One step forward, two steps back

Monday was a busy, productive day, getting a lot of what I call "cosmetic infrastructure" in place.  That means, HomoDommi framed out the soffits that will top the cabinetry, and moved the thermostat from kitchen (behind a future cabinet) to foyer. He and I together installed drywall on the long "pantry" wall. We figured that was a good wall to start with, because it will be completely covered by cabinetry -- so learning mistakes will be covered. (He has done some drywall before, but I haven't, except for the concrete board behind the sink, which we did on Friday and Sunday; drywall is a lot easier to work with). At the end of a long day, HomoDommi was attaching boards across the ceiling, which will become the (upside-down) basis for the final ceiling covering.  All was going speedily, and we could see big changes coming into being in the kitchen. Ha ha ha.

Then HomoDommi realized that there was a major sag in the ceiling in one corner of the room. It was the corner we've been perplexed by, with the plumbing and the heating duct and (we learned later) antique knob-and-tube wired electricity all running through the same 3'x5' area. The corner we've puzzled over and nattered at, and then turned our backs on because we didn't know what to do about it. ("Opportunity #3" in an earlier blog entry.) Lesson learned: Confront the task you are most afraid of, first, before you discover you will have to redo other tasks in order to complete that one.

What we realized Monday night was that, at some time in the past (presumably while plumbers were working on the toilet above the kitchen) someone cut all the way through the 2x8 supporting beam.  That is, they cut the out main support on a load-bearing wall, under the floor of the upstairs. The toilet sits above this. (The large black pipe in the photo is the sewage line.)

(Follow the beam that HomoDommi is touching to the left to see a 6 inch gap in the beam.)

But wait, it gets better.  At some other time in the past, someone else cut all the way through that same load-bearing joist about four feet away. (We assume it was someone else, and not just a single idiot, cutting a branch off the tree while standing on it, like Wile E. Coyote in the cartoons.) In cartoon physics, there's a long, laugh-filled pause after the cut, before the branch (and Wile E. Coyote) follows the rules of gravity and falls to the bottom of a deep chasm. In our case, the branch (beam) hadn't fallen yet due to three nails that held the orphaned four-foot long section of 2x8 to the floor of the bathroom (nails intended merely to keep the floor down, not the beam below it up).

(Follow the beam HomoDommi is touching to the right, to see a 7 inch gap in the same beam.)

We believe, but aren't sure, that the first cut, under the toilet, was done when the bathroom was originally remodeled in the 1950s.  The second cut, under the tub, was almost certainly done in 2002 when the Baby of the Moment flushed a dopp kit down the toilet, requiring another complete remodel. At that time, the family requested that the tub be shifted over to fill an awkward, wasted, one-foot-wide area lost behind the old tub, and the plumber complied. Had he mentioned that moving the tub required cutting through a load-bearing beam, the family would have opted against the alteration.  But he didn't mention it.

The beam that was cut up supports a toilet, 1/5th of a bathtub, and part of the wall between the bathroom and closet.  By last night (Wednesday night) we were able to work out that it had sagged about 3/4s of an inch (roughly 2 cm).

We spent Tuesday figuring out how to fix things, and buying materials. (We also happened across a replacement window for the north wall.  I will write about this later.) The main item we had to acquire was a 16 foot long 2 x 10 beam of better grade Douglas Fir, to become a new structural support. This meant another tense drive in the building supply store hourly-rental truck at rush hour, but at least it was another fine sunny day with the mountains glistening on the horizon (and this time I remembered my camera).

(Mount Hood, seen from Marine Drive, on the way to Home Depot.)

On Wednesday, we once again donned bunny suits, respirators and goggles, and had to pull down another third of the lathe and plaster ceiling, not to mention the soffit-framing and ceiling planks that HomoDommi had installed on Monday. We had to move plumbing (this particular plumbing has now been reworked three times in as many weeks) and replace ancient electricity, and then construct a new supporting beam, with supports to hold it up, across the length of the kitchen immediately below the broken beam.

(The new beam is the new-looking wood in the upper right corner of the photo, above the ladders.)

It rests below the level of the rest of the ceiling, but fortunately, it is behind the plane of the soffit, so it won't show. Future owners and kitchen-remodelers will have to have soffits, too, or think of other clever ways to hide it (or replace it).

In the process, we also uncovered the old heating duct (which carries heat to the master bedroom and the bathroom).  It appears to have been the beloved home to many generations of mice -- they had clawed up the duct insulation/covering to help make their heated nest. Unfortunately, there's a good chance this ripped up covering is pure asbestos (we now say that it wasn't Tasha who rid us of the mice, but lung cancer).  So half the day was spent painting the old ducts (to adhere any asbestos dust to the rest of the fabric) and then taping it down so that it can't be ripped easily in future).

