,
(click to enlarge)then dear friends Suzette at 2 and Lynn at 5 coming to see the reno and check in. Still many lists, and still have not begun to think about packing. Much much laundry. Much much sorting and cleaning. But - there's hope. A grateful, busy heart.
Some pix - remember, unfinished, getting there:
But first, the office, which has a way to go - but at least is getting cleared of beds and shelves -
My first grown-up linen closet!
The little Matisse room for guests and grandsons.
My closet. Fab.
Blue bedroom coming together.
The third floor - an improvised shelf on the south side, for now - an Ikea trip needed when I get back. You can't see the mini-fridge to the left, and my teak university desk under the skylight.
My bed for now - on Tuesday, Leonie from Montreal moves in for a week.The main joy is the atrium, the landing at the top of the stairs now cleared of various ceilings and graced with skylight and west-facing window which were there but invisible. Hard to photograph.
You know there is only one thing to say at a time like this: Glad to have breath in my lungs. Onward.PS Tenant #2, moving in April 1, just saw her room on the top floor. When she was last here, we were in full turmoil, and she and her dad asked dubiously if it would be habitable. Today she said she was "blown away." And so was I, nearly, literally, by getting it done. But it's habitable.
March 23, 2019
no miracles today
Today was the opposite of yesterday's euphoria. I expected to sleep soundly in my aerie and arise filled with joy about my sparkling new house. Instead, I awoke at 2 and after an hour or so, realized I was hungry, but getting something to eat would mean walking down and up two flights of stairs, which my legs refused to do. But my stomach won, so I had toast and Ovaltine at 3 and crawled back up to lie awake making lists.
For the rest of the day, my insides were heaving so badly, I could barely function. Luckily my dear Ken took me to brunch to say goodbye before my trip, so I managed a good solid meal. But then my movers - Thomas and Bill - came over, and Nicole to clean behind them, and I felt like I had stomach flu. What was it? The reality of what we just did, I guess, and of what remains to be done.
Everything stored in my office is filthy and in a jumble. I don't know where things are or where they go now, in the new configuration. And - to tell the truth - it's something of a shock to see my old furniture in a bright new space. Much of what I own was inherited from elderly relatives, and it looks it. Didn't matter before, when the house was similarly shabby, but now ...
But mostly, it's the dirt and dust and the piles of stuff and the stacks of boxes and what goes where? My office, my lovely office, like an abandoned attic.
However, the Billy bookshelves are back in my bedroom, though the oldest are out on the sidewalk, and my chest of drawers (inherited decades ago from Great-Aunt Helen) came up from the basement. So my room looks more like my room, even if I can't sleep in it until the minuscule pieces arrive from Ikea. When tenant #1 arrives on Tuesday to live on the top floor, I will have to move back to the basement. But only for two nights.
I'm a fragile flower today. Luckily Cyril just appeared at the door with another of the $8 bottles of soup that have kept me alive all winter. I am extremely lucky. Just fragile. Wayson was supposed to come for dinner and another friend wanted to come over, and I postponed both. Just need to eat soup and read the paper - or not - and sit here and not do anything.
Though I've vowed to ignore Ottawa, I just posted Heather Mallick's article on FB: https://www.thestar.com/politics/political-opinion/2019/03/22/why-does-jane-philpott-keep-knifing-her-fellow-liberals.html
Chantal Hebert had a Star article too, more or less saying the same thing: why are these two women trying to sink their own party and elect the Conservatives? As I wrote on FB, they should just look at Ontario to know how that will play out.
For the rest of the day, my insides were heaving so badly, I could barely function. Luckily my dear Ken took me to brunch to say goodbye before my trip, so I managed a good solid meal. But then my movers - Thomas and Bill - came over, and Nicole to clean behind them, and I felt like I had stomach flu. What was it? The reality of what we just did, I guess, and of what remains to be done.
Everything stored in my office is filthy and in a jumble. I don't know where things are or where they go now, in the new configuration. And - to tell the truth - it's something of a shock to see my old furniture in a bright new space. Much of what I own was inherited from elderly relatives, and it looks it. Didn't matter before, when the house was similarly shabby, but now ...
But mostly, it's the dirt and dust and the piles of stuff and the stacks of boxes and what goes where? My office, my lovely office, like an abandoned attic.
