January 2014
Having already droned on about our kitchen adventures (See Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 & Part 4], I see no reason to exert myself further, nor the ears and eyes of what visitors remain here. So, without further ado or build-up, here are the Before and After photos of our new kitchen.
Before
After
Before
After
Before
After
Before
After
Before
After
Before
After
After
After
Ever After
On the first day of demolition, the walls came tumbling down. What had divided the kitchen and dining room since we purchased our home was gone. I could be working at the dining room table and see clear through to Andy in the family room. People in the kitchen could talk face-to-face with people in the dining room. But while all this was now possible, it wasn’t quite practical at this particular point. Nothing but bare wood, bare joints, and a bare floor was before us. In the first flush of cold winter weather, a sheet of heavy, dusty plastic was all that kept the outside at bay. It was a dismal scene, but we were both so happy with the space and the removal of that wall that we didn’t care. The excitement of that saw us through the first few days. Eating out was a joy, and since the contractors had moved the fridge and microwave into the family room, we were making do in far easier fashion than either of us expected.
Still, it was not without its drawbacks. There was no sink in which to wash dishes, which made many things more difficult. There was no running water, except in our tiny guest bathroom sink, under which it was difficult to fit a tall glass. When the tile floor was installed we had to stay off it for 24 hours, which split the house in two – Andy in his usual family room wing, and I in the living room faction. We could shout to each other and wave, but to cross to either space we needed to walk outside. Normally not a big issue, but at midnight in December? Dicey.
Soon though, sooner that it seemed possible, things came together. The contractors – the amazing crew from Skylands Services – were excellent. Work continued on-schedule and on-budget. When the first cabinet was installed, we could see through to the light at the end of the tunnel. And once all the cabinets were in, and we had the stone supplier measure the template, the end was clearly in sight.
We stopped by Empire State Stone to map out where the main peninsula countertop would be cut from the piece of stone we had selected. On an ice-laden path, on a bright winter day, we stood outside and placed the cardboard template over the granite, incorporating just a bit of the main black veining to peek out from the sink. Andy held one end and I held the other. In tandem, we maneuvered the outline of what we had been waiting to see for months – years, really. One of the staff outlined the placement, and we held up the other counter template, capturing more of the winding variation that Andy favored. Then it was time for more waiting until the stone was cut. Even that seemed to move quicker than we thought. For a brief moment I felt a twinge of sadness that the project was coming to a close. I knew Andy would miss the activity and excitement and daily dose of fun that the contractors provided. He mentioned that on their last days he felt like he was sending off kids to college. But like those moments, it was for the best. We’d been through an enormous upheaval, and had survived. A little battered and war-worn (recall the poor kid who had lost the tip of his finger on a wood saw), and a little tired and displaced (we’re still trying to figure out where things should go), we made it through the wilderness.
From the stark, white cabinets, and cold gray floor to a warm, rich cherry wood and warm, clay-swirled tile, from a sterile, manufactured formica countertop to a beautifully-grained natural granite, from a boxed-in divided kitchen and dining room to a united, airy, and spacious space, with room enough for two to work at once, our kitchen had undergone a complete transformation.
We had finally taken the wall down. What was once divided was now one, what was once disjointed and claustrophobic was now flowing and open. Some home renovations test and stress a married couple, some bring them closer together. Whatever the outcome, we had a new kitchen ~ a new heart of the home ~ and, maybe, a chance for a bright new beginning.
I pause at the sink, resting my hands on the soft curve of the stone counter. Outside, a layer of snow brightens the backyard, and I peer through the bush where a couple of cardinals sometimes perch and sing. Across the yard, I make out the faint trail of a bunny that bolted across the space a few days ago. A rough wind shakes more snow out of the cherry tree, and I think back to those September days of planning and dreaming. The pool is covered now, blanketed by snow and ice, and the branches of our gardens are bare and stark, but in a few months it will melt away. We’ll see the dark green and brown of life return, like we saw it on the first night we found our home, when the first whisper of spring tickled our ears. On that March evening we walked around the backyard and made out the faint outline of the pool beneath its ragged cover. We made a covenant with our home then, and began a new life together. I close my eyes and make a wish that spring hasten her steps.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
COMING UP NEXT: The Before & After Shots
We knew we wanted something with heavy graining and variation for our granite countertop, not the usual uniform, igneous patterns that might as well have been man-made. At the granite showroom, we found a few pieces we liked of the Yellow River, but they looked toned down. Far more enchanting was a piece with lots of amber and black – called ‘Betulare’ – that was much deeper and more interesting than what we had been looking at, but maybe it was too bold. I thought for sure that Andy wouldn’t like it, that it would prove too brash and daring for our space. But he wandered over and was just as enamored as I was. Sometimes, even after thirteen years, husbands have a wonderful way of surprising each other. We were advised that their stone suppliers had websites, where we could view the actual slabs online, and then pick out which one we liked. We could then visit the supply site itself to see it in person. For such an investment, I reasoned that it would be worth the drive to New Jersey (little else is).