(The crumbling white is insulation/covering; the silver is the duct itself.)

We are rather fatalistic about this problem. This covering has been crumbled like this for years -- in the duct work and behind plaster walls, true, but there have been holes in the ceiling and walls for years, too.  It does no good to panic (although it was our #1 concern after we discovered the ducts) -- we've already been exposed. I am just choosing to believe that the insulation/covering is not asbestos, but some other product (it is very thin, not much thicker than construction paper).  If you have a reliable way of knowing that it is asbestos, please don't tell me.

So, in one day we did destruction, plumbing, electricity, hazmat, and structural rebuilding. Not bad for 12 hours work.  But we are now back, cosmetically, to about where we were Monday at 3 p.m.

Removing Drywall (Day 10): Portals and Flow, Then and Now

The last day HomoDommi was here, we pulled down the remaining gypsum on the east wall.  (We originally had hopes of leaving it in place and patching the holes, but it was clear that there was going to be as much patch as wall.)

This allowed some fun: finally getting to uncover the original doorway in the east wall. It was walled up in the 1950s remodel.

(The view from the front door of the house.)

I believe HomoDommi had still harbored a desire to reinstate the doorway, but all the framing had been removed.  And despite strong temptation to have that doorway back -- returning the room to its original integral flow, and encouraging the fen shui of the house ("energy" flow all the way from front to back of the house), I have not come up with a workable design that would allow it.

We don't yet have the full story of that corner of the kitchen, but we believe that in the original layout, there was a door to the east (gap showing above) and around the corner in the south wall, a swinging door leading to the dining room. Each were about a foot away from the southeast corner. Useful for flow, perhaps, but in essence cutting a 6 foot square of useful space out of a 13x11 kitchen. Because of other portals in the room (the door to the bathroom in the north wall, the "entrance" hallway from the west, which itself has a door to the basement) the walkways essentially cramp the usable kitchen into an 11'x7' space with, even then, one walkway passing through it.

The original kitchen, of course, didn't require space for a dishwasher, refrigerator, or a microwave. (The icebox, if there was one, or cooling box, would have been in the back landing -- which is now the bathroom.) The stove with oven took up a major portion of the floor space. There was always only one cook, and no need for eating or hanging-out space in the kitchen.  And frankly, the cook's needs were considered secondary to other needs of the household. (It astonishes me, living in a post-feminist, usability-aware world, how the back-to-nature architects of the Craftsman and similar styles could be so sensitive to other human needs and entirely ignore the cook, leaving her with essentially the technology she'd had available for 100 years before.)

By mid-century, space was needed for a refrigerator. The stove had changed considerably, shrinking down from a massive house-heater to something more familiar (more about that in another post).  One person still did all the cooking, but at least the concept of a "work triangle" had been recognized.  The solution by the 1950's remodelers was to crunch the kitchen into that 11'x7' workspace (with that walkway passing through it), but with an efficient layout for the cook.

The more I study the kitchen and even the detail work on the cabinets (which we hated so much), the more respect I have for this particular project. It does not suffer the same mistakes of so many other projects in the house, caused by poor design and cheap materials.

At that time, they also entirely removed the east door, and shifted the south door about 3 feet further out from the corner -- creating an eddy in the flow between working kitchen and dining room that could be used as a little breakfast nook. A mid-century telescoping lamp hung over a little table there until shortly before I moved in, bringing with me (as Girl-Child once complained) Many Changes. This family didn't use the table much, and it generally was littered with piles of cans and newspapers for recycling.

Part of the reason the table didn't get much use is that a person sitting at it half-obstructed the passageway from kitchen to dining room. Because a  door opening into the kitchen would have ended up banging the back of the diner, the swinging door that was originally in the neighboring position was converted to a sliding pocket door, as shown below.  A clever solution, but the sliding door often falls off its rails, proving a frequent irritation.  As long as we were pulling down the drywall from the east wall, we uncovered the sliding door on the south wall, too. Perhaps, we thought, we could repair or replace the hardware. The Texan is not averse to reconverting the door back to a swinging one; HomoDommi has misgivings about children slamming through it.

(The pocket door on the south wall, hardware exposed. The door is pulled out a little into the portal area.)

Having seen it up close now, HomoDommi says that the hardware would not be easy to replace, and there's not much he can do (given the design of it) to make it less likely to derail. The other thing we discovered, though, is that there might be structural problems with the sliding door.

