Our story so far: Many months into the renovation of the old Methodist church into our home, it seemed as though nothing was getting accomplished, but it was a big project with a lot of moving parts. In fact, we were ticking off a number of items on our to-do list.

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While the drywallers worked upstairs and the concrete finishers labored outside, I holed up in the basement with creative projects that would find life as soon as Phase Four: Cabinets began.

The kitchen backsplash, for instance, presented a bit of a problem. I wanted something rustic, so glittery glass tile was out. Subway tile, I found too boring. I also wanted something that would coordinate with both the creamy colored kitchen cabinets and the navy beverage bar cabinets.

Nothing was quite right until I found Paramount Flooring’s porcelain tile in Havana, inspired by the cement tiles that lined patios, walkways, walls and floors in 1950s Cuba. To puzzle out the backsplash, I order four boxes of tile in Sugar Cane (white), Havana Sky (blue), Old Havana Blend (mixed colors) and Deco Mix (square decorative tiles).

One quiet Sunday afternoon, Tyler’s cousin and her husband paid us visit. Her husband helped Tyler pull the old sidewalk pieces out of our driveway; the concrete finishers would pour new sidewalk when they finished the driveway. Tyler’s cousin had similar taste in décor, and while the men worked outside, she helped me lay tile on the basement floor to see how the pieces might look as a backsplash. The Sugar Cane tiles carried the day. I figured I’d use a few random Havana Sky pieces to add interest and tie in the blue. The decorative square tiles would be the ideal accent above the stove in a style similar to one I saw on DIY Network.

One more decision, made.

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Today’s headline is a partial quote from former professional baseball player Fernando Perez: “In Cuba and specifically in Havana, there’s a sort of energy that turns every situation into something unexpected.”

Tomorrow: Things get creaky. And creepy. Check it out here.

Our story so far: We were attending to myriad small tasks in our church conversion project.

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Like so many other elements of house construction, doors do not come complete.

Take the fireplace, for instance. We bought a fireplace, really just the firebox. We also needed to purchase stone for the chase. And a hearth. And a mantelpiece.

Or a shower. Once you find a shower head, you also need the handle. And the trim parts.

Find cabinets you love, and you still must invest in hardware.

So it is with doors. Our front doors were a steal on Craig’s List, but they came without door knobs. Or locks.

The options available at the Big Box home improvement store were too mass-market for our distinctive castle doors. So Tyler did what he does best and took to eBay, where he found wrought iron hasps and handles.

When my dad, an accomplished carpenter who wasn’t afraid to work with expensive pieces of wood, paid us a visit and noticed we hadn’t yet installed knobs on our doors, he remarked, “Better measure six times and cut once on that project.” Our impressive doors were heavy solid wood; Tyler had only one chance to get the handles right.

But we couldn’t continue to open the doors with the tiny handles for the speak-easy portals as we took to doing early on, so Tyler did what he had to with his chance and installed the distinctive handles and locks. Cutting once.

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Tomorrow: How to choose a backsplash. Read about it here.

Our story so far: As the drywallers and the concrete finishers worked, we crossed things off our to-do list in our church conversion project.

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With the drywall up and the driveway complete, Tyler returned his attention to the church interior. It was time to get another beam out of the way: The two-hundred-pound barn-beam mantelpiece he’d found on Craig’s List. Unlike the polyurethane beams on the ceiling, this project required a heavy-duty approach to fastening it.

Tyler determined the optimal height of the mantel by researching the firebox manufacturer’s recommendations. The beam was real wood after all, and wood is combustible. Then he enlisted You-Can-Call-Me-Al’s carpentry skills; this was no one-man job.

First they reinforced the mounting area behind what would be the stone by installing two four-by-sixes stacked on top of each other as a mounting plate. Then they drilled holes in the backer plate for eight ten-inch lag bolts.

As he handled the beam, Tyler admired it. The Iowa barn from which the beam was removed was 122 years old, according to the Craig’s List seller, but the beam itself could have predated our 126-year-old church. Either the steam-powered saw mill hadn’t been invented yet or it wasn’t available, so the beam had been hand hewn from a red oak log with a broad axe.

Because the beam was so thick (eleven inches square), Tyler cut it to length with a chain saw. Inside the church. In any other circumstance, a chain saw wielded inside a building was the stuff of horror movies, but in this case it was simply convenient.

You-Can-Call-Me-Al and Tyler created temporary wooden brackets to prop up the beam in which they partially predrilled holes for the lag bolts. Once they secured the mantelpiece in place, You-Can-Call-Me-Al tested their work by standing on it. You-Can-Call-Me-Al might be described as wiry, but still, this was a good test.

Built solidly, indeed.

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Tomorrow: Hardware for the front door. See it here.

Our story so far: As my husband walked the new foundation of his garage, describing in grand detail how it would someday look, I got a tingle in my chest just to see him so happy.

