A-Door-Able

Doors are such a simple thing. 
We take them for granted. 
Until they don't work right. 
Or at all.

This was the sad state of affairs once upon a time in this charming little bungalow.

 

We had two doors to the back yard.  Neither in good shape.  One permanently screwed shut because it would no longer latch or lock properly.  The other worked.  Barely.  It would open and close with a little "encouragement".  The lock wasn't anything to brag about.  Just about anyone could have taken those doors down with a kick or a good solid shoulder.

I had them replaced for security purposes a while back, but they still didn't work quite right.  They weren't plumb.  The framing wasn't rebuilt the way it should have been.  One would lock if you used the dead bolt, but the latch on the knob would never quite catch.  Even so, it was a HUGE improvement over what we had.  In function and certainly in security.

Last weeked we fixed all that.

We took out both doors, added framing to make them more secure.  Worked meticulously to ensure that they were both level and plumb - with the house and each other.  We also took out the framing around another doorway that sits perpendicular between these two and separates the starwell from the back hallway, which has helped open up very this small space.

Here's the progress:

Now they work like they should.  They lock properly. 

A little primer and paint and they'll be good as new!



My construction background

I learned about hammers and saws and all sorts of tools from a wonderful man that I called Granddad.

His given name was Robert, but everybody else called him Bob.

He let me play in his basement workshop when I was a little girl and in the process I learned how to use his tools.  The band saw.  The drill press.  You name it, he let me try it.  Within reason.

When I was in high school and working in the Music Theatre of Wichita scene shop one summer, I complained to him that I could never lay a hammer down that someone else wouldn't pick it up and walk off with it.  He fixed my problem by making me this...

My hammer never disappeared again. 

He taught me that girls could use tools.  And fix things.  And be handy around the house.

Today would have been his 93rd birthday. 

I miss him. 

But I still use a lot of the gifts that he gave me. 

Including the hammer.

A Little Drain Surgery

Cast iron.  Lead.  Galvanized.  =  BAD and OLD and BROKEN

Copper.  PVC  =  GOOD and SHINY and NEW

Thats what I have now. 

A house full of new plumbing. 

I'm seeing progress and it's a good thing. 

The history before the house.

In the real estate business, we see title insurance policies every day.

Webster's defines title insurance as "insurance against loss due to an unknown defect in a title or interest in real estate."

What we don't see every day are Abstracts of Title.

Digging for buried treasure

To say I've done lots of cleaning in this house would be an understatement.

My grandmother moved in here in 1937.  My uncle lived here after she died.  In 75 years, no one has ever moved out.  EVER. 

Let's just say my family is good at collecting stuff and leave it at that.

Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot

So, probably the biggest project in this place is going to be the kitchen.  That should be no surprise, I guess.  It usually is the most expensive and most time consuming of all the household remodels.

Here, however, I have some special issues.  Before I can start fixing, I have to clear things out.  And I have a lot to clear out. 

There's no place like home...

Home is important.  Maybe that's what has drawn me to my career. 
I sell houses.  No, I sell homes.

There are a lot of things that make us into the people we are today.  One of them is home.  The home we grew up in.  The home where our grandparents lived.  The homes of family members we saw on summer vacations.  Homes where we were around family and friends and where we created memories that last a lifetime.

This is the story of a little bungalow built in 1937.  My grandmother bought it when she moved to the city from the farm.  My dad and uncles lived here when they were boys.  My Uncle Leroy lived here as an adult.

He called me in 2008 asking if I could help him find a painter and, of course, I said yes.  I hadn't been in the house since 1981 when my Grandmother Katherine died.  I was eleven then.  It had been 27 years.  I wondered if it would be the same.  A lot of things had changed for sure, but bascally - it was. 

And that was when I fell in love with a little house in Riverside.  I remembered it from when I was a little girl.  And started dreaming of what it could it could be again.