Just Ask Hollywood

There are few things I love more than lights. Light can help set a scene, a mood and give those in its presence an impression. Just ask Hollywood, lighting matters.

Perhaps that's why I so deeply despised my living room lighting until just this week. 

When we moved in, the light was non-existent. One of the first things I did upon move in was put up a fan.

That dealt with some of the stifling heat (it was about 90 degrees inside at that point) and some of the style issues but didn't go nearly far enough for my taste. 

Still, as long as we didn't have air conditioning, the fan was necessary. 

Once I did put in AC, the fan wasn't leaving simply because I had too many other things on my plate. Just a few months later came new drywall and paint and I found myself wishing for new lighting.  

Funny enough, I got forced into my wish. 

During the drywall installation, my contractor took down two fan blades to cut around the fan (we couldn't get it down!) and put the screws in a piece of tape for later replacement. Sadly, I didn't know that and a small ton of masking tape went into the trash shortly after installation. I'm guessing the tape with the screws was one of those pieces since we never found it.

Without the balance provided from all of the blades, it sounded like a freight train about to fall off my ceiling every time it accidentally got turned on.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I decided I'd just run over to my favorite salvage shop, pick up a new (to me) fixture, rewire it and hang it. 

I'm sure this will come as a shock, but it wasn't quite that simple. 

I got all the way up to hanging the fixture when we realized that the bracket that holds it to the ceiling had been stolen at some point in the last hundred years. 

We couldn't hang my shiny new light fixture and I was forced to put up an ugly shade fixture that was wrong for my home in so many ways. On the bright side, it did provide light. 

This week, however, I was able to undo the wrongs of my past (or at least these particular wrongs) and hang a period correct light fixture in the living room at Isthmus House! 

My favorite salvage ship came through yet again with a bracket that we rigged a bit to attach the lamp to the ceiling. Then my electrician, who was already coming over to take care of another project, hung it up for me!

The fixture had four matching shades too, so those went right up. I think the chip in one of the shades adds a little character- what do you think? 

I definitely have some work to do, smoothing out that ceiling, but the living room is almost done! I can't wait to show off the final product!

How to Repair, Reuse and Move a Door to a New Location

I grew up in a home with one and a half baths. Honestly, for a family of four, that was perfectly fine. Turns out, that's not really sufficient for four unrelated people living under one roof. That's a little squishy.

It's not that The Roommates are hard to live with, it's more that it's not quite as kosher to be in the same bathroom with all of the bathroom-y things happening at the same time when you're not immediate family.

That meant, with two new Roommates moving in within the last month, that we needed more than one bathroom - pronto.

We left off in the bathroom upstairs with a shiny "new" vanity that has running water, storage, and lots of counter space - especially when compared with the downstairs pedestal.

Now it was time for yet another door!

Since I know we talked about doors last week (I really do have quite the collection - the original Roommate aids and abets this addiction - I mean, collection - with some regularity), I'll skim over the door a bit for you all.

We had to entirely reframe out the bathroom doorway when we pulled permits to move the wall between the bathroom and bedroom a few inches. The city feels that a second floor bathroom should be accessible so it had to become 32 inches instead of the intended 30 inches I really wanted.

Is it the end of the world? No. Is it a little vexing? Yes, because I couldn't reuse the existing door. That one went into my collection.

Instead, I stole a door from the downstairs living room that divided it from the foyer since I think it was added when Isthmus House was converted from single family to a duplex. Why do I think that? It was signed and dated!

To get the door ready to move upstairs, we had to prep a little. After taking it off the door frame leading into the living room, I pulled off the board covering it up just like the door we exposed in the kitchen. That's when I found the nifty signature above. 

There was also a modern doorknob hole that was both unnecessary and unwanted - large holes are generally frowned upon for bathroom doors.

Filling in a hole in a door is super simple. First, lay the door flat on a work surface. If you're anything like me and a little too lazy to bother getting out your sawhorses, at least protect your floors.

Next, use wood filler to fill the hole - leaving it slightly concave. I used wood weld - a product designed to be a quick filler for wood repairs. You just knead it for a couple of minutes - it smells awful - and then squish it to whatever you need to fill.

It dries really quickly (about an hour) and is rock hard once it does.

After it's all dry, a quick fill with joint compound levels it out.

Since I hate hanging doors with a fiery passion, my contractor took care of that part, complete with egg and dart doorknob and fleur de lis hinges to match the rest of the original doorknob hardware around the house.

So now we have a bathroom door - it even has a lock!

Only one update left before the final reveal! Can't wait!

Check another one off the list! Katie has a door! Part II

Y'all, there's a time to sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labor. Generally, I think that's when the whole job is done but, tonight, I'm making an exception. 

I have a door on my bedroom, complete with salvaged hinges and a doorknob and plate that match all of the hardware original to Isthmus House. Since that hasn't been a reality for a few months now, I'm taking the night off to enjoy it. 

Night! 

The 3-5 Rule

As tax time draws near and I'm itemizing every receipt for Isthmus House (which is still a rental, friends) I'm reminded of the old adage that if you do work in an old home yourself, it'll probably cost you three times more than you thought and take five times as long. Alternatively, you can pay someone five times more than you thought it would cost and it'll take 3 times as long.