A few weeks later, I got up long before the sun was out and started the journey to select our granite. I knew Andy didn’t want to make the round-trip with his back, so I loaded some 80’s music into the stereo and made a relatively easy trip down. The pieces we had chosen from the online selection needed to be moved, so while we were waiting the woman who let me in – New Jersey from her thick accent to her fluffy fur vest straight off a Real Housewife – invited me to look around with her at the other pieces. Next to our marked lot of stone stood a more intriguing slab – it was the ‘Betulare’ – and this wondrous piece of granite was from Brazil. A dramatic black vein ran through the middle of it, while blossoms of black specks bloomed along the winding rivers of the granite’s grain. That flow was what most appealed to us, and the variation – striking in its non-repetitive non-pattern – would keep it infinitely interesting. It wasn’t what we had ordered, but it was right next to what we ordered, so I took it as a sign. Our original stone was still being moved as we made our way around the rest of the supply room. Slab after slab of enormous rock stood on their sides, revealing all sorts of granite and other stone. There was a stunning piece that was almost entirely a glossy black, cut through with just a few small lines. I didn’t like it, but thought about sending Andy a photo of it telling him I’d make a slight change in plans. (I wasn’t that mean.)
As we came back to our starting point, the stone had been moved, and I could examine the selection we’d made online. In person, it read much flatter than in photos. The ‘Betulare’ to its side was definitely the better choice. It was what I was first drawn to, and those initial gut instincts are what has saved me many times. I took a few photos of it for Andy and told the woman these were the slabs for the countertop. She marked them, I filled out some paperwork, and was back on the New Jersey Turnpike in less than an hour after I got off. (Well, following some Full-serve gas treatment, the pumper of which was none too pleased when I got out and headed toward the pump myself out of habit.)
With all of our materials ordered and set to be delivered, we scheduled the start with the contractors for December. The holidays would be different this year, and though we knew it would be tough, we forged ahead. A sacrificed Christmas this year would make for a better one next year – and, far more importantly, a stellar spring and summer.
{To be continued…}
After narrowing down the style of cabinet, and figuring out the basic set-up of the room, we finished up with that initial consultation and made our way to the first tile store, where we were promptly overwhelmed. We should have gone in with an exact idea of what we wanted, instead of going in blindly to find whatever spoke to us. There was simply too much, and it was overpowering. We struggled to find the backsplash and the floor tile, but realized it was not happening. At times like that, it was best to step back and take a break from looking – to clear the head, focus on something else, and return when you’ve had some time away.
Meanwhile, in our old kitchen, I held up the cabinet samples. The white looked all right. I’d previously painted the current cabinets a similar white, so it wasn’t a shock to see. But I noticed as I placed the sample next to what was there, how dirty and dingy the older ones looked. Andy had mentioned the clean-up and up-keep involved in white, but I hadn’t listened. Here was the proof.
I lifted the cherry sample up against the old cabinets. Beneath the skylight, it glowed warmly in hues of amber, lending a richness that filled the space but didn’t overwhelm. It was comforting. For so long, I’d resisted what was comfortable ~ comfortable didn’t always translate to beautiful, comfort was too often a cop-out, a safe way to go, an acquiescence to the tried and true. I thought of Andy, and his joy at the cherry, and suddenly wondered what was so wrong with comfort and safety. Most people strive to find that in their lives. Here it was, in my own hand, and I laughed a little at my resistance. When I told Andy and Michelle I was okay with the cherry wood, I acted like I “compromised my ass offâ€, but really, I was just giving in to the husband who knew best.