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I would feel that embodiment of excitement again a few days later when the drywall team and You-Can-Call-Me-Al joined forces to install the faux beams in the sanctuary of the church (a.k.a. great room) (read here about the purchase of the faux beams). I couldn’t bear to hang around during the day, listening to debates about angles and watching the men teeter on scaffolding, but when Tyler and I surveyed their work at the end of the day, I could barely speak.

Finally, our home was beginning to look like I imagined it would when we first toured the church eight months before. Even without light fixtures and fans, our fake beams looked finished and majestic. The beams were everything I’d hoped they’d be.

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Tomorrow: More mud? Read about it here.

Our story so far: The concrete finishers completed their careful work on our driveway at the old Methodist church we were turning into our home.

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While he had the concrete mixer’s attention, Tyler had him pour the air conditioning pad. I’d enjoyed air-conditioned homes all through my adult life, but this would be one of those details to which I’d never paid attention. Not Tyler; he preferred concrete pads to the pre-fab plastic ones, and I didn’t even realize an air conditioner requires a pad at all.

Tyler also chose to install window wells around the basement windows on that side of the church so he could spread around all that fabulous black dirt he’d collected from the school across the street and coax drainage water away from the foundation.

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Today’s headline is a quote from Edmund Burke, an 18th century Anglo-Irish statesman, author and philosopher. Now that’s the kind of resume I’d like to have someday.

Tomorrow: Dreaming of a mancave. Read about it here.

Our story so far: Among projects we ticked off our to-do list was installing tons of drywall inside the old Methodist church we were turning into our dream home.

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Meanwhile, our concrete finishers completed their careful work on our driveway. A little like our dramatically swooping balcony, our driveway incorporated some graceful curves as well; cars would turn in from the street and curve around to enter the garage. The concrete finishers made the wood forms obey and figured out how to jigsaw the seams, and when they were done, they accomplished the twin goals of smooth conveyance and proper water drainage.

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Tomorrow: Hey, as long as you’re here and you have concrete in your mixer … Read about what Tyler calls for here.

Our story so far: Many months into the renovation of the old Methodist church into our home, it seemed as though nothing was getting accomplished, but it was a big project with a lot of moving parts. In fact, we were ticking off a number of items on our to-do list. 

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Our A team of drywallers was as dedicated as they were talented. Day after day, they showed up to hang heavy sheets of drywall and then mud all the seams and then sand it all down and then prime all the walls and finally paint the ceilings. Some in-between days, huge fans circulated the air to dry surfaces.

One afternoon I showed up to drop off something (probably another package from Amazon filled with some odd construction materials or tool), and the chief of the A team stood on our front porch (also know as the public sidewalk, seeing as our front door opened nearly onto the street). He was taking in the fresh air during a break, joking around with Tyler.

As I joined the conversation and looked into his eyes, I came to understand what step of the project we were into: Ceiling paint. The chief was dusted from head to toe in a thin film of paint. His normally dark eyelashes were alabaster. As he laughed and blinked, he looked alien.

Thank goodness for our drywallers. Just as promised, and right on time, they completed their work. When they were done, the interior of the church never looked so neat and clean. Now we were getting somewhere.

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Today’s headline is a quote from 15th century artist and inventor Leonardo da Vinci.

Tomorrow: Like our balcony, our new driveway has graceful curves, too. See them here.

Our story so far: While the drywallers were working inside the old church that would someday soon become our home, Tyler & Crew were pouring concrete outside the church for the future garage.

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Chapter 27

As the lilacs faded and May transformed into June, much activity was occurring inside, outside and around our church-sweet-home project.

The conversations Tyler and I had sounded more like a corporate project manager’s Monday morning update meetings than a conversation between husband and wife.

“I need an update on how much we’ve spent on the garage so far.”

“Do you know when the drywallers are coming today?”

“When are you going to pick up that replacement siding?”

“When will you have a few minutes to look at that bathroom vanity with me?”

“Find the fireplace receipt—I need to return those parts.”

“I need the key to the rental unit so I can drop off the lights.”

“Listen to this voicemail from the carpet guy and let’s discuss.”

“What did the spiral stairway manufacturer say about the timeline?”

“Did You-Can-Call-Me-Al finish grouting the shower today?”

“Remind me to buy window wells tomorrow.”

“Have you heard from the guy who’s supposed to measure the shower?”

“Did you pay the concrete company?”

“You need to get back to the spiral stairway manufacturer about the stairway railing material.”

“Did the carpet guy call you back?”

We were spinning like tops, just trying to keep our equilibrium.

It seemed as though nothing was getting accomplished, but it was a big project with a lot of moving parts. In fact, we were ticking off a number of items on our to-do list. If we had been remodeling only the bathroom or building only a garage, these “little” tasks would have been big steps to completion. They only seemed small in the face of the mountain of all we had yet to get done.

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Today’s headline comes from author Deepak Chopra.

Tomorrow: Ticking another little task off the list. Check out the dramatic changes here.