Watching and doing

Late in life I am learning a new trade. The plumber, while installing the new, ADA-compliant toilet in our mostly DIY bathroom remodel, was praising my can-do spirit by suggesting that many professionals got their start this way, by watching and doing.

Indeed, watching is one of my favorite activities. I watch the Rock Solid guys on TV, installing a rock waterfall next to an outdoor stone fireplace. I watch the Tool-Belt Diva (my idol and nom de guerre in the remodeling wars) get down with a wet-saw. I watch Candace Olson coat every vertical surface with brown paint or glass tiles as I purr my approval while downing a pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie Fro-Yo.

My latest project is a doer not a watcher. Its genesis was a near disaster, unlike the real disaster of the flood of ’06 that tore through our river house. This one was homemade.

My husband, who should remain nameless to preserve his dignity, often tackles big problems with small wrenches and small problems with backhoes. Why choose a one-by-two when a four-by-four is handy, he thinks.

So when our finicky sink had eaten enough stray hairs to strangle a cat, and it failed to drain properly, Jim got out the big guns. Without a plumber’s license, he procured a gallon of sulphuric acid from the local hardware store. Before I knew it, a loud expletive emanated from the bathroom and fumes soon followed.

A careless elbow had knocked the jug of acid from its precarious perch and splattered Jim and everything else with its deadly goo. My son and I ran to his rescue but were quickly overcome by fumes. When it was over, we cowered on the fire escape discussing the wisdom of an emergency room visit with the Poison Control Center operator, while my husband discarded his now-deadly clothing into plastic bags.

Months later, when the acid disaster was family legend, I noticed a new gray cast to the white tile floor. Its hard surface had been eroded by the acid bath and dirt etched its way into a permanent finish. I lived with the imperfection for a year before deciding to do something.

That’s when Jim’s old adage came into play. “There is no first job,” says he, meaning that whatever task you attempt to tackle, there is always something else you have to do first.

Before the floor could be re-tiled, the toilet had to be removed, which meant considering a new toilet designed more for our aging life-worn knees than for the toddlers it once trained.

While we were at it, I thought the room could use a lighter touch, maybe a new mirror and a light fixture that illuminated on cue. And I was dying to try that new pebble tile on the sink wall and, oh, could we get a new sink? The sink, after all, started this project/disaster.

A simple retiling job had become a full-on remodel. My husband was not about to hire tradesmen, however, when his wife was clearly underemployed, and foolishly game to learn a new trade. So I spent the next few weeks pulling out plumbing fixtures, researching new ones and bent over on my knees on a hard surface getting achy all over.

The mind refuses to stop thinking while working. I invented new adages while mixing cement, like “Time is the enemy of perfection,” and remembered old ones like “No good deed goes unpunished.” In the middle of one contentious moment my mate said, “I never thought this was a good idea in the first place!” To which I replied, stuttering in disbelief, “Who Chernobyled the bathroom!?”

A weaker marriage might not have survived. But ours has seen many do-it-yourself nightmares, a Caesarean section (professionals were employed) and a few floods. In a week or so, the bathroom will be ready for its close-up, and I’ll be ready for my next challenge.

- Cass Collins