This porridge is too hot, this porridge is too cold but this one’s juuusssst right

Monica Lee

Our story so far: A chance encounter led me to a tiler who was willing to take on our extra-large master bathroom shower in the old Methodist church we were turning into our home.

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After a little back and forth over the course of a week or two, we agreed to provide all the materials per You-Can-Call-Me-Al’s specs, and he would perform the work to be paid by the hour.

This meant we would have to buy a custom glass door and have it installed. Which meant visiting with another contractor. One lead led to another, but after I defined my wishes with a glass expert, he sent me a quote. Besides the door, another half wall was included which was more affordable than two glass walls but still lux.

shower door sketch
Top-notch graphics.

In the middle of these negotiations, we saw a “Fixer Upper” episode in which the shower door had a cut-out in the glass instead of the handle. Very trendy. I inquired about this, and by gum, the glass expert could do such a thing. For a price, of course.

In the end, we’d have nearly exactly the master shower we’d envisioned: Extra-large and airy.

The only do-it-yourself part would be the shopping.

You-Can-Call-Me-Al suggested buying tile at a Big Box store because if he ran short, it would be easy to get more. If, on the other hand, we found something special-order from Spain, well, then we might have problems.

So I went to Home Depot (again) and made like Christina El Moussa from “Flip or Flop.” I juggled samples on the floor of the store and settled on three: One for the floor of the shower, one for the walls, and one as ribbon accent. I bought one of each and brought them home to the rental house to sell the salesman on them. He was no Tarek, but then he had no reason to gripe—let’s be honest, I choose options available at a Big Box store—Tyler agreed to my vision.

tile choices
This is definitely one project I can’t wait to see finished. From top: accent ribbon, wall tile, floor tile.

All told, our extra-large master shower would cost us about $7,000. Plus plumbing and fixtures.

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Tomorrow: Ah, the fixtures. Like everything else in a home remodeling project, the choices can overwhelm. Read about it here.

Sweet serendipity

Monica Lee3 Comments

Our story so far: We had established we weren’t willing to tile our own shower in the old church we were renovating into our home, but we were going to take a bath on the project if we accepted some of the stratospheric contractors’ quotes we received.

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before shower area
This is the room in the church–prior to demolition–where we planned to put our master bathroom. The corner on the right is where the shower was planned.

Then I experienced another one of those moments of serendipity that had been blessing us throughout this project.

I went to the post office to ask about whether we were the getting a mail box or post office box. I had already been there four times and had left without a clear answer.

As I was about to step into line, the man who held open the door for me motioned to let me in line before him.

“No, go ahead,” I said.

But he was a gentleman of the generation when etiquette demanded ladies first (let’s be honest, he looked to be my age). I accepted his offer.

I explained my problem to the man behind the counter, beginning with this description that had become familiar to my lips: “I bought the old Methodist church, and we’re turning it into our home.” Etc, etc.

During a pause in our conversation, the gentleman behind me asked, “You’re remodeling a church?”

“Yup, we are.” I smiled.

“Do you need any help?” he asked.

“Yes! You know anyone?”

“Yeah, me,” he said. “I’m a master carpenter. And I do other things.”

“Do you know any tilers?”

“Yes, I do tiling.”

“Do you have a card?”

He fished a card out of his pocket. By now I was ignoring the postal employee. I read the card, and an old Paul Simon song floated into my head.

“Al? Can I call you Al? Do you have time now? My husband is at the church. He handles all the contractors. You could go talk to him now.”

“Sure,” You-Can-Call-Me-Al said. “Where’s the church?”

And the polite gentleman went to the church, introduced himself to Tyler—You-Can-Call-Me-Al—and told him, yes, he could tile a shower for us, he did it all the time.

Meanwhile, I nailed down an answer on about our mail: We would be getting a box at the post office, not a mailbox.

shower roughed in
This is the master shower area studded in.

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Tomorrow: We piece things together. Read about it here.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again

Monica Lee1 Comment

Our story so far: In the midst of the framing and mechanicals phase of renovating the 126-year-old church into our home, we tackled showers. And it was like having a cold shower—a real wake-up call. The first quote was a doozy.

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We would have to make some compromises. We started by eliminating custom showers on the second-floor and in the basement; we could go with fiberglass surrounds for those showers—only our guests would be using them anyway. We also relegated the basement shower to Phase Eight when we tackled that level; we needed to get the main floor habitable first.

So Tyler went back to the acrylic shower guy and got a quote on the master bathroom shower only: Still $8,728 plus plumbing and fixtures.

Uff-da.

We had two insurmountable hurdles for this shower. It was extra-large so we couldn’t go with a standard insert. And we wanted to maintain an openness in the bathroom that demanded two glass walls. “Extra large” and especially “extra large glass” were pricey.

OK, let’s get another quote, this time for tile. We approached a well-known area remodeler who sent a knowledgeable and efficient estimator to the church. He asked informed questions, performed detailed measurements amidst our dusty church and returned a professional, detailed quote: $12,500. Plus fixtures and plumbing.

Oh, boy.

