Our story so far: We moved into the old Methodist church we had turned into a home and welcomed a few guests.

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Despite the minor inconveniences, visitors still came. A far-flung friend I made back in my corporate days paid us a visit, and she likened the church to a mecca (Mecca, for those interested in the origin of words, is the city where Muhammad was born; many Muslims believe it’s important to make a pilgrimage to Mecca at some point in their lives). My stories about the renovation stoked her curiosity, and she felt she had to see the church in person.

After the tour and my many comments about how much work this required and how we figured out that problem, she marveled, “How did you avoid killing each other?”

This was one of my concerns early on. Home construction projects have been known to end marital commitments.

“I guess I’m more flexible than some wives, and Tyler has better taste than some husbands,” I said.

As more than one of our contractors will attest, we raised our voices with each other more than once as we worked on various aspects of remodeling. Usually, one of us was just tired and cranky (sometimes both of us). But rarely did we disagree vehemently on the goals we wanted to achieve. Tyler was, among other things, an excellent salesman who could get me to see things his way, and I had figured out how to appeal to Tyler’s better instincts when the situation required. If he won the argument, well, then the results were probably better anyway.

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Today’s headline is a quote from Oliver Goldsmith, not to be confused with The Six Million Dollar Man‘s boss Oscar Goldman, you children of the ’70s. Goldsmith was an 18th century Irish novelist and poet.

Tomorrow: This friend gets inspired. Read about it here.

Our story so far: Our to-do list at the old Methodist church we were turning into a home was long with tasks related to installing trim and painting it. Chapter 35 continues …

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Being that it was summer, and hot, humid days were many, and sawdust or paint fumes were always in the air, Tyler began most days by flinging open the double castle doors and leaving them open all day. An enormous industrial fan Tyler found on sale in the scratch-and-dent aisle of one of the big box stores we frequented was running constantly, spewing our dust into the street or cooling the men working inside.

The open doors had an ancillary benefit: They welcomed visitors. We had so many, in fact, our castle doors could have been revolving doors. I wouldn’t have guessed sawdust could have such an upside.

Our ongoing work at the church continued to bring interested former church members, neighbors and other curious observers to our door, and we rarely let anyone get away without a grand tour. It was so much more fun showing people around to see the work we had actually performed instead of simply waving our arms around, pointing to where we planned custom vanities, a spiral staircase, leaded glass windows and a grand balcony.

Some visitors came bearing gifts. A woman who lived nearby—not a neighbor, exactly, and not a former church member, just a village resident who had heard what we were up to—dropped by to offer us some of the abundant perennials in her yard. Tyler was thrilled. She gave him directions to her home, and he excitedly told me about her offer later in the day. But we were concentrating on sanding floors at the time so we didn’t make it to her house right away. A couple of weeks later, she dropped by with a trunkload of divided hostas and something called 4’Clock Flowers she had harvested herself; all we had to do was plant them (which St. Johnny dutifully did on our backyard garden by the flagpole that was producing cucumbers and tomatoes like mad). I imagined my mother, an active member of her local garden club, might do something similar for a foreign sojourner, and I found the woman’s gift to be such a generous gesture of welcome. And hers wasn’t the only one. Other friends, old and new, offered intangible cheerleading about the house and tangible additions to it. Far-flung friends talked about making trips just to see us (and the house, let’s be honest). It was just the encouragement we needed after so many months of hard work.

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Tomorrow: The sanctuary windows get a facelift. Read about it here.

Our story so far: In the mechanicals phase of renovating the old Methodist church into a home, we employed the services of an electrician. But he required direction in order to do his work.

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From an interior decorating standpoint, Tyler and I could agree on many things. I approved of his choice of the shape he chose for the balcony, and he approved of my ideas for a tile rug in front of the kitchen sink. We chose our great room sectional, the kitchen cabinets and the bathroom layout together, so we were simpatico.

The one thing we could not agree on was lighting.

It wasn’t even light fixtures we argued about—it was the very existence of lighting!

Tyler liked subdued, indirect lighting in all circumstances.

I liked direct, high-wattage lighting in most circumstances.

I attributed this to our eye color. He had blue eyes, and mine were brown. I thought his eyes let in more light than mine. But our preferences also might have been related to our leisure habits. He liked to nap. I liked to read. These activities required different kinds of lighting.

In any case, we needed to find ways around this profoundly different lighting philosophy. In many cases, we chose dimmable lights. In other cases, I simply lost the battle.

The sanctuary lighting, for example. I would have installed recessed can lights throughout. Instead, I got none.

As easy as it was to choose an electrician, our differing lighting styles made it hard to give him direction. This resulted in our first real fight about the church. I couldn’t believe I had to describe exactly how many and where the can lights in the kitchen would be. And Tyler couldn’t believe I didn’t realize this.

I hated the pressure of these decisions. I had to think about how we would be using each room, what appliances we’d use, how I was going to situate the furniture (and the lamps) and whether the ceiling light would hug the ceiling or be a pendant.

After negotiating with Tyler, I ended up creating electrical maps of every room. I was the only one who consulted them, but at least I could direct the electrician (who wrote notes in Sharpie pen on the wall studs).

 

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Tomorrow: First impressions matter. Read about it here.