Never has this been truer than with the installation of casings.

After the drywall was installed downstairs and I finished so. many. patches., we had pretty walls but they looked patently unfinished.

To fix this, it was time for casings.

I'm obsessed with old woodwork but, sadly, Isthmus House doesn't have a ton of its original trim left. What was left was staying right where it was so I only had two options left: find salvaged trim to match or have trim made to match the existing. Since four and a quarter inch casings weren't coming up on Craigslist, I really only had the option of having trim custom cut.

It's true that custom millwork isn't inexpensive, but it's worth every dime to have cohesive trim throughout the house.

Once all several hundred feet were delivered, I had some painting to do. So. much. painting.

I could paint 5-6 pieces of casing at a time and every piece needed at least 2 coats of paint before they could be installed.

Needless to say, this was a bit of a long process but I got it done within a few days.

Each individual piece had to be cut perfectly to size and pieced together. With the walls being at least a bit wavy, I didn't feel that my carpentry skills were good enough for the perfect copes necessary for this trim installation so I called in my carpenter. That's where the five times as much money part and at least three times as long rule came in.

Each nail hole then had to be filled with a paintable putty, sanded down (I used the finest steel wool), wiped down and then repainted over.

The casings made the rooms look much more complete just in time for our Christmas party.

Now if only I could have baseboards, too...

Old houses have closets!

Is it possible to only have one project going at a time? Around Isthmus House, the answer would be, unequivocally, no. No, it's not.

It's not that I have a short attention span or that I'm impatient or even that I'm in a rush. I think I continue to work on multiple projects at once because it allows me to see little bits of progress all over my house.

While the upstairs bathroom is in progress, there's been no exception to the rule: multiple projects continue.

Old homes aren't exactly known for their storage capabilities and the House on the Isthmus is no exception there either. When I moved upstairs and into what was once the upstairs living room, there was no closet. Heck, there was no wall between the "living room" and the "kitchen" so really a closet would have been a bit too big a dream at that point.

With Isthmus House moving firmly back to being a single family home, however, it was time to add some storage.

To get started, I needed to figure out where I could even put openings for doors without massive amounts of demo. There were lots and lots of measurements and lots and lots of tape involved.

Hint: this isn't exactly where this door ended up

Eventually, though, I was able to fit in a doorway - taped out, of course, and make the closets decent sized. For my old room, the only way to add a closet was to take away from the nook in the master.

As you can see, that meant closing off the master closet (pantry?) door (that's the door on the left in the photo). That's a story for another day. Trust me, it deserves its own post.

To do that, we removed the door, casings and jambs from the opening before adding 2x4s for screwing in the drywall.

After finishing that bit of framing, we demo'd part of the archway turned wall for the opening into the closet from the bedroom.

The framing here is left over from when we initially installed drywall to separate the living room from the kitchen

 Once it was fully opened, we were able to build the back wall of the closet.

The framing went up pretty quickly (it's about 6 pieces of wood)  and we were able to finish it up with additional framing around the doorway for drywall installation.

We did a quick rinse and repeat for what I affectionately call the blue room - framing it out with 2 by 4s. If you happen to be a builder and notice there's a missing piece, we did add it before drywalling!

With the framing complete, my drywallers could come on in. Fast as always, they managed to mud and tape everything while I was away on a trip. 

And then there were closets - decent sized, even, in an old house! Only one problem... you didn't want to actually put anything in them. Right?

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Fixing up fixtures

It's incredible how long a tiny room can take to finish. The upstairs bathroom is about 6.5' by 7' and it's still not quite done.


We're close though, so close. Especially when you consider where we started.

When thinking about modifying a bathroom, there are a few things to consider. Ventilation, light, color - and water. Water's probably the most important of these items. Where is it coming from and where is it going?

A few weeks back, I talked about the rough in plumbing that had to be one of the first things we touched when walls and the floor were open.

Of course, we passed that inspection (pull permits - they protect you) and went on to waterproof, tile, and install my shiny new (hahaha, new) vanity with its shiny new soapstone top.

Still to go was the remainder of the finished plumbing, things like the tub and a toilet. You know, where the water comes from and where it goes...

Let's start with the tub. It was perfect.

This is a really small bathroom that I've made every centimeter as large as I could by moving a wall as much as possible into the adjacent bedroom, which wasn't much. To meet code for the spacing around the toilet, I needed a really small tub. In Madison, code requires 30 inches of space from side to side and 24 inches of space from the front lip of the toilet to any item. In our case, that's the vanity.

Originally, I'd considered putting in a stand-up shower but ended up moving to adding another clawfoot because it was surprisingly more cost-effective and more historically accurate. Add that eventual parents living in Isthmus House might want a tub upstairs for kiddos and my decision was made.

I found a tub in Eau Claire (about three hours northwest of here) that was 48 inches (a comparatively rare size to the usual 60-66 inch tubs of the era) and met the seller part way between our respective cities. Yes, Mom, I took a friend and met in a public area.

