Our story so far: After working through every detail of construction for the spiral stairs we dreamed of for the old Methodist church we were turning into our home, delivery day arrived.

# # #

To be clear, delivery day was officially delivery only. The install was the homeowner’s responsibility. The spiral stairs proprietress suggested we needed one guy for every hundred pounds of stairway, meaning we needed Tyler plus seven guys. I could help, but I counted as only a half a guy (which was a pretty accurate assessment of my strength).

Accumulating seven guys willing to lift a spiral stairway in a village to which we hadn’t even officially moved sounded like a tough sell only to me. Tyler drafted his hired man St. Johnny, our tiler/master carpenter You-Can-Call-Me-Al, the carpenter helper, three drywallers plus a very large man invited by the chief drywaller. Plus me, a half-lifter. The proprietress and two of her men unofficially pitched in.

Ten guys and two women.

A little grunting.

This should be easy, I thought.

We began by removing the stairs from the trailer, which we accomplished reasonably easily.

A spiral stairway with a diameter of six-foot-three would be considered larger than normal (ironically, my husband at six-foot-three was also considered larger than normal). This size spiral would need to be literally screwed into the church—twice because we had one exterior doorway and one doorway at the top of the entryway steps to the great room. Fortunately, both were double doorways. The proprietress and her head man had performed this feat hundreds of times, and they were confident it could be done.

With a little grunting.

Their record was seventeen minutes from trailer to securing the bolts to the floor.

We began spiraling our stairway in bottom first. The top of the spiral had a landing which would be secured to the balcony, making the top even bigger than the rest.

After several minutes of turning, and grunting, and shaving off some edges of the exterior wooden doorway, it was apparent we weren’t going to get the spiral in bottom first.

We backed it out. Most of us huffed and puffed in the middle-of-the-day sunshine while You-And-Call-Me-Al removed the doors from the hinges in both doorways.

At this point in the installation process, I was reminded of the Bible story in the Gospel of Mark about the father who brought his child to Jesus to have him cast out the spirit that afflicted the mute child with convulsions. “If you believe, all things are possible to him who believes,” Jesus told the father, to which the father replied, “Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief!” Jesus followed through and cast out the unclean spirit.

I expressed my skepticism to the proprietress.

“Oh, we can get it in there,” the ever-optimistic proprietress said.

“I believe!” I said. “Help my unbelief!”

She laughed.

# # #

Tomorrow: Oh, ye of little faith. Chapter 28 concludes. Read it here.

Our story so far: Among the treasures unearthed during demolition of the old Methodist church we planned to turn into our home was a choir loft on the second floor. We decided to open it up to the sanctuary and build a balcony. A distinctive balcony required a distinctive stairway.

# # #

Chapter 28

Among the benefits of living a mile away from the spiral stairs manufacturer was getting to see—in person—the (ahem, excuse the cliché) step-by-step construction of our stairway.

After we visited the manufacturer when Tyler first uncovered the balcony during demolition in January, the proprietress had befriended us, so she invited us over whenever one of the artisans had a question about some element of masterpiece that would someday grace our great room. The spiral was constructed in total at the manufacturer facility, to be delivered whole. Like the fireplace had many parts I couldn’t name before buying one, so is a stairway.

After determining the height and diameter of the spiral stairway with the benefit of careful measurements in March, we pawed through some of the proprietress’ leftover balusters in April to cut costs on our stairway. Balusters are the columns that support the rail. We selected a 4:1 mix of industrial hammered balusters and traditional basket balusters.

Then we chose a newel—the post at the foot of the flight of stairs. We selected a giant-sized version of the basket baluster.

(In the case of a spiral stairway, the pillar supporting the staircase may also be called a newel.)

Treads? We went with the industrial diamond plate.

Clockwise or counterclockwise spiral? Ours would be clockwise going up.

Color? Painted black. It was May.

Railing? We waffled on this decision, first selecting a smooth vinyl cover for the flat rail, but in a last-minute decision in early June we went with just the flat steel handrail.

Our engineering-minded spiral proprietress also helped Tyler determine proper basement floor support for the steel structure that would weigh about eight-hundred pounds.

Finally, we had worked through every detail, and delivery day the first week in June arrived.

# # #

Tomorrow: It takes a village. How’s that? Read about it 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.

# # #

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.

# # #

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.

# # #

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.

# # #

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.

# # #

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.

# # #

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.

# # #

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.

# # #

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.

# # #

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.

# # #

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.

# # #

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.

# # #

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. 

# # #

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.

# # #

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.

# # #

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.

# # #

Today’s headline comes from author Deepak Chopra.

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