Calamity House

You’d think having professionals do all the work would relieve us of any stress or worry. I was wrong.

Monday was a day where anything that could go wrong did go wrong.

The granite installers came early. Then the carpeting people called. They were running late. But there was an even more insidious problem brewing.

Our propane, a big monster of a tank had run completely DRY. We’re on an auto-fill program, which means the propane company is supposed to keep tabs how much propane we have at all times. Someone missed us.

It had been chilly at night, but livable during the day—except when you want carpeting installed. The rooms I was having done were being glued down, which meant the floors had to be warm so the mastic would stick.

Oy.

I canceled the carpet people. And called up the propane people. They finally showed up long past when they had promised delivery.

Meanwhile, the granite people worked steadily. A full eight hours they worked. Measuring, cutting, and fitting the stone tablets so precisely, you’d think they were building an Egyptian pyramid. Finally they reached the last piece…only it didn’t fit. The backsplash was too short! I was fit to be tied—or mummified. Take your choice.

They’d have to go back and have another piece cut-to-fit at the factory. They were off by less than an eighth of an inch, but by Dog, if I’m going to pay that much for granite, I want it perfect. It wasn’t the workmen’s fault. Two weeks earlier, a man spent two hours measuring and making templates of my counters. He was the one who goofed.

Tuesday, we repeated our dance, only this time the carpeting people came first while we waited…and waited for the granite people. Finally, after we had lost all the daylight, (they do all their cutting outside) one guy shows up. He worked fast—too fast, and I thought for sure he’d make a mistake, but he was very good.

I would’ve shown you pictures, but my calamity wasn’t over yet. Greg had to leave before he could reinstall the plumbing or tie in the electrical. Until he returns I am without a fully functioning kitchen, but boy it sure looks nice. I feel like a diva in this joint. 

Greg will be back in a couple of weeks. Until then no sink, no dishwasher, no garbage disposal, and no electrical on one bank of outlets. I'm sure I'll survive. Oh, and we are without heat in one half of the house. Thank God, it's not that cold out. Another job for Greg when he gets back.

Yesterday, I vegged and critiqued a manuscript for a friend. Most crits take me several days to weeks, but since I had no intention of getting off the couch I managed to read and critique a 35k manuscript in a little over 12 hours—a record for me. I don’t read slowly, but I take my time analyzing every scene. It was a nice break from a very stressful few days.

Even Greg said it felt as if we had done the work ourselves because we were constantly up and down, making phone calls, checking on dogs, checking on workmen, and worrying if we’d have another power outage. (We had two on Monday.)

The counters really are beautiful though. When everything gets put back together, I’ll post some pictures. If I ever do this again, I will start drinking early. It’s the only way to keep from going mad.

Please tell me you’ve had similar experiences. Do you get stressed out when you have workmen doing jobs at your house? Any horror stories you can share?

PS  Tank did not care for the uninvited company. He made sure everyone knew there was a giant rottweiler behind Door Number Three.