When I first saw the inside of the clawfoot, I thought it had already been refinished. It was in beautiful shape on the inside with only a few coats of paint on the outside. It was way better than I'd hoped, however - original inside that gleamed, only a few chips and had all its original feet - having been taken from the third story of a Madison home slated for demolition.

As usual, I would have preferred it survive in its own survivor home but I'm grateful I could at least bring it back to Madison and to an old home that could appreciate its beauty.

After giving a quick wire brushing to the outside and taping off any holes and the lip, I gave it lots of high gloss white spray paint (rust inhibiting is best) and spray painted the feet silver. Generally, a can of spray paint will give a patchy single coat to a clawfoot.

The tub sat in my front sunroom for about a month before my soapstone installers and electrician gracefully "offered" to take it up the stairs for me. It took all three to get it up the stairs without damage to it or my stairwell but it made it!

And then it sat in a room again. This time, it was its forever home, just not its forever spot.

Once my plumber made it out, we finally got the tub to its home and hooked up the water and drain.

I happened to be a little fussy on this plumbing and definitely splurged on the polished chrome set complete with pretty taps and waterlines, a sunflower showerhead and a hand shower.

The same day the tub went in, my custom ordered toilet also went in. I saw the toilet at a local business and thought it would look good in my bathroom so I took a picture and went to my handy dandy local plumbing supply store, Howe Brothers, and hunted it down with the owner, Regan (pronounced Ree-gaan).

Funny enough, I made a bit of a mistake with the special toilet. I forgot to order a toilet seat. Naturally, the seats are backordered 6-8 weeks so we'll be waiting a while before that comes in. In the meantime, I put a $20 Target toilet seat on my fancy, expensive toilet. You know, after I tried three others to see if a different one might work - they didn't.

So now we have water and place for it to go. What do you think of our beautiful fixtures?

The Classics: Homes, Tomes and Automobiles

Recently, I read a Facebook post from a fellow preservationist I believe many can relate to.

"If people thought of old houses like classic cars - I would have so much "free " time . No 55 Chevy ever looked better by ripping off the fenders and replacing with fiberglass & removing the bench seat for an 'open' concept." *

I can understand the sentiment. Occasionally, someone asks me why I care so much. Comments and questions like "it's just a house" or "is it really worth all of this?" are not as rare as I might like. They do give me an opportunity for what I see as very simple questions that might open the eyes of another to the cause.

I can give anyone empirical evidence for why original is best (not to mention greener, cooler [okay, this one might be subjective] and less expensive) in many, many cases. What I had trouble with is finding a way to show why old houses should be saved whenever possible (hint: it's possible about 99.8% of the time).

This is it. Think about your favorite old car. Imagine the line of the pin striping and the curve of the glass. Consider the gleam of the body work and paint. Picture the upholstery, perfectly lined and waiting for the road trip of a lifetime.

You'd never let someone put a crowbar to it or send a sledgehammer through it because it was easier than repairing the damage done by the kid who ran a red light or opened their door too fast. You wouldn't rip out the upholstery because someone spilled their juice box or coffee. You'd never let sell the original window or mirrors or fenders to someone because they're not new.

The same things that make those classic cars special - something nearly everyone can agree upon - is what makes a classic home special. They don't make them like this anymore.

To someone, this home is historic - it holds their history. It holds memories of coming home from a hospital with a new baby, cleaning up scraped knees, checking under a bed for monsters, getting letters from 30 miles away because Grandma's on vacation and wrote home. They're the memories of day to day life for someone, good or bad, and the walls hold those moments and a few mementos to boot. To those people, it's probably not just a house.

This home has lived more than four times longer than me and is well on its way to outliving everyone on the planet. Isthmus House is 105, the oldest person alive is about 115. As one of the first homes in this neighborhood - one of the first neighborhoods in Madison - it qualifies as historic in my book.

Financially, this is a great investment but that's not usually what people are talking about when saying "all of this." They're talking about the late nights scraping sealant off of tile, long days of hunting down the right hinges and repairing a window frame or a faucet.

Those days and nights are worth it because I can rest easy at the end of them knowing that I did something good. I used my hands (that aren't naturally skilled at things like plumbing and carpentry) and my mind (that's not predisposed to great mechanical workings but is fine with hard work) to help something bigger than myself. I'm giving the next generation a tiny piece of history, complete with plaster walls, 7-inch baseboards actually made of wood, wavy glass windows and Douglas Fir floors. I'm showing them that older things can grow with us and can survive us and that the feelings they give aren't unique to an era or even a specific century. I'm giving a mom or dad a place to enjoy the home of their great grandparents knowing their kids can play safely while they cook dinner or make a sack lunch.

For me, it's knowing that this home and its past is someone else's future - everything it's meant to a family in yesteryear and everything it's seen. Anyone who knows me well would say I'm rarely sentimental but it's important for me to know that I'm saving the home some future family will love. That makes this old home's restoration completely worth every second of every minute of every long day. What more could I ask?

*That preservationist is Nicole Curtis. I try to always give credit where it's due and I have to credit her for setting me down this crazy path and thank her for contributing to my obsession over original anything and everything. 

For the sake of artistic license and the need for a rhyme, we're calling today's post a tome. Thanks for understanding :)