When they hollowed out the wall for the new form of door, the remodelers removed one of the structural supports.   They did install a strong cross-support -- two 2x6s framing over it, as you can see.  But one of the 2x6s is buckling, ever so slightly, cracking apart in the middle of a large knot unfortunately placed right in the middle of that board.  

We could, I suppose, try to replace that one beam, or we could reinforce it with a couple of 2x4s hammered vertically underneath it, and put the door back on hinges of some sort, swinging or not.  Or we could leave it -- in 50 years it hasn't collapsed -- if we hadn't followed a whim and removed the drywall, we might never have known about it in the first place.

Another opportunity to ponder.

Merely a mid-term comparison shot: this is the kitchen a month ago, from the same vantage point as the top photo, before we started the latest renovation.

Opportunities #4 & #5: Windows and Ceiling

We actually have a working kitchen -- refrigerator, stove, sink and even a dishwasher (which is the odd black and white thing straight ahead in the central photo -- the front panel fell off a couple of years ago).  Only about 1 square foot of counter space however, so no Cordon Bleu meals will be happening soon.  

This photo collage shows the state of the ceiling. From left to right: looking west towards the front hall (e.g., the pantry/hallway), looking north towards the kitchen proper and the little half-bath, and looking up at the ceiling overhead (all photos taken standing just in front of the doorway to the dining room).  I've talked about the black serpent in the upper right corner of the middle photo -- the heating vent to the bathroom upstairs.  The cock-eyed photo on the right shows the one light fixture jerry-rigged in right now, and all three photos show the state of the original ceiling -- a mix of broken lathe and plaster, bare plaster (with water stains) and partially painted plaster.  (The wood-toned division between tan walls and green upper walls is the structural remains of the dropped ceiling -- 2x4s nailed to the wall -- It is hard, but you need to imagine that gone.) 

The wide blue tape (at the corners and along the top) on the window over the sink is roughly outlining dimensions for a new window in the north wall.  (Sorry it's not clearer, I ran out of tape and wasn't thinking of photos when I put it up.)  The existing window was installed in the 1950's remuddle of the house -- as with other windows they replaced then, it is too big for the space, and doesn't match the style of the house (although to be fair, the woodwork matched the "new" kitchen woodwork). Clearly, they were trying to add as much light as possible to the room (to the extent that the 2" frame has been cut into to make it fit the wall). But the light that comes in that window is from the north: it is cold and dim in the winter, and in the summer, it is overly bright and harsh, reflected off the neighbor's light-colored house (that blank wall you see through it in the photo). (Not to mention -- although at this angle you can't see it -- the window looks directly into the neighbor's kitchen window.)

So, we are looking for a replacement window. HomoDommi points out that the window will be one focus of attention in the room -- as you enter from the dining room it is straight ahead, and it will be the only thing on that wall (the sink will be moved -- more about that below).  So we want it to be worthy.  We are searching the antique and rebuilding supply stores for an original. Windows are pretty commonly available here, though -- not necessarily worthy ones, but they do exist -- so I have faith that we will be able to find one (less faith that we will be able to find one in a timely manner -- we may have to consider having one custom-made).

Moving the sink, and possibly adding another window

In the central photo you can also see, to the far left, the red door to the side yard.  There used to be a wall blocking that view, and there will be again (I can't find the words to describe the plane of the wall here, so you'll have to just trust me, and study the photo, if you care -- there is part of a wall still there.)  The sink/dishwasher combination (replaced with new of each) will be turned perpendicular to where it is now, backed up against that to-be-constructed wall.  We are considering installing an opaque window (non-opening) above the sink, in that still-hypothetical wall.  It would let in needed light from the side yard, and give a feeling of openness to the sink.

(A sample "tin ceiling", in white.)

The Ceiling

The default fix for this sort of situation is to throw sheetrock up, covering over any flaws in what remains of the lathe and plaster.  This is, in a way, what the 1950's remuddle did, by lowering the ceiling. And we could do that, too (at a higher elevation) although sheetrock is heavy, and smooth, and kind of boring.  What we're more interested in doing is applying an old-fashioned tin ceiling.  These are 24" lightweight metal squares that you just nail into the lathe and plaster (sort of) -- a lot easier than the sheetrock application, and frankly, it just looks cool. The ceiling tiles can be metallic, or painted.

This house was built at the tag end of the tin ceiling style, but it's not unheard of in period restorations, and -- applied with some restraint -- it can look quite splendid.  Here is a link to some sample tin ceilings. You will note that restraints have not always been applied, making (in my view) some of these rooms look oppressively top heavy.  