However, the Billy bookshelves are back in my bedroom, though the oldest are out on the sidewalk, and my chest of drawers (inherited decades ago from Great-Aunt Helen) came up from the basement. So my room looks more like my room, even if I can't sleep in it until the minuscule pieces arrive from Ikea. When tenant #1 arrives on Tuesday to live on the top floor, I will have to move back to the basement. But only for two nights.
I'm a fragile flower today. Luckily Cyril just appeared at the door with another of the $8 bottles of soup that have kept me alive all winter. I am extremely lucky. Just fragile. Wayson was supposed to come for dinner and another friend wanted to come over, and I postponed both. Just need to eat soup and read the paper - or not - and sit here and not do anything.
Though I've vowed to ignore Ottawa, I just posted Heather Mallick's article on FB: https://www.thestar.com/politics/political-opinion/2019/03/22/why-does-jane-philpott-keep-knifing-her-fellow-liberals.html
Chantal Hebert had a Star article too, more or less saying the same thing: why are these two women trying to sink their own party and elect the Conservatives? As I wrote on FB, they should just look at Ontario to know how that will play out.
March 22, 2019
a miraculous day
Dear friends, some of you have followed this renovation journey. So now, tonight, I have to tell you the big news: my house is reborn. After one of the most exhausting days of my entire life, I am going to sleep above ground tonight, in an actual bed, in a clean room. It's astounding. Every bone in my body aches; I went up and down the stairs a million times today. But what a finale.
Up at 7.30 to be ready for the cleaners and Mr. Wu the electrician, here to meet the city electrical inspector, who, when he came, I informed that Mr. Wu is the best electrician in the world. And he is. We passed our inspection. Meanwhile Judit and her friend were vacuuming and scrubbing. Meanwhile Kevin arrived, finally with both Ed and Jake who've been on another work site, and off we went, with a long list of things to do, almost all of which were accomplished today. Yesterday the house was filthy, the floors still covered with dusty paper and rubble everywhere. Today the paper's gone, the doors are hung and they all - yes all - have knobs, yes knobs. And they close.
The small washer and dryer are connected. The bannisters are finished. The beds are sort of assembled - the Ikea one K. and I found on the street is unfortunately missing a few very small parts, so Anna went to Ikea to order them today; I can't sleep in my own bed till they get here, but Jake assembled the bed for the third floor, they struggled up with the foam mattress, and I made my bed and will lie in it. K and I went to Home Depot with a long list and I ordered new blinds to fit the new windows. Oh yes, Viktor the window guy from Russia arrived in the midst of all this with the one window that didn't get installed before. The bathroom, which was beyond filthy, got cleaned and a new shower curtain pole installed. New words I learned today: ball closers and flanges, all installed.
Oh yes, and William the furnace repair guy from Jamaica came and told me there's no carbon monoxide, good news, but there's a crack in the furnace and it will need to be replaced before long, bad news.
Finally they carted a ton of garbage out to leave it in the front yard and went home and I had the house to myself. I ran a hot bath for my trembling legs. There's no blind in the bathroom so I found a piece of drywall to stick in the window for privacy and lay in the hot water in my own bathroom for the first time in more than four months. And then my dearest Annie came for dinner, and I got to share this moment with her, give her a tour. My heart runneth over.
Still more to do, believe it or not, before the place is set up for the tenants who are moving in - and then at some point I have to start to think about packing. Hard to wrap my head around, that after all this, I'm going to be leaving home.
Tomorrow, another busy day. Dear Ken is taking me to brunch as a farewell/housewarming present, and then in the afternoon, my son-in-law Thomas and various others, I hope, are coming over to move some furniture, set up the other rooms and beds. It will be 10 degrees on Sunday. Yes. Yes yes yes.
And with all this - my daughter has a really interesting job possibility, good news, and bad news, I found out my first cousin once removed, the dare-devil New York photographer Peter B. Kaplan, famous for his shot "Moon over Manhattan" from the top of the World Trade Centre, died a few days ago.
https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-dhbKIADROzg/V9V-XkMPffI/AAAAAAAGQbw/UcgoB_xaHsE9ME6IxYjecTAiFAkQfD3DwCJoC/w530-h337-n-rw/14333726_10153720083496746_6494680728255909687_n.jpg
Peter B. was one of a kind, a lunatic and an artist. Here's a short film his brother David just sent me, called "High Rise Photographer."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FANJckrdaZM
Life is more full than full today. Photos at some point, when my arms can lift that heavy phone.