With that decided, we could tentatively use the Yellow River granite we were so taken with, and move on to the selection of floor and backsplash tile. We tried a different tile place, and found exactly what we wanted – a glossy floor tile in a very light tan, with a marble-like pattern to it.
Without the exact piece of granite, choosing a backsplash proved trickier, but there was a sample of the Yellow River on hand, so we chose a selection of glass subway tiles that would work with it. In a softer palette of greens and blues, accented by a soft amber and almond, the glossy glass backsplash would reflect and fill with light. Based on this collection, we chose the paint color for the dining room walls (which now merged seamlessly with the kitchen) and the incidental kitchen wall space. For someone often unfairly, and inaccurately, characterized as loud and boisterous, I liked a green reminiscent of Spanish moss, with the fitting name of ‘Quietude’. That left just the granite, and an adventure in our sister state of New Jersey.
{To be continued…}
It was a Saturday in September when we got in the car and took that first step. The day was sunny and clear, and the trees were just starting to exhibit their first bit of fall color. Our Sweet Autumn Clematis was blooming its head off, the canopy of tiny white star-like blossoms filled with giddy bees. The maples had begun to burn, and the weeping larch was just starting to let go of its green, slowly ripening into the magnificent bright gold it would eventually become. A bright blue sky, accented by a few fluffy white clouds, bloomed brilliantly over all. It was the ideal day to begin a new project – and there was none bigger than a total kitchen renovation.
It would be daunting, and both Andy and I knew that. I always like to prepare for the worst so there won’t be disappointment, but such doom and gloom would prove unfounded and unwarranted for this project. I did not know that then.
We arrived at Builder’s Kitchens with a basic idea in mind – new cabinets, new floor, new appliances, and the removal of the dividing wall between kitchen and dining room. The place to begin was with the cabinets, around which the rest of the room would take shape. (This was news to a kitchen novice like me, who wanted to start with the floor and move up from there.)
For the cabinets, I was initially hell-bent on having white. Sleek, modern, crisp, cool white to brighten up the space and make it feel larger. Even when Michelle, our amazing designer who saw us through the complicated cabinet process, tried to subtly dissuade me from white, both due to cost and eventual wear-and-tear, I stalwartly refused to consider anything else.
Then I looked over at Andy admiring a set of cabinets made of a medium-hued cherry wood. His eyes lit up as he examined them, and it was then that I knew: we would have cherry wood cabinets. I could see how much he loved them, and he was right – they were gorgeous. I insisted on taking the white sample home as well, not quite ready to “compromise my ass off†just yet, but secretly happy that he’d found something so beautiful, and that we could agree upon.
With those choices in our hands, we walked over to the granite island in the middle of the showroom. It was a beautiful, richly-varied piece of Yellow River granite. Both of us were entranced. It was darker than what I’d originally envisioned for a white cabinet kitchen, but as that seemed to be on the way out, it might work perfectly with a cherry backdrop. That granite was so stunning it haunted me for the rest of the day, and the weeks to come.
{To be continued…}
Well, the backsplash is now complete. This is a photo of how it looked prior to grouting – I liked the pattern of the spacers, but it seems most people remove them for the finished product. The Before and After posts of the kitchen are coming soon, as well as a lengthy description of how we got from there to here. It all starts tomorrow… Stay tuned.
This trio of photos was just found on my flash drive – it seems I never got around to posting them after Christmas. I’m putting them up now because these two tykes are too cute to stuff back in the archives. In a couple of months they’ll be coming up on their fourth birthday, of which the ramifications and march of time startles me.
One of the reasons I’ve been happily unburdened by children is that I didn’t want a ticking time marker under my feet. Unfortunately, I have no control over the arrival of nieces and nephews.
They’re lucky they’re this cute.
It started off with Andy and I trying to help wounded soldiers, in the only way I knew how: by making bouquets of flowers. We stopped by our family friend Elaine’s house, and picked bunches of Queen Ann’s lace. I remember the airy umbrels, elegant and rustic at the same time. She gave them generously, helping us gather, and then, in the way that dreams suddenly do, I was in the back seat of a moving car – an expansive station wagon, but not, I don’t think, the woody.