Well, unless we left out a toilet and sinks, such a beautiful shower was still more than we budgeted for a master bath in the Tequila Budget.

This was a problem.

While shopping for cabinets elsewhere in the church, Tyler spied a do-it-yourself shower option that wouldn’t require us to tile. The material for the shower walls came in full sheets that could be cut to size.

Price for this do-it-yourself option? $7,414 plus plumbing and fixtures.

Well, we were getting warmer, I guess.

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Tomorrow: Serendipity in the form of a gentleman pays us a visit. Read about it here.

The price of beauty

Monica Lee3 Comments

Our story so far: In the midst of the framing and mechanicals phase of renovating the 126-year-old church into our home, we were called upon to make some decisions about the bathrooms.

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Chapter 20

Showers, as it turns out, are expensive. And we planned to have three of them in the church, one on every floor.

Even while discussing the Tequila Budget, we agreed we weren’t going to be tiling our own showers. Oh, we were happy to do demolition, sand the wood floors, install our own kitchen cabinets, but tiling? Forget it.

tile job
Not the worst tile job. But not the funnest project either.

Tyler and I had attempted a tiling project in our former home, replacing the carpeting (yuck!) in the master bathroom. It turned out OK, but it was difficult work and perfect corners were tricky to accomplish. Perhaps ironically, Tyler was not a tiler. For the church, we knew we wanted an expert to handle the tiling.

Then we saw acrylic showers at a home show, and we were intrigued. No seams to leak, easy to clean and long-lasting. But when we got the quote on the showers—$19,050 plus plumbing and fixtures for all three—we learned they cost as much or more than tiling. The bottom line forced us to confront our means and the end: How much was beauty worth?

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Tomorrow: We explore other options. Read about them here.

A little bit of heaven sent down to earth

Monica Lee2 Comments

Our story so far: A doorway in our lives closed when our beloved miniature schnauzer died in the midst of our church renovation project. But God was on duty. A window opened.

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Our granddaughter was born. She was a week overdue, but she arrived late one afternoon in a swirl of snowflakes like Elsa from “Frozen.” She was perfect. We became frequent guests at the nearby house of my stepdaughter and son-in-law where they were as obsessed with burp rags and diapers as we were with two-by-fours and floor plans. Nearly every day, our phones would light up with an adorable pink-punctuated picture. Our granddaughter was a beautiful distraction from the gap created by the dog’s demise and from the overwhelming amount of work represented by the church. As any parent or grandparent knows, it’s hard to think about much else when one is holding a crying or contented baby—she simply demands all your attention.

About a month later, a neighbor and former member of the church who had already gifted me with a number of photos and an old box of Christmas cards picturing the church, called me over to her house. “I have something for you,” she said when I arrived.

red chair
Tiny chair. A gift.

She handed me a tiny wooden chair.

“These used to be the Sunday school chairs in the area in the church you’re turning into your bedroom,” she said. “I have vivid memories of these chairs in a circle in that room.”

The Sunday school room, of course, was the room where we were removing the doorway, the one where there once was a row of coat hooks. And my benefactor knew very well her gift would someday soon be the perfect sized seat in the church for my new granddaughter.

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Tomorrow: Chapter 20 opens. Showers, as it turns out, are expensive. Read about it here.

Not ready to say goodbye

Monica Lee4 Comments

Our story so far: “When God closes a door, he always opens a window.” It’s the line a friend uses to impart hope in the face of loss, which appears on the scene in every life occasionally. This was the case in the old Methodist church, too, literally if not metaphorically.

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As in our renovation project, February brought closing and opening doors in real life, too.

Our aging miniature schnauzer, the poopy puppy who walked with me to the church that first evening after the closing, died.

Back then, in late November, we knew our beloved dog who had lived with us for ten years and traveled all over the country probably wouldn’t make it to live in the church with us. She had been ill all autumn, and the veterinarian ultimately diagnosed lung cancer. So we had been keeping her comfortable for months when she finally passed away the day after Valentine’s Day.

Even if she couldn’t live long enough to run the steps of the church and sniff every corner, I had hoped she could hang on long enough so we could bury her in the yard. But she died when the ground was frozen, and I had no interest in keeping her body around long enough to wait for the spring thaw.

So the day I watched her leave this earth as peacefully as she could given her poor health, I left the veterinary clinic empty-handed and broken-hearted.

dog beard
Chloe had a beard the envy of grown men.

I cried hot, angry tears while I gathered up every last dog toy, dog treat and dog coat crowding the corners of the rental house to dump in the garbage so I wouldn’t be reminded of her adorable tail wag, distinctive miniature schnauzer beard and stinky breath I had come to love.

It didn’t work, of course.

Every morning as I was lying in bed planning my day, I would think fleetingly I had to get up to walk the dog who no longer existed. Every day at two o’clock, I would unnecessarily remember to give my sweet, absent dog her epilepsy pill. Every time I returned to the rental house after an errand to the church, I would look at a shaft of sunshine coming through the French doors and wish I could see my pretty dog standing up in her bed looking expectantly at me.