Up at 7.30 to be ready for the cleaners and Mr. Wu the electrician, here to meet the city electrical inspector, who, when he came, I informed that Mr. Wu is the best electrician in the world. And he is. We passed our inspection. Meanwhile Judit and her friend were vacuuming and scrubbing. Meanwhile Kevin arrived, finally with both Ed and Jake who've been on another work site, and off we went, with a long list of things to do, almost all of which were accomplished today. Yesterday the house was filthy, the floors still covered with dusty paper and rubble everywhere. Today the paper's gone, the doors are hung and they all - yes all - have knobs, yes knobs. And they close.
The small washer and dryer are connected. The bannisters are finished. The beds are sort of assembled - the Ikea one K. and I found on the street is unfortunately missing a few very small parts, so Anna went to Ikea to order them today; I can't sleep in my own bed till they get here, but Jake assembled the bed for the third floor, they struggled up with the foam mattress, and I made my bed and will lie in it. K and I went to Home Depot with a long list and I ordered new blinds to fit the new windows. Oh yes, Viktor the window guy from Russia arrived in the midst of all this with the one window that didn't get installed before. The bathroom, which was beyond filthy, got cleaned and a new shower curtain pole installed. New words I learned today: ball closers and flanges, all installed.
Oh yes, and William the furnace repair guy from Jamaica came and told me there's no carbon monoxide, good news, but there's a crack in the furnace and it will need to be replaced before long, bad news.
Finally they carted a ton of garbage out to leave it in the front yard and went home and I had the house to myself. I ran a hot bath for my trembling legs. There's no blind in the bathroom so I found a piece of drywall to stick in the window for privacy and lay in the hot water in my own bathroom for the first time in more than four months. And then my dearest Annie came for dinner, and I got to share this moment with her, give her a tour. My heart runneth over.
Still more to do, believe it or not, before the place is set up for the tenants who are moving in - and then at some point I have to start to think about packing. Hard to wrap my head around, that after all this, I'm going to be leaving home.
Tomorrow, another busy day. Dear Ken is taking me to brunch as a farewell/housewarming present, and then in the afternoon, my son-in-law Thomas and various others, I hope, are coming over to move some furniture, set up the other rooms and beds. It will be 10 degrees on Sunday. Yes. Yes yes yes.
And with all this - my daughter has a really interesting job possibility, good news, and bad news, I found out my first cousin once removed, the dare-devil New York photographer Peter B. Kaplan, famous for his shot "Moon over Manhattan" from the top of the World Trade Centre, died a few days ago.
https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-dhbKIADROzg/V9V-XkMPffI/AAAAAAAGQbw/UcgoB_xaHsE9ME6IxYjecTAiFAkQfD3DwCJoC/w530-h337-n-rw/14333726_10153720083496746_6494680728255909687_n.jpg
Peter B. was one of a kind, a lunatic and an artist. Here's a short film his brother David just sent me, called "High Rise Photographer."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FANJckrdaZM
Life is more full than full today. Photos at some point, when my arms can lift that heavy phone.
March 21, 2019
disgusted with the news
It has finally happened — I can't listen to the news any more. What is going on in Ottawa, the grandstanding, the hypocrisy, the tempest in a teacup absurdity of the whole thing, is so appalling that it turns my stomach. Especially as what it may lead to is even more appalling - a government run by Andrew Scheer and his band of hyenas. My last night's ruminations at 4 a.m. were less about my reno worries than my worries for this country. And this province, with its own band of hyenas, heedless, stupid, blind, destructive, smashing and crushing.
No, it hurts too much. So — enough. Of course, I'll keep reading the Star, which tho' lefty is bad enough. The media is so complicit in this — let's keep this thing alive because it's controversy! It sells papers!
Tonight, my last home class of term, and how I love this bunch of marvellous writers and people. An oasis of sanity and empathy, not to mention talent. Hooray.
Other things looked up today. On top of everything else, my hairdresser, who's been a dear friend for decades, wasn't well, so was delayed in her appointments; usually I'm shaggy six weeks after a cut, and this time, it was eight weeks before she could take me. I was as bushy as the lion of my August sign. But this morning, there was Ingrid with her blessed scissors, and I look like a person again.
Yesterday Mr. Wu the electrician and his helper worked all day on the complicated wires of this house, but they got it done. The painters left, more to be done later. Today, Kevin worked on the staircase, and he put in the wine rack JM bought at ReStore, covering a place in the kitchen the termites had gnawed. Home improvements.
All the equipment and junk that was in my bedroom is now in the spare room. Look, a floor. There's hope.