We are hurtling down the highway and a young man with dark hair is in the back seat attacking me. I can’t make out his face, it is in shadow. Andy is gone and I scream – at least I try to scream. The man begins to hit me, viciously, over and over. I try to scramble out of the back seat to the front of the car but I’m paralyzed. Still, no sound comes out, as often happens in my dreams. He does not stop, and I keep trying to scream, hoping the desperate tone, the wild pitch of someone in real trouble, cuts through whatever apathy has me in such dire solitude. When at last the smallest whimper comes out, when I’m almost too scared to speak, I awaken.
Calling out to Andy, I calm myself and slow my breathing. He hurries into the bedroom and I tell him about the nightmare. He asks what the man looked like, but I cannot remember. The only vivid parts were the flowers and the attack. He reassures me that if I couldn’t see his face then it couldn’t happen. I want to believe that.
For some reason, when Madonna was announced as performing for part of Macklemore and Ryan Lewis’ song ‘Same Love’, I wasn’t as excited as everyone thought I would be. It was a bit of a surprise to myself, even, but I figured it would be a few throw-away lines at the end, and not worthy of edge-of-the-seat build-up (like that miraculous Super Bowl show). However, like everything she does, Madonna was full of the unexpected. In this case, it was the chorus of ‘Open Your Heart‘, one of her strongest cuts. Slowed down to seamlessly segue in and out of ‘Same Love’, it came just as Queen Latifah presided over the shockingly-moving wedding ceremony of 33 gay and straight couples.
Madonna inspires a whole lot of feelings in me, but she rarely moves me to tears. (The last time I came close was at the Drowned World Tour, when I was seeing her for the very first time.) On this evening, as a backing choral group picked up and carried a few more bars of ‘Open Your Heart‘, and then Madonna joined Mary Lambert for a couple of tender exchanges of ‘She keeps me warm’ before they ended by not crying on Sunday. All in all, it was incredibly emotional, in the sweetest, most non-jaded way.
As for the outfits, Madonna arrived all in black, with a nicely-tailored tux by Ralph Lauren. I dug the hat, still despise the grillz. For the performance she traded in the black for white, with a couple of trademark dangling garters and a cowboy hat. She looked fine – and she looked closer to her age than she usually does (which is normally fifteen years younger). We should all be fortunate to age nearly as well. I saw a few nasty ageist comments online from people with dogs as their profile pics (or maybe they weren’t dogs after all). Anyway, Madonna still knows how to show the room a good time – for this evening it was poignant as well.
Many years ago, my younger and more naive self thought he only needed three things in a partner. They were silly, but sacred, so I kept them secret, waiting for the one to come along who instinctively did all three – that person, I maintained, would be The One. A few guys came close, and eventually I’m sure a few more would have been able to deliver (so simple were the requirements), but it seemed for a while that no one would be quite that compatible with me.
What were these three fairy-tale like wishes? What trio of actions or objects would unlock the key to my heart? As I mentioned, they were silly and simple:
1)   I wanted someone to take a shower while I waited for him in bed. I just wanted the feeling of knowing that someone was there, that someone was the next room down, going about his daily life, but still a part of mine. I wanted the comfort of a day-to-day life together. So yes, the first item was easy enough – he just had to step into the shower.
2)   The second was also easily achieved: I wanted someone who was passionate about something. It could be anything – stamp collecting, rare mushrooms, Buddhist art, orchid cultivation, or cars. He needed to have a passion and an excitement for something, because if you have at least one obsession, you have a passion for life. I didn’t need to share in it – you didn’t have to love gardening, or fashion, or Tom Ford cologne, but if you had your own interests, that mattered.
3)   The third thing was a bit trickier, but no more complicated: I wanted someone to bring me the Sunday New York Times newspaper without me asking. That last part was key: I was good at asking for things, and good at bugging people until I got them, but I didn’t want to have to do that. I guess I just wanted someone who knew me well-enough that I didn’t have to ask.
Over the years, those simple needs expanded to include all sorts of demands and nonsense, and I lost sight of what was truly important, what really mattered. It’s not the grand gestures ~ the Louis Vuitton bag, the Tom Ford cologne, the surprise extended birthday trip in Maine ~ it’s the simple, consistent act of getting a Sunday paper, no matter how far and wide you have to search. It’s the simple touch of someone’s arm as they drop you off at work. It’s the shared smile when you see something on TV that reminds you both of the same thing, the same memory.
