Day Five of Joe’s being unemployed and he’s been keeping busy. Between snazzin’-up his resume, getting linked-up and posted and letting the universe know he’s available for hire, he’s been finishing up our warm-floor project at home. (I helped when I could last week—need a hammer? The red-handled crescent wrench? Need that tile scraped off the super-gluey, splintery plywood sub-flooring or whatever you call it? Can I hold that board for you? Want me to put that away? Throw that away? Get out of your way?)
The bedroom floor is complete but for some final molding touches, and it’s heavenly! Beautiful, eco-friendly bamboo hardwood, not only clean and warm looking, but the cats and I keep wandering back to the bedroom just to feel the toasty warmth on our bare feet. Like the seat heaters in the car, I could never go back. In fact now the rest of the floors in the house seems harsh in comparison…but when I mentioned this to Joe I was told–in a rather challenging manner, I might add–that I was welcome to do it, so looks like that will never happen. It’s so great to have all our furniture back where it belongs, and not sleeping on the mattresses wedged between the bookshelves and dressers in the next room over like we’re on a train, able to wear only what our hands could grab out of the top drawers which only opened about three inches and bruised your hands daily for a week.
What he’s been working on this week is the tiling in our bedroom bathroom. The floors are warm in there, too, but covered with rocks. So they’ll be Hot Rocks. Or rather flat, smooth pebbles from the beaches of Indonesia, I take it, because that’s where the box says they were assembled onto their cheater mats. I wonder if they think that’s just crazy—people want rocks for their floor? This picture is a couple days old, but you get the idea. It’s going to be awesome! And I’ve already promised not to (subtly) jump ahead onto the next project, like I usually do when we just complete something. For instance when we redid the kitchen floor in red (Bleeker Street red–what’s with that name?) marmoleum about 2 seconds later I’m looking at the puddy colored chipping-in-places countertop with those squinty eyes Joe no doubt dreads. I don’t mean to really. I think I just feel deprived in a way, because when we first bought our house (our first after being in a rental for 12 years!) everyone told us it would be great, we could do whatever we wanted–knock out a wall if we felt like it. And we haven’t knocked out a wall, yet. No reason to, but I’ve been visualizing it for 6 years now. Why is that always the example of the ultimate home-owner privilege, anyway? Maybe we should all give sledge hammers as house-warming gifts.