This is the eccentric enclosed staircase.
And this is the wine rack, much too big for me, but needed to fill this corner. I'll struggle to find a bottle or two to fill it. And those holes and white plates to the left represent hours of Mr. Wu's time, tugging wires.
Mostly - what's wonderful is that it feels and smells like spring, mild and bright, though there's still some snow on the ground.
Tomorrow is frantic; at 8 a.m. Mr Wu arrives for the city's electricity inspection, and two cleaners arrive to at least start the process of getting rid of mounds of plaster dust and sawdust. That's a huge step. At 10.30 the furnace man arrives to make sure it wasn't carbon monoxide that set off my smoke alarms, though we know it wasn't, because we're not dead. In the afternoon, the second of two queen-sized foam mattresses arrives. The first was delivered this evening and is propped against the piano; I wonder if we'll ever get it upstairs.
On the down side, I asked the guys to put the blinds back on my bedroom and bathroom windows, taken off when the window work was being done. Surprise - the new window frames are a different size, and I need new blinds. Well, why not?
Let me fling some money your way, shall I? I've become a champion. Money flinging, c'est moi.
No, it hurts too much. So — enough. Of course, I'll keep reading the Star, which tho' lefty is bad enough. The media is so complicit in this — let's keep this thing alive because it's controversy! It sells papers!
Tonight, my last home class of term, and how I love this bunch of marvellous writers and people. An oasis of sanity and empathy, not to mention talent. Hooray.
Other things looked up today. On top of everything else, my hairdresser, who's been a dear friend for decades, wasn't well, so was delayed in her appointments; usually I'm shaggy six weeks after a cut, and this time, it was eight weeks before she could take me. I was as bushy as the lion of my August sign. But this morning, there was Ingrid with her blessed scissors, and I look like a person again.
Yesterday Mr. Wu the electrician and his helper worked all day on the complicated wires of this house, but they got it done. The painters left, more to be done later. Today, Kevin worked on the staircase, and he put in the wine rack JM bought at ReStore, covering a place in the kitchen the termites had gnawed. Home improvements.
All the equipment and junk that was in my bedroom is now in the spare room. Look, a floor. There's hope.
This is the eccentric enclosed staircase.
And this is the wine rack, much too big for me, but needed to fill this corner. I'll struggle to find a bottle or two to fill it. And those holes and white plates to the left represent hours of Mr. Wu's time, tugging wires.Mostly - what's wonderful is that it feels and smells like spring, mild and bright, though there's still some snow on the ground.
Tomorrow is frantic; at 8 a.m. Mr Wu arrives for the city's electricity inspection, and two cleaners arrive to at least start the process of getting rid of mounds of plaster dust and sawdust. That's a huge step. At 10.30 the furnace man arrives to make sure it wasn't carbon monoxide that set off my smoke alarms, though we know it wasn't, because we're not dead. In the afternoon, the second of two queen-sized foam mattresses arrives. The first was delivered this evening and is propped against the piano; I wonder if we'll ever get it upstairs.
On the down side, I asked the guys to put the blinds back on my bedroom and bathroom windows, taken off when the window work was being done. Surprise - the new window frames are a different size, and I need new blinds. Well, why not?
Let me fling some money your way, shall I? I've become a champion. Money flinging, c'est moi.
March 20, 2019
There be light! And not.
Though there's a pile of melting snow a few feet away, I'm sitting outside on the deck in the sun - some kind of miracle. Sparrows squabbling viciously in the cedar tree. A few moments ago, before I came out, I saw a large rat foraging outside my kitchen door. That's a first. Templeton!
So - where were we? Oh yes, going mad with smoke alarms. Definitely a low point, especially for a woman with a horror of loud noises. The electrician told me that in all his years, that has never happened to another client. Of course! I now think smoke alarms are like horses - they can sense your fear, and they take over.
The suggestion of the company, Kidde: that you blow them out regularly with compressed air. So add that to my list of chores - squirting air into my smoke alarms. Life is good.
However, we got through a very long day, with Mr. Wu and his team putting up most of the light fixtures - which included my climbing on the high scaffold to hang 54 metallic leaves on a dramatic fixture. And - it works, it's lovely and interesting, as are the other fixtures JM and I bought drastically reduced on the remainder table at Dark Tools.
In the middle of all this, a former student came for an hour of editing and coaching. I managed to get my brain back for the hour. Then it fizzled out again.