No decisions have been made on that, yet.  I expect, when we've got the pipes and venting out of the way, we'll buy a couple of squares and tack them up and see how it looks before committing further.

Infrastructure Opportunities

(I don't know if you're interested in this level of detail. I suppose you can just skip the post if you don't care. If you do want me to continue at this level -- or have suggestions for clarification -- let me know. Otherwise I'll keep later such discussions off the blog.)

This photo was taken standing in front of the basement door, looking towards the dining room door.  The corner of the table in the lower right is the middle of where the plan has the fridge installed (the blue tape on the wall and floor marks major landmarks -- the top of the fridge, the cabinetry outlines).

The big gap in the wall, between joists, is where once the chimney resided. (Here are some good photos of Before, from March 2007.) It is 20" x 20" square column of open air, running from the ceiling of the basement, to a cap at knee level in a hallway closet on the second floor.  Since taking out the bricks in April 2007, we've been intending to put a laundry chute there. How time flies when you're doing other things.

Water Pipes to the Bathroom Upstairs
In that same space, there are also water pipes (the more rigid pale yellow verticals in the photo), and electricity running from basement to subfloor of the second storey, with stops for light switches on this floor both sides of the wall (dining room and kitchen). Right now, the pipes are about 16" and 18" away from the wall -- they were installed when the chimney was still there, and that was open space.  Now, of course, we don't want to have a stack for the water pipes sticking out into the room, so we'll tidy them back into the joist space within the wall-to-be.

The water pipes take a few right turns -- crossing the top of the kitchen along the supporting joists of the dropped ceiling, then, at the outside wall of the house, turning up again to feed the sink of the bathroom upstairs.  They also feed the shower, but that is over the space where I'm standing in these photos, so somewhere along that piping, more pipes split off again.  When the plumbers were giving us an estimate of work for the other side of the kitchen, one of them noticed these pipes and spontaneously exclaimed.  "If you ever do anything with those pipes, change 'em.  We used 'em for one year in the early '90's, and they are a piece of crap."  Apparently they tend to crack and leak.

So, one of the first things that HomoDommi has to do is move the pipes -- they need to be up about 10 inches, above the lathe-and-plaster ceiling (hard to see at this angle...if you can make out the gray pipe jutting out from the upper left, which is an old dead pipe, abandoned by previous plumbers. We'll move the yellow pipes up to that level).  The intent, as long as there's shifting going on, is to replace the apparently shoddy piping with new CPVC piping.

It isn't honestly all that big a job -- an afternoon, really. And it is much easier to do with the ceiling open and so broken up, because everything is exposed. But the water has to be turned off in the house.

Laundry Chute
If you look online, you'll find dozens of DIY instructions for installing laundry chutes. One of the most common suggestions is to use heating ductwork, which happens to come in a size that will fit in between the joists of existing houses -- that is, about 12" x 4" or 5".  We bought one section that size to play with, and decided it would be nearly useless except for washcloths and baby clothes. No bed sheets were going to fit down that space.

There is available some larger ductwork, however -- 12" x 8".  Easy peasy -- whole comforters will fit down that.  I've just tossed a piece into the space to show one possible configuration (I think I've got one that works, but it's not shown here). The fridge would start right along the right-hand edge of the silvery duct.

The Heating Register
The third thing we had planned to have in this space was the heating register. You can see a corner of the existing one in the background of the top photo -- a dark rectangle in the wall by the corner, about a foot from the floor, mostly obscured by a sheet of white-painted plywood leaning away from the wall. (The plywood is there to discourage Harry from jumping down into the heating duct system, something he loves to do at every chance, but which makes my skin crawl at the thought.  He got stuck once in the cold-air shaft of the furnace itself.)

Currently the heat register for the kitchen shares a heating duct in the wall with a twin register on the dining room wall (pictured).  The constraint on moving the duct is that all the space immediately next to it is taken up with pocket door.  And once we started divvying up the chimney space, the heating duct would block the laundry chute.  We can leave out the laundry chute, but that would still involve adding one more heating duct (and there's all sorts of physics to do with air balance in the house that we will, in that case, have to pay attention to).

My solution is to install a toe-kick heater. Or rather, a toe-kick sized register, with duct work under the cabinet to the existing heat outlet -- it's only two feet.  You can see an example here, although I'd rather find a metal one (they exist). In fact, on one of the gazillion Ikea "fans" pages, there are several people talking about doing the exact same thing, so we are not alone in having this problem.

I have to say, if you've made it this far in the post, you have more interest than me. I'm bored with it, even!