The unfinished storage system comes downgross
I am forcing myself to write. I am forcing myself period. This might be as bad as it gets. As bad as sifting the dirt in front of the house to remove tons and tons of chunks of chalk from the limestone cliffs from which our property was carved.
They ought not have bothered.
Or, I ought not have bothered.
In 1865, the house was a simple, unadorned farm through which a cart could pass from the street to the yard behind. It housed, perhaps, some animals and most certainly some humans, somewhere. Then, sometime, someone had the idea to make it more, without ever doing it right. Now, I am dealing with the consequences of that. It is neither fish nor fowl, finished nor unfinished, rustic nor having greater pretensions. It is a mess, and it is my mess.
Mine, all mine!
This weekend, Audouin started dismantling the storage system he began some 10 years ago. He was also removing every bit of hardware, thinking it would all be useful.
"Mais où est-ce qu'on va mettre tout ce bois?"
"On va le brûler?" I asked, hopefully.
"Mais non!" Oui, je sais. Ca peut être utile un jour. Mais non! I wandered off and let him keep unscrewing all those tons of screws he had screwed by hand, dreaming of real cabinet makers. I knew them, once upon a time. When my husband would say that I was spoiled by "too good" work.
The only kind, I say.
And here I was, unscrewing his screws so he could save everything I longed to use to heat the house.
Finally, after one cut and a large piece of wood falling from ceiling height onto my radius, causing wincing pain every time I touch the area even so gingerly, it was down, and I could see that I had two big problems. The first was that the wainscoting was garbage.
Surprise!
The second was that I don't have anywhere near the depth I need to lay sleepers or a plywood subfloor and lay 23 mm solid oak flooring.
Surprise!
The floating engineered something or another wood flooring my husband laid directly on the old carpet was not even 10 mm thick, the carpet is thin as hell, and it is on a sort of padding that is nothing but a crumbling bit of black something or another. The present finished floor is already several millimeters higher than the terracotta tile floor adjacent, and altogether, it isn't even as thick as the solid oak flooring strips. So much for the sleepers or plywood subfloor.
And my husband wanted to know why I didn't just leave the carpet in place.
Sigh. Maybe that's why he clears his throat constantly. Has he never heard of the bugs and the filth that old carpeting harbors?
Ever the optimist, I am truly hoping the same as my dear friend in Houston, that I will find the solution once I tear out the floating floor and the carpeting. Perhaps there really is some kind of tile below that I can tear out to get my subfloor.
Maybe.
....
They ought not have bothered.
Or, I ought not have bothered.
In 1865, the house was a simple, unadorned farm through which a cart could pass from the street to the yard behind. It housed, perhaps, some animals and most certainly some humans, somewhere. Then, sometime, someone had the idea to make it more, without ever doing it right. Now, I am dealing with the consequences of that. It is neither fish nor fowl, finished nor unfinished, rustic nor having greater pretensions. It is a mess, and it is my mess.
Mine, all mine!
This weekend, Audouin started dismantling the storage system he began some 10 years ago. He was also removing every bit of hardware, thinking it would all be useful.
"Mais où est-ce qu'on va mettre tout ce bois?"
"On va le brûler?" I asked, hopefully.
"Mais non!" Oui, je sais. Ca peut être utile un jour. Mais non! I wandered off and let him keep unscrewing all those tons of screws he had screwed by hand, dreaming of real cabinet makers. I knew them, once upon a time. When my husband would say that I was spoiled by "too good" work.
The only kind, I say.
And here I was, unscrewing his screws so he could save everything I longed to use to heat the house.
Finally, after one cut and a large piece of wood falling from ceiling height onto my radius, causing wincing pain every time I touch the area even so gingerly, it was down, and I could see that I had two big problems. The first was that the wainscoting was garbage.
Surprise!
The second was that I don't have anywhere near the depth I need to lay sleepers or a plywood subfloor and lay 23 mm solid oak flooring.
Surprise!
The floating engineered something or another wood flooring my husband laid directly on the old carpet was not even 10 mm thick, the carpet is thin as hell, and it is on a sort of padding that is nothing but a crumbling bit of black something or another. The present finished floor is already several millimeters higher than the terracotta tile floor adjacent, and altogether, it isn't even as thick as the solid oak flooring strips. So much for the sleepers or plywood subfloor.
And my husband wanted to know why I didn't just leave the carpet in place.
Sigh. Maybe that's why he clears his throat constantly. Has he never heard of the bugs and the filth that old carpeting harbors?
Ever the optimist, I am truly hoping the same as my dear friend in Houston, that I will find the solution once I tear out the floating floor and the carpeting. Perhaps there really is some kind of tile below that I can tear out to get my subfloor.
Maybe.
....
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