Because this weekend, for the first time in what feels like forever, our attention is honed in solely on the house! In fact, as I write this, our ‘electrician’ is finally installing some lights upstairs. A sneak peak? Why not.
Monthly Archives: July 2011
Like the basement apartment, the stove is one of those ongoing sagas that I’ve done a great job of alluding to, but never actually telling you the full story. It’s one of those customer service nightmares, a nightmare that bothered me far more than it bothered the husband.
To refresh, about a month ago, we were falling all over ourselves to recommend scratch and dent if you’re looking for a brand new appliance. We probably still are. But I don’t think it will be such a carefree recommendation anymore. Sure, they delivered everything, slid it all into place, and it looked great, especially once everything was hooked up. And it was hot. It wasn’t like we were using the stove much. No wonder it took us 2 weeks before we discovered the problem.
The oven wouldn’t start.
It’s a gas oven and there was, simply put, no gas running to the oven part of the stove. We’re pretty good at DIY and diagnosing issues, so we pretty quickly determined it wasn’t something we could handle. We called up the place we bought it from because, for the first month, they were still responsible for it. Our 14 month warranty would kick in after that. They sent out a technician and that’s where it got frustrating.
He came, stood in my kitchen and looked at the stove. He didn’t touch it. Didn’t try to turn it on. He listened to our own diagnosis of the problem — something the Husband had already gone through on the phone — nodded and said, “Oh, yes. That must be the problem.” He left, promising the order a part.
Two weeks pass and we haven’t heard a thing. Finally, I call on Friday.
“Oh, yes. The part isn’t coming in. We’ll replace the stove for you on Monday.”
On Monday, when I don’t get a phone call with specifics, I call.
“Oh, yes. We’ll bring it tomorrow. Call at noon, and I’ll tell you when.”
I call at noon.
I leave work early. As I’m getting off the subway, I get a message. Guess who isn’t coming anymore? I’m livid. I call.
“Tomorrow, tomorrow. At 5:30.”
Finally, at 6:00, we meet the delivery guy. In comes the new stove, all wrapped in cardboard and plastic. Out goes the old stove, with its thin layer of dust giving away its lack of use. We pop the new one into place, turn on the oven, watch the pilot light turn orange and the temperature start to tick up.
Sometimes, as I write these posts, and as I receive all your wonderful comments, I realize that I leave out some pretty big holes in our situation. Perhaps it’s time to clear everything up?
It might look like it, but we aren’t really living in the midst of our renovation. Not really. Just… kinda. It’s a whole messy, inconvenient situation that I am so excited to have end. See, when we confirmed that we were ready to jump into the housing market and started house hunting, we knew we wanted to become landlords at the same time. The extra income of a basement apartment was incredibly attractive, especially with the Toronto housing market as hot as it is.
Enter our bungalow with all it’s challenges. The depth of renovations required upstairs meant that, when our lease on our condo expired at the end of April, we needed a place to move into. Without further ado, meet our basement apartment:
It’s a comfortable unit, especially considering the heat we had last week. Or, at least, it would be if there were a fridge down here. There’s a space for one, and we’re on the lookout, but for now, and for the past 4 months, I’ve been running up and down the stairs every time I need something from the fridge. (And you wonder why we might eat a lot of frozen pizza and not too many gourmet dishes…?)
Unfortunately, there’s a lot to do down here before our renters arrive in September. Some baseboard, a wall separating the washer/dryer and utility stuff from the rest of the unit, a fixed counter top (more on that later, I’m sure…) building a bulkhead around the ugly black drain pipes in the bedroom, holes to be patched, tile to be scrubbed, a bath to recaulk, cabinet hardware to properly attach… and of course, all our stuff, to move upstairs.
After walking through it with one of our faithful helpers last night, he shrugged. No problem. The list’s not that long. The Husband says much the same thing. Me? I look around and worry just a bit.
Remember my post from a couple months back about the hack jobs the previous owners left behind in our house? As the end of the summer creeps closer and with it, our desired deadline for moving out of the basement and moving tenants in, some of these issues are becoming higher priority. Like this one:
Yes, we’ve finally gotten there. Finally, we have something to reveal.