On Tuesday I had a final visit with my beloved shrink who has kept me company through this process, and lunch with my beloved friend, editor extraordinaire Rosemary Shipton. Today, the painter is coming to finish, the electricians are here already finishing, Kevin and his team are doing bannisters and door handles, and best of all, my blue bedroom with its fancy fixture is nearly cleared out of tools, paint, and junk. It's happening, folks.
I'm still waking at 4 a.m. to fret. Title of my next memoir, Fretting at Four: my renovation adventure by Beth Kaplan.
Despite the coming of spring, my heart is breaking with world news, and more especially Ontario news; I sense rallies and marches and protests coming, just like 20 years ago. When my kids were in school, the loathsome Mike Harris - I never write or say his name without 'loathsome' in front of it - tried to destroy our education system, and now that my grandchildren are in the system, the disgusting DoFo is doing the same. Makes me sick. Not to mention the shenanigans yesterday during the budget speech - more disgusting. I inadvertently read a tweet from a Conservative MP filled with violent hatred for Trudeau. Civil discourse is no more.
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
We are all in the jaws of the rough beast, slouching toward Bethlehem.
PS And the news tonight - the Conservatives shouting about how Trudeau treats women - the Conservatives, that feminist party! What utter hypocrisy. The Ontario Minister of Education saying they're increasing class sizes to make students resilient and prepared for the future. No, it's all too much. What planet are we living in?
So - where were we? Oh yes, going mad with smoke alarms. Definitely a low point, especially for a woman with a horror of loud noises. The electrician told me that in all his years, that has never happened to another client. Of course! I now think smoke alarms are like horses - they can sense your fear, and they take over.
The suggestion of the company, Kidde: that you blow them out regularly with compressed air. So add that to my list of chores - squirting air into my smoke alarms. Life is good.
However, we got through a very long day, with Mr. Wu and his team putting up most of the light fixtures - which included my climbing on the high scaffold to hang 54 metallic leaves on a dramatic fixture. And - it works, it's lovely and interesting, as are the other fixtures JM and I bought drastically reduced on the remainder table at Dark Tools.
In the middle of all this, a former student came for an hour of editing and coaching. I managed to get my brain back for the hour. Then it fizzled out again.On Tuesday I had a final visit with my beloved shrink who has kept me company through this process, and lunch with my beloved friend, editor extraordinaire Rosemary Shipton. Today, the painter is coming to finish, the electricians are here already finishing, Kevin and his team are doing bannisters and door handles, and best of all, my blue bedroom with its fancy fixture is nearly cleared out of tools, paint, and junk. It's happening, folks.
I'm still waking at 4 a.m. to fret. Title of my next memoir, Fretting at Four: my renovation adventure by Beth Kaplan.
Despite the coming of spring, my heart is breaking with world news, and more especially Ontario news; I sense rallies and marches and protests coming, just like 20 years ago. When my kids were in school, the loathsome Mike Harris - I never write or say his name without 'loathsome' in front of it - tried to destroy our education system, and now that my grandchildren are in the system, the disgusting DoFo is doing the same. Makes me sick. Not to mention the shenanigans yesterday during the budget speech - more disgusting. I inadvertently read a tweet from a Conservative MP filled with violent hatred for Trudeau. Civil discourse is no more.
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
We are all in the jaws of the rough beast, slouching toward Bethlehem.
PS And the news tonight - the Conservatives shouting about how Trudeau treats women - the Conservatives, that feminist party! What utter hypocrisy. The Ontario Minister of Education saying they're increasing class sizes to make students resilient and prepared for the future. No, it's all too much. What planet are we living in?
March 18, 2019
wake up call
HELP! That's it, I don't want to do this any more. It was a terrible mistake to decide to renovate and not to sell. Anyone want to buy a large, dysfunctional, freshly-renovated wreck in Cabbagetown?
I've been sleeping badly this whole winter, probably my general anxiety level with this reno. Last night, another terrible night, finally fell asleep around 5 and was awakened at 7.15 from a dead sleep by screaming noise and blinding flashing lights; I thought it was a police raid. Now I know what that must be like. It was the brand new smoke alarms, which now flash as well as shriek, and do so throughout the house. And because there's a rental suite in the basement, there were two right next to me, one on one side of the bedroom door and one on the other. I may never hear again.