A door had closed.

But God was on duty. A window opened.

chloe in wyoming
Chloe might be enjoying a romp in a field of wild flowers minus the leash she wore this past summer in an idyllic mountain scene in Wyoming.

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Tomorrow: How a little chair from the past represents the future as Chapter 19 concludes. Read it here.

Closing one door, opening another

Monica Lee2 Comments

Our story so far: Consumed with all things related to HVAC, plumbing and electrical, we were deep into the mechanicals phase of renovating the 126-year-old Methodist church we hoped to turn into our dream home.

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Chapter 19

Few people go through life without hearing the old maxim, “When God closes a door, he always opens a window.” It’s the line a friend uses to impart hope in the face of loss, which appears on the scene in every life occasionally.

front entry on the outs
Entry on the outs

This was the case in the old Methodist church, too, literally if not metaphorically. We were going to seal off one of the doorways. Instead of opening a window, though, we were creating a new doorway.

The doorway on the outs was the side entry to the main floor. While we were keeping the exterior entrance which opened to the basement, the three steps up into the main floor were going to become part of our master bedroom which allowed us to incorporate another window into the boudoir. Tyler would have to weave in a new oak floor over the steps, but we salvaged flooring from the other side of the room where we were installing the master shower. When he poked around into the stairway above the departing entrance, he discovered where the stair stringer was cracked, which explained why that stairway was uneven. It would have to be replaced in the reconstruction process.

coat hooks
Can you see the screw holes from the coat hooks? They look like little faces.

Just inside that entrance, one could see a peculiar row of nail holes in the beadboard. It didn’t take much imagination to realize those holes were for coat hooks, where generations of Sunday School kids probably hung their jackets. I hoped to keep that beadboard and add more along the new wall where the door was removed; I weighed whether to use of wood putty in the holes or keep that little tribute to what the room used to be.

back entry in outline
Imagine a doorway here, one that will someday lead to Tyler’s mancave.

Meanwhile, we were going to build a door in the north wall of the church to the garage in an area Tyler called the mudroom. But since it was February, and the garage wasn’t going to be built for months, this door would be just a little spray paint and imagination for a while.

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Tomorrow: As in our renovation project, February brought closing and opening doors in real life, too. Read about it here.

Trading one crack for nine

Monica Lee3 Comments

Our story so far: Among the finds we made while shopping to outfit the old Methodist church we were turning into a home was a pair of leaded glass windows to decorate the interior balcony.

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Meanwhile, Tyler found another set of leaded glass windows on eBay. Unfortunately, they didn’t survive transport; they arrived in the open package Brown left on our doorstep.

cracked etched transom
Our church did not have stained glass windows, but the transoms in the sanctuary were etched glass. This one, however, was cracked.
broken leaded glass
The leaded glass windows we had hoped to use as replacements to two of the etched glass transoms arrived broken.

The second set of leaded glass windows were intended to replace the etched glass transoms on the front of the church. One of those windows had a crack in it. The eBay windows were exactly the right dimensions and, coincidentally, they were salvaged from a church in Michigan twenty years ago. The seller never put them to use so she put them on auction. Tyler secured a great deal and we paid $118 to have them shipped and insured, but we kicked ourselves for not driving to Michigan to pick them up ourselves. When they arrived on our front doorstep, nine panes in the two windows were cracked.

We had them insured, but Brown insisted on collecting the windows before paying the insurance. What? To throw them away? We wanted the insurance to pay for repairs.

After wrangling with Brown via email, the shipping behemoth agreed to let us keep the windows and send us a check. Now we had to find an artisan to make repairs on a pair of decades-old windows.

Which we added to our long to-do list. But we had another open window distracting us.

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Coming up: Chapter 19 opens with the truth of a maxim. Read about it here.

Window shopping

Monica Lee1 Comment

Our story so far: From fans to faucets, we were accumulating pieces and parts to install in the old Methodist church we were turning into a home.

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One Saturday while junking, we found a pair of leaded glass windows we couldn’t do without. Every other antique store we’d happened across sold stained glass windows in all kinds of strange rectangles, decorated with gaudy oranges and red glass, and almost always as singles. Nothing was quite right.

balcony projection
Here’s an illustration of how the balcony might look when we’re done.

We were looking for a matched pair we could install on either side of the balcony doorway. In this way, they would be interior windows and we wouldn’t have to worry about weather-proofing leaded glass. The windows would add decoration to the balcony wall while adding natural light from the second story to the sanctuary.

leaded glass for balcony
Our windows were on display in the shop window.

“Our” windows were on display in an a well-curated antique shop less than ten miles from the church. The leaded glass seemed so much classier to me than so many stained glass windows we had seen; they fit our aesthetic perfectly.

The next weekend, Tyler built a frame for transport from waste lumber accumulated at the church. When we picked up the windows, he sealed the custom-built frame on the sidewalk in front of the store, and then we added them to our collection in the rental unit to await installation with so many other pieces we had collected.

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Tomorrow: Chapter 18 closes with a pair of windows that didn’t travel as well. Read about them here.