Let’s review, shall we? When we bought this house, the bathroom looked like this:
A usable vanity, a little extra knee space, and a pocket door. No more awkward corners or partial walls making the room feel smaller. It’s only 6 by 6, but it’s open and comfortable.
- The toilet is the wrong size. A new 14” rough-in is waiting patiently in a box. All we have to do is remove this one, install it downstairs in the basement bathroom, and put the new one in.
- Baseboard is needed along the walls by the vanity.
- I need to put an extra coat of paint on the door.
- We need some kind of storage. Open shelves, likely, above the toilet and radiator.
If you will recall, when the snow melted this spring, a few unpleasant surprises emerged from our backyard.
(If you’re willing to accept a few surprises, I would highly recommend buying in the winter. Buyer’s market, anyone?)
A tangle of weeds, mud, and… garbage. Everywhere. Oh. Joy.
Thankfully, a great group of kids from the church — the youth group I now lead! — rolled up their sleeves and got the whole thing cleared out in a matter of a couple hours. By the end of it, instead of a garbage pit, we just had a mud pit.
As spring matured, we started to turn the soil, a necessary, if unpleasant task. In hindsight, we probably should have rented a rototiller and gotten it all done in one afternoon, but we’re cheap and I think the Husband enjoyed the legitimate reason to play in the dirt. Besides that, a few inches under the mud we discovered a walkway down the middle, and before we realized we should just leave it there and throw seed over top of it, we had it all ripped up, lying topsy turvy down the middle of our yard.
It sat that way for longer than I would have liked. Fortunately, we got the garden in on time, though not in the ideal spot. Slowly, the Husband worked his way towards to back of the lawn, turning, leveling, throwing grass seed, watering. There was a time when we forgot that last step, so it’s a bit of a weedy lawn where the grass died before it ever sprouted, but 2 months later, it’s not looking that bad. In fact, I like it.
I even love the wall of bramble in the part we haven’t gotten to yet. I love our wild flowers.
It’s quite the progress. Not a true after, I know, but I’ve come to realize that we are unlikely to ever have ‘true’ afters. None of these projects will ever be totally complete. And I’m fine with that. But I am grateful for our grass, for our dark soil, for our sunny backyard. Some day, I’d like a tree (we suspect our elm is sick — surprise, surprise), and perhaps next year, we’ll take advantage of one of those tree programs, but for now, it’s perfect the way it is.
Just after we ordered our granite, I went skimming the Internets trying to find an example of it in a real live kitchen. Couldn’t find anything except a little square sample image that looked nothing at all like what I remember of the in-store sample. Queue heart palpitations. Did we just make a big mistake? The Husband thought so, especially since the sample was way more grey than what he expected.
Have you managed to stay cool? Did you know that, in TO, we’re to expect temperatures that feel like 48* tomorrow? That’s 118*F for my American friends. Humid. I’ll definitely be headed to work and the delightful A/C then.
What makes a perfect weekend? It’s like a perfectly mixed cocktail, the blend just right — not too much sweetness to hide the taste and warmth of the alcohol, not too much alcohol to drain the sweetness and twist your face into a scowl.
This weekend was the perfectly mixed cocktail. Saturday, despite the heat, we worked upstairs with all the doors and windows open. At the end of the day, the guys sat back, checked out their work and wondered aloud what it was that took them so long, but I was pleased, beyond pleased, really. Can you blame me?
What did you get up to this weekend?
(Before I begin this post… apologies for the terrible photos. I’m a bad blogger and not necessarily comfortable whipping out my Canon in retail stores, especially ones that have a ‘No Cameras’ policy in parts of their showroom.)
Last night, I got off well before my usual stop and walked to the Lawrence Square Mall where the Husband picked me up 15 minutes later. A short drive, and we walked into the cool A/C’ed heaven of selection, selection, selection: Taps!
And yes, we were there for a tap.
Well. A faucet. Which I guess is a tap. But I never call it the ‘kitchen tap’. I call it the ‘kitchen faucet’. Though, I do call it ‘tap water’. Does anyone called it ‘faucet water’? Now I’m being ridiculous.
Actually, now that I think of it, I might have only started calling it a ‘kitchen faucet’ since we started renovating. Maybe I did actually call it a ‘kitchen tap’ before. Either way, what one should call a tap is not what this post is about. This post is about buying a tap.
Taps has selection! Beautiful, beautiful selection.