Ran around frantically in my pyjamas; I flipped the breaker switch the electrician had told me would disconnect them, only it did nothing, on they blared. I called the electrician who luckily was coming over anyway today but had no idea what to do; finally called Kevin, who picked up the third time I called, at 7.30, and luckily lives just down the street. He came over and disconnected them all, but the two in the basement, even off the wall and in his hands, continued their incredible noise. We wrapped them in cushions and put them in the birdseed box out on the deck, where they continued their muffled cry.
I called Kidde, who told me they'd send two new ones and how to turn these ones off for good. A moment of peace, blessed relief.
And then another siren started somewhere in the basement. Couldn't even figure out where it was coming from. Finally realized - the apartment. Had to bang on my tenant's door, get him out of bed, go in with the electrician; it was the sump pump alarm. He turned it off. A bit of peace. About half an hour later, it started again. Again banging on the door, disturbing Gabriel and his guest, this time unplugging the alarm for good. Realized - that in turning off the breakers to try to stop the smoke alarm, I had turned off the sump pump breaker, so the alarm was doing its job, letting me know the sump was not working.
I hate this house. I hate smoke alarms, never know how to stop them. It has happened before that they went off for no reason, only this was worse because they're even louder, with lights, and everywhere. Before, I could open a door and blow fresh air in and it would stop. Now - nothing stops them, it seems.
I've called a furnace guy to come and make sure it's not the furnace. Kidde had no explanation as to why they might have gone off when the house was asleep. It could have been worse, however. It could have been 4 a.m. And of course, there could have been an actual fire. So, I should count my blessings and crawl back into bed, except that there are two electricians and two painters here and Kevin going back and forth.
Okay, enough. This too shall pass. First world etc. I am however feeling battered.
It really helps to tell you all about it. Thanks for listening.
PS Five minutes later: I think the furnace is not working. There's no heat.
FOR SALE. CHEAP.
I've been sleeping badly this whole winter, probably my general anxiety level with this reno. Last night, another terrible night, finally fell asleep around 5 and was awakened at 7.15 from a dead sleep by screaming noise and blinding flashing lights; I thought it was a police raid. Now I know what that must be like. It was the brand new smoke alarms, which now flash as well as shriek, and do so throughout the house. And because there's a rental suite in the basement, there were two right next to me, one on one side of the bedroom door and one on the other. I may never hear again.
Ran around frantically in my pyjamas; I flipped the breaker switch the electrician had told me would disconnect them, only it did nothing, on they blared. I called the electrician who luckily was coming over anyway today but had no idea what to do; finally called Kevin, who picked up the third time I called, at 7.30, and luckily lives just down the street. He came over and disconnected them all, but the two in the basement, even off the wall and in his hands, continued their incredible noise. We wrapped them in cushions and put them in the birdseed box out on the deck, where they continued their muffled cry.
I called Kidde, who told me they'd send two new ones and how to turn these ones off for good. A moment of peace, blessed relief.
And then another siren started somewhere in the basement. Couldn't even figure out where it was coming from. Finally realized - the apartment. Had to bang on my tenant's door, get him out of bed, go in with the electrician; it was the sump pump alarm. He turned it off. A bit of peace. About half an hour later, it started again. Again banging on the door, disturbing Gabriel and his guest, this time unplugging the alarm for good. Realized - that in turning off the breakers to try to stop the smoke alarm, I had turned off the sump pump breaker, so the alarm was doing its job, letting me know the sump was not working.
I hate this house. I hate smoke alarms, never know how to stop them. It has happened before that they went off for no reason, only this was worse because they're even louder, with lights, and everywhere. Before, I could open a door and blow fresh air in and it would stop. Now - nothing stops them, it seems.
I've called a furnace guy to come and make sure it's not the furnace. Kidde had no explanation as to why they might have gone off when the house was asleep. It could have been worse, however. It could have been 4 a.m. And of course, there could have been an actual fire. So, I should count my blessings and crawl back into bed, except that there are two electricians and two painters here and Kevin going back and forth.
Okay, enough. This too shall pass. First world etc. I am however feeling battered.
It really helps to tell you all about it. Thanks for listening.
PS Five minutes later: I think the furnace is not working. There's no heat.
FOR SALE. CHEAP.
March 16, 2019
the sound of painting
The big news is that an hour ago I unearthed one of my deck chairs and sat outside for a bit in the sun. The first time in months. And then a few tiny snowflakes tumbled down.
Very busy here today: Joe and Nabil painting upstairs, Dan painting in the dining room, where the termite damage was. The sound of rollers, the smell of a fresh clean house. I gather some blog-readers have enjoyed following my journey into renovation hell and heaven, so here are a few pix.