It turns out in my younger years I may have been a lot wiser than I am today. Those three things I wished for came true, and I never realized how lucky I was until now.
It’s easier to see our backyard menagerie of visitors in the winter snow. Like this little squirrel, munching on a piece of bread that Andy tossed out one winter. How these fluffy creatures survive the cold, I’ll never know, but you rarely see a squirrel shiver.
Outside our bedroom window, a trail of bunny prints circles beneath the Wolf’s eye dogwood tree. I watched one of the culprits hop along the poolside fence, disappearing into the snow and brush, the white blur of a puffy tail like some burst of smoky magic.
Peering out of the den, I see more trails, left by other rabbits and squirrels, and right up against the house a smaller set of prints that we can’t quite figure out. It looks too small to be a squirrel, but too large to be a mouse. One of winter’s mysteries.
I much prefer the summer, with its blazing banners of color, floating from butterfly bush to butterfly bush, carrying the sweet hope of nectar on its unfurling sun-kissed tongue.
After a weekend of laying low and hanging out with Andy, Monday arrives like an unwelcome return bout with strep throat – just when you thought you’d already kicked it. We spent much of the time returning the house back to the state it was in prior to the kitchen being re-done, which meant lots of dusting and moving things, some re-organization and re-configuring, and a  look at the final bill (which came in as expected – and not so far beyond our original estimate as some had suggested). In addition to all of that, I made a chicken curry dish for dinner, and shoveled the driveway for Andy, whose back recently gave out. He was right – it’s not as fun as it looks. (And it never looked fun at all.)
The Madonna Timeline was updated twice – once with a song I love, and again with a song I didn’t. She also performed at the Grammys (though as of this writing it hadn’t happened yet so a recap on that will be forthcoming).
Don’t forget: you’re so invited, and I just can’t hide it.
There were a couple of notably nude male celebrities on display, well, almost – in the naked form of Leonardo DiCaprio (whose ‘Wolf of Wall Street’ was far more entertaining than it had any right to be) and an underwear-clad (and removed?) David Beckham.
Though the weather outside was frightfully frigid, there were Hunks to keep you warm, including shirtless male celebrities like Tom Cullen, Grady Sizemore, Adam Jacobs, Derek Allen Watson, and The Property Brothers.
If all goes according to plan, this week should bring about the long-awaited final completion of our kitchen project – and that will mark a new beginning – something to see us through the rest of this rough winter, until we find our summer again.
As I sit here pre-programming posts for the weekend and debating about what to do and where to go, I decided to just be lazy and populate this particular post with blasts from the past. Chosen haphazardly from the last two of three years, they’re just a few items that struck my momentary fancy. Read into them what you will, but don’t read into them too much.
It’s been a while since I’ve done a shameless underwear post like this, but the people want what they want. (Not that anyone really wants this.) Besides, it’s the weekend, so I can be as gratuitous as I want and no one will be able to find me.
There are a number of guys who have taken far more off than this, and they are in the ‘Naked Male Celebrities’ category of this site.
There are some who have taken off a little less, and they’re in the ‘Shirtless Male Celebrities’ section.
There are some who show off ‘Bulges’ in their briefs and boxers.
There are others who wear their ‘Underwear’ as outerwear.
I’m going to stop now before things go all Dirty Dr. Seuss on your ass. Or mine.
Tonight’s marks Madonna’s return to performing on the Grammys – I think she’s done it three times before. The first was when she was basking in the success of ‘Ray of Light‘, with her slightly-shaky-voiced ‘Nothing Really Matters‘ – in and elaborate Geisha-by-Gaultier get-up. Visually it was my favorite of her performances.
A couple of years later she previewed her ‘Drowned World Tour‘ by dancing on the hood of a stretch limo for ‘Music’. It was a fun, stimulating, if straightforward performance, the kind of old-school entertainment that consisted of singing and some dance moves – it’s what Madonna does best.
Her last live performance on the Grammys was, I believe, in 2006 with ‘Hung Up’. It was the choreography and routine we’d seen a thousand times by that point, but a nifty intro by the Gorillaz, and Madonna’s own holographic entrance (before actually appearing) injected some new life into the song.
I won’t give away who she’s rumored to be appearing with tonight, and I have no idea what she’ll be performing. That’s the best thing about Madonna – she’s still full of surprises.
