Getting High In My Hidey Hole

There's a Dalek in my kitchen!

That's what I'm feeling like, stranded upstairs on my perch. And even up here, I feel like a hoarder in a "clean space" carved out in the junk. And the fumes! Must. Keep. Air. Moving.

Since the TV from the living room is now in the kitchen, along with the attendant AV equipment, the only real sources of entertainment are streaming services on the computer. I could watch a DVD, but they're all buried in the guest room behind the sectional. So, I tried connecting to Spectrum's (my cable server) online streaming, but there's some bug preventing me from hooking up, so I'm kind of limited to Netflix (which is plenty, believe me). But rather than lounging on the couch, I'm relegated to my desk chair.

Two cabinets, two rugs, the
dining room table, etc.

It's a good thing that the powder room walls got finished last week, as there are no lavatory fixtures installed, which makes room for some of the stuff removed to do the floors. The photo taken doesn't really reflect the depth of the stash nor the content in there.

The old bathroom fixtures are still in the kitchen, along with the buffing and varnishing equipment Ron left. There is just enough room between the fridge, the microwave and the sink so that I can do reheating. I shopped this week with that in mind, so I have several dinners from the store's deli and enough sandwich makings to keep me fed without cooking for the next three days.

Guest room and Patty's hidey hole.

You see, Ron finished sanding the floors today and put down the first of three coats of oil-based polyurethane varnish, and it is so making me high I can't believe it. All the windows on the main floor are closed (no dust or dirt can get on the floor) and he has the heat at 69º with the furnace fan going constantly. As the intake for the system is in the dining room, this means the fumes are getting sucked up and redistributed throughout the house.

So, I've closed all the registers upstairs, opened all the windows (save the guest room, which I can't get to) and turned on the ceiling fans, which has helped substantially. But since it's dropping to 41º tonight, and with the next two days topping out in the low 60s to upper 50s, I'll need a sweater. And, wouldn't you know it, they're all in the closet in the guest room, so I can't get to them.

The path to my hidey hole through boxed knick knacks.

On Tuesday morning, Ron arrived right at 7:30, just like he said. I had gotten up at 6:45 and moved the cat's stuff upstairs, then moved four of the five dining room chairs out into the garage. I left one in case he wanted something to sit on. I made a point of letting him know that he is rather legend in town, and it pleased him to no end, though he played it down.

And the grinding started. A huge sanding machine with an even bigger vacuum to suck up the wood dust. I'd say he got the lion's share of the sanding done that first day, switching to a smaller sander to clean up the edges of the floor. It was very strange, because as he worked, I could smell the fresh oak breathing for the first time in decades. It sounds weird, but I think this is making the house happy.

Living room before and after sanding.

He left around 4:30, saying he would return at 7:30 again Wednesday to finish the touch ups and buff the floor before putting down the first coat of varnish. I told him that I would probably not get up early to greet him. "The first day, it's just good manners to be awake when you arrive; but once things are underway, I don't feel quite so beholden." He thought that was quite funny.

And I was true to my word, not getting up until 8:30. He was busy at work when I went down to the kitchen to get some coffee and breakfast, and I didn't see him until he got back from the lunch break. We talked some about the coming winter and the realities of snow removal. "If we get a lot of snow, the ploughs will throw it right up on your yard. If you don't clear it within 24 hours, the city comes and does it and charges you an arm and a leg."

Switching gears, he explained that he buffs the floor once before putting down the varnish. "Most folks don't do that, but I think it helps blend where you used the different sanding tools." Made sense to me.

The dining room, before and after sanding and with the first coat of varnish applied. Shiny!

About an hour later, I smelled the unmistakable stench of oil-based varnish. I opened the windows in the office and turned on the ceiling fan. Before he started the first coat, he moved his equipment into the kitchen, so there is little more room than to move from the fridge to the microwave and the sink. If I move the trash can, I can use the stove, and I'm thinking about making some rice for my dinner tonight, just so not everything on the plate is from the deli.

I do have to admit that this process is much more disruptive than any of the plumbing fixes I've been through. It's almost as disruptive as the remodel in Pasadena, but not quite. However, I can say that I will be very, very happy when Saturday arrives and I can start reassembling the downstairs. And one plus is these two rooms won't have any unhung artwork or boxes and non-assigned tchotchkes hanging around. I'm leaving all that upstairs. So the downstairs will be, finally, guest worthy.