Click to enlarge.
Wayson struggling with a fancy light fixture JM and I got on a remainder table. Now, not quite sure it'll work or how to put it together. Glittery maple leaves? Hmmm. We'll see.
The corner of Parliament and Gerrard - they've completely smashed the building there.
The spare room, that I will now be calling the Provence or Matisse room. Matisse yellow. The sunroom, for guests!
The dining room today.
The spare room today - everything from the third floor, where everything from the second floor had been stored, moved back down. Do you recognize those eyes in the middle? My Macca poster from 1964.
Late this afternoon I am having dinner with Anna and the boys and then taking Ben to see Paw Patrol Live, as I did Eli a few years ago. Oh the thrilling life of a Glamma.
Very busy here today: Joe and Nabil painting upstairs, Dan painting in the dining room, where the termite damage was. The sound of rollers, the smell of a fresh clean house. I gather some blog-readers have enjoyed following my journey into renovation hell and heaven, so here are a few pix.
Click to enlarge.
Wayson struggling with a fancy light fixture JM and I got on a remainder table. Now, not quite sure it'll work or how to put it together. Glittery maple leaves? Hmmm. We'll see.
The corner of Parliament and Gerrard - they've completely smashed the building there.
The spare room, that I will now be calling the Provence or Matisse room. Matisse yellow. The sunroom, for guests!
The dining room today.
The spare room today - everything from the third floor, where everything from the second floor had been stored, moved back down. Do you recognize those eyes in the middle? My Macca poster from 1964.Late this afternoon I am having dinner with Anna and the boys and then taking Ben to see Paw Patrol Live, as I did Eli a few years ago. Oh the thrilling life of a Glamma.
March 15, 2019
getting there?
7 p.m. I posted what's below earlier in the day. Since then, 49 Muslims have been massacred in New Zealand by a man praising Donald Trump. And I just watched a devastating video on child refugees.
I'm embarrassed by the pettiness of my complaints. I won't delete the post. But I will try to rise above it.
2 p.m. Another former Ryerson student, Paula Turner, has a piece in the Globe today. One of her classmates wrote to point out that she's the fourth person from that class to be published in the Globe. He wrote, Thanks to Beth Kaplan for her influence on our belief in ourselves, technique and stubborn commitment.
https://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/first-person/article-this-overstuffed-old-house-is-my-last-link-to-my-parents/
For an impatient person, this last bit of the renovation is in some ways the hardest. My room is finished but uninhabitable, filled with paint and equipment. The painting is taking forever, there are myriad details to be remembered and finished, and in the meantime, I can't get into my office for the scaffolding, can't figure out where most things are in the house, am turning in frustrated circles, my stomach in knots, my shoulders rigid, sleeping badly, making lists at 4 a.m. I know it's silly, but that's how it is.
This too shall etc. But I am showing the stress. The other day, leaping out of a cab to connect with the King streetcar (which I missed), I left my favourite canvas bag behind, filled with clothing for the boys, a letter I'd just written to Eli, my leather gloves, the latest New Yorker. No one turned it in. Yesterday I got up early after a dreadful night to be ready at 8 for the window guys, returning with one more window. When they weren't here by 11, I sent a furious email to the contact person, who wrote back to point out that the appointment was in fact for this afternoon. Things like that, happening a lot. And friends calling with serious, upsetting stories to tell - a husband with Alzheimer's, another with a brain tumour, two - two! - with daughters who want to leave their husbands, a mother who died suddenly but peacefully. We're in the zone.
But on the other hand, today it's 7 degrees; I went in rubber boots into my frozen, slush-and-snow-covered backyard to prune the shrivelled brown clematis. I don't ever remember my garden so icy and buried in mid-March. That's the kind of winter it's been.
Yes, first world problems etc. And we're getting there, spring, my house, and I. Maybe.
I'm embarrassed by the pettiness of my complaints. I won't delete the post. But I will try to rise above it.
2 p.m. Another former Ryerson student, Paula Turner, has a piece in the Globe today. One of her classmates wrote to point out that she's the fourth person from that class to be published in the Globe. He wrote, Thanks to Beth Kaplan for her influence on our belief in ourselves, technique and stubborn commitment.
https://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/first-person/article-this-overstuffed-old-house-is-my-last-link-to-my-parents/
For an impatient person, this last bit of the renovation is in some ways the hardest. My room is finished but uninhabitable, filled with paint and equipment. The painting is taking forever, there are myriad details to be remembered and finished, and in the meantime, I can't get into my office for the scaffolding, can't figure out where most things are in the house, am turning in frustrated circles, my stomach in knots, my shoulders rigid, sleeping badly, making lists at 4 a.m. I know it's silly, but that's how it is.
