Kitchen Remodel Prologue: Anticipation of Catastrophe

The view from the precipice of the point of no return:

Today, I am going to pay a deposit on four hundred square feet of bamboo flooring. Hold me, please.

The journey upon which I embark will be a journey through darkness, into filth and fear as well as into tingles of desire and sighs of satisfaction. My pulse will rise and fall, but my bank account will only fall. We (my family, driven forward by me) will voluntarily descend into chaos and then claw our way back toward order.

I sometimes hear acquaintances who have comfortable stable-ish lives like mine toss off the news the they are redoing the kitchen or bathroom, as if it will just slightly inconvenience them.

“Guess we’ll be eating take-out for a month,” 

they say. Their major worry is dust. They are naive.

But I believe in stress, and that there is almost no greater stressor than home remodeling. 

If we accept the metaphor of the kitchen as the heart of the home, then this journey—the Major Kitchen Remodeling Project—is every bit as awful and treacherous as an open-heart surgery during which I will be conscious and asked to make decisions by the surgeon. 

“Hey, it’s not MY heart! You want that artery a little higher? Or lower? I’ve done them both ways. And, have you selected the color of your sutures yet?”

The intimate, physical surfaces and structures upon which I've simultaneously nurtured and emotionally stunted my children, where I've entertained my beloved friends and frayed the nerves of my patient husband—those materials will all soon vanish. No. If only this stuff would simply vanish. It must be broken. It must be sawn, hammered and pried from this home, then hauled, bagged or bundled out the door. Not a task for the soft of hand or heart. 

That Armstrong Congoleum sheet vinyl where tender feet took their first steps? Bound for the dumpster! The Merrilat cabinetry that held our very beans, both dried and canned? Can’t be saved! That “Stone Dust” Formica counter top where I chopped and chopped legions of greens, legumes and fruits, mixed birthday cake after birthday cake? Used up!

None of them are in a condition to be reused, re-purposed or recycled. The vinyl floor put up a good fight against our scraping chairs and sneakers caked with sandbox sand, but there is only so much damage that Future Acrylic Floor Finish can conceal after the glossy, top layer has worn away. And the oak cabinets were never of the best quality. The doors are splitting, the shelves warping. And sadly, that Formica laminate has been slowly de-laminating itself for over a decade. 

Many DIY advisors recommend, doing the demolition yourself but it would take days for me to carefully dismantle that kitchen. To me, it is MINE. To my general contractor (hereafter "GC") and crew, the old kitchen is an obstacle to rest of their work. They'll be quick. They will feel nothing. 

And it would be painless for me if I were the kind of person who could stay away that day.  

But I will be there. I will watch and assist when I can. It is only now, at point of commitment, as I begin ordering components of the replacement, that I tremble in anticipation of the demo.

The bids are in, the budget is set. And I will try to avoid whining. 

The main subject of this Floor Beneath My Feet blog is designing and building the new kitchen.

 I've been imagining it for years.