On Friday, the antique claw-foot tub was ousted. Five layers of flooring were torn up, and floor-leveling cement was poured. Saturday, the window was removed, old sheetrock came down, and more cement was poured. It wasn't so bad, really. Actually, it was pretty nice. I stood in the kitchen, singing along to Gillian Welch, listening to the whine of the saw and the wrenching of old nails. I canned applesauce. I made cauliflower soup. I made a beer run, and ushered the guys downstairs for soup, bread, and more beer. This is the beauty of belonging in a family of DIY-ers. "The guys" are my husband and my sainted father-in-law, and they are a formidable home-improvement duo. I love them.
Overhauling the bathroom is another step closer to Gilbertsville. I can't wait to see it done, in its spic-and-span shiny-tiled splendor. I can't wait to clean it for the first time, post-redo, and have it really be clean. You know? With peeling linoleum involved, it was hard to make it really feel clean.
Sunday, the new tub was carried through the kitchen and set into place. *Tingle.*
Afterward, there was the dusting of hands on knees, the satisfaction of a project strongly begun, and the realization that the rest of Sunday was ours for the taking. For the going. So, we went. We went to Cooperstown, to the Farmers' Museum. We bought a bag of molasses peppermint drops, beers at our favorite downtown bar, and a lavish dinner at Alex and Ika.
It was wonderful.
The reality of the redo is, we have no shower right now. It was a weekend of sink-washed hair and intimacy with washcloths. Showering at my inlaws' house this morning, after three days without, was a religious experience. Who knew I could get passionate about a hot shower?
The journey to self-discovery, and a beautiful new bathroom, continues...