This too shall etc. But I am showing the stress. The other day, leaping out of a cab to connect with the King streetcar (which I missed), I left my favourite canvas bag behind, filled with clothing for the boys, a letter I'd just written to Eli, my leather gloves, the latest New Yorker. No one turned it in. Yesterday I got up early after a dreadful night to be ready at 8 for the window guys, returning with one more window. When they weren't here by 11, I sent a furious email to the contact person, who wrote back to point out that the appointment was in fact for this afternoon. Things like that, happening a lot. And friends calling with serious, upsetting stories to tell - a husband with Alzheimer's, another with a brain tumour, two - two! - with daughters who want to leave their husbands, a mother who died suddenly but peacefully. We're in the zone.
But on the other hand, today it's 7 degrees; I went in rubber boots into my frozen, slush-and-snow-covered backyard to prune the shrivelled brown clematis. I don't ever remember my garden so icy and buried in mid-March. That's the kind of winter it's been.
Yes, first world problems etc. And we're getting there, spring, my house, and I. Maybe.
March 13, 2019
miles to go before I ...
Still hanging onto my hat in the hurricane here, if you'll forgive the alliteration: today, two painters and three carpenters getting in each other's way on the second floor, and me trying to direct traffic. There's a huge scaffold up there now so Joe can paint the high ceilings. Painting takes a long time, and I want it to be over. I want it all to be over, to unpack my life and enjoy my new space, but not yet. "I have miles to go before I sleep — in my own bedroom," as Mr. Frost might have said had he ever lived through a renovation.
Somehow in the midst of all this, yesterday, I contacted and then emailed the manuscript to yet another editor. The one I sent it to at the end of December, whom I'd met socially and who responded with warmth to my query about seeing the manuscript, has not responded, even to a request simply to let me know she received it. So after two months I started again, and this time, the editor replied immediately and with great politeness. I know this is almost certainly leading to a no, but having the door opened politely, even if my offering gets handed back to me and the door slammed shut again, means a lot.
And then across town, to have dinner with Anna and family. Before I left, Kevin was up high installing a window.
Time with Ben the gymnast, the mountaineer, climbing and jumping and whacking. I'm thrilled to say I learned how to play Beyblades, the spinning fad, though more at Ben's level than Eli's. At one point, they both appeared wielding their nerf guns, Eli with bullets strapped across his chest like a Sandinista, to protect us from bad guys. And then we collapsed in a heap on the bed to read a book. A heap of grandsons - there's nowhere I'd rather be. And had better enjoy it now, because they're growing up fast, and neither is a cuddler in any case. At least for me. Lots of cuddling for Mama.
When I got home, the house was empty of workmen, and this was in place:
So much light on the second floor.
At the Y today, I was the last in line. This winter has been something of an ordeal for both body and soul, and I am slower than ever in all ways.
My office.
My bedroom. Sweet dreams!
Somehow in the midst of all this, yesterday, I contacted and then emailed the manuscript to yet another editor. The one I sent it to at the end of December, whom I'd met socially and who responded with warmth to my query about seeing the manuscript, has not responded, even to a request simply to let me know she received it. So after two months I started again, and this time, the editor replied immediately and with great politeness. I know this is almost certainly leading to a no, but having the door opened politely, even if my offering gets handed back to me and the door slammed shut again, means a lot.
And then across town, to have dinner with Anna and family. Before I left, Kevin was up high installing a window.
Time with Ben the gymnast, the mountaineer, climbing and jumping and whacking. I'm thrilled to say I learned how to play Beyblades, the spinning fad, though more at Ben's level than Eli's. At one point, they both appeared wielding their nerf guns, Eli with bullets strapped across his chest like a Sandinista, to protect us from bad guys. And then we collapsed in a heap on the bed to read a book. A heap of grandsons - there's nowhere I'd rather be. And had better enjoy it now, because they're growing up fast, and neither is a cuddler in any case. At least for me. Lots of cuddling for Mama.When I got home, the house was empty of workmen, and this was in place:
So much light on the second floor.At the Y today, I was the last in line. This winter has been something of an ordeal for both body and soul, and I am slower than ever in all ways.
My office.
My bedroom. Sweet dreams!
