Downstairs demolition 8: If these walls could talk

We uncovered a lot of things inside our walls. None could be considered treasures, although a few artifacts were more interesting than gross.

We found a shuttlecock, two broken ping pong paddles, rusted ax head of no historical significance, along with (click image to enlarge) a:

• Chipped 1950s Pepsi bottle (worth $7.99 on eBay if in mint condition); the label claims the product is “Sparkling.” Found in the corner past the steps on March 23.
• Small bottle of somewhat coagulated Fargent linseed oil (which yielded no hits on Google); it sported a big green thumbprint. Found underneath the stairs on March 30.
• Scrap of newspaper announcing the sale of a ’51 Plymouth for $1745, aerated with nail holes. Found in the corner past the steps on March 30.
• Delicate tea cup, made in Japan. Found on April 5 stuffed full of insulation in the corner of the utility room under the stairs.

When we tore down the ceiling in the walk-out basement on April 12, we also pulled out old ducts—and found a rubber ball about the same circumference as the duct’s diameter, which explains why that corner of the house was especially cold before we installed the Unico HVAC system with its own mini ducts.

If these walls could talk, it wouldn’t make for much of a show.

Downstairs demolition 7: Crazy-quilt

We had hoped to salvage some of what we detached from the house. No such luck. That the materials were rotted, moldy, covered in rodent evidence or soil wasn’t the only problem…

Rather than using wall studs for the framing, the previous owner saved natural resources and money by jerry-rigging a mélange of wood scraps. It seemed like an absurd amount of extra exertion, but we had evidence that these were people with a penchant for patchwork.

Is wasn’t a good sign to hear Harry the structural engineer exclaim: “I don’t know why these walls didn’t cave in!” Harry showed us where, instead of using 2”×4” or 2”×6” dimensional lumber, a previous owner used door jambs. They also failed to use joist hangers—an 80-cent piece of metal—to secure the ceiling, instead toe-nailing into the beams and cracking the edges of the wood.

Calling Casa de Roo a “Home-made home,” Harry adds that he sees this kind of thing all the time, particularly in little lakeside communities.

Most exasperating, perhaps, is that this hodgepodge wasn't tied together into a structural system. Beams didn't transfer weight from ceiling to floor, there were places where sections had been removed or otherwise ended randomly, and there was a creative use of shims. Each section of the faux framing has its own quirks and character; above are a few highlights from the crazy-quilt (click on image to enlarge).

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Downstairs demolition 6: Down-to-earth

I admire modern homes with an earthy quality. What our demolition activities uncovered was not, however, the type of ambiance I was going for.

As the montage shows (click to enlarge), there are several places where the soil and tree roots are on the inside of our home—within our walk-out basement, under the stairs and along the interior wall of our downstairs bathroom...

Well, there was a reason we dubbed the downstairs demolition, “Operation Seek Out Scary Surprises!” These are among the findings that led us to hire Harry the structural engineer to analyze our home.

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Downstairs demolition 5: Dubious R-value

The demolition process revealed random insulation in some areas, no insulation in others and a variety of materials that seemed unlikely to resist the flow of heat or cold.

Some of the insulation was light as cotton candy. This fluffy yellow fiberglass stung like a billion itchy micro needles. The sensation continued for hours after we showered. The cure for such discomfort seems to be spicy vegetarian Indian food.

Other sections of insulation were matted and heavy.

Pulling down the drywall from the dropped ceiling in the walk-out basement revealed four different types of improperly installed insulation, along with mold, hidden junction boxes and beams that had not been tied in with the wall framing.

The bathroom was covered in two layers of drywall. This approach seems to have been taken as a cover-up measure. For example, it covered mold. When Matt pulled down the ceiling, it released a shower of spores, acorn caps, sunflower hulls and insulation repurposed as a nest. All located under where we sleep.

We were glad we picked up an additional pack of dust masks at Lowes, but joked around about contracting the Hantavirus each time we found sedimentary piles of rodent droppings. When Matt started coughing, we had an unfunny moment. The universal symptoms include fatigue and muscle aches—easily chalked up to days and days of manual labor. So we went back to laughing. Until Matt needed a doctor’s appointment and a prescription for TAMIFLU.

When Matt removed a double layer of SHEETROCK® in the bathroom walls, stones came tumbling in. Recounting the story to my boss, he joked: Maybe the previous owners thought the “R” in R-value stood for “Rocks?”

Perhaps less of a surprise was the construction debris between the walls, including broken drywall and sheets of oriented strand board with a May 1998 stamp. Thus, just shy of its tenth birthday, we were dropping this unused but sullied product into a dumpster. What a waste.

Thank goodness for our new washer and dryer to cleanse our work clothes.

Another satisfying step is always the end-of-day clean-up (yes, this is coming from a woman who out-sources such domestic duties under normal circumstances). It takes three steps to decontaminate after a day of demolition:

1. Broom and shovel to remove the big stuff.
2. New 6.5 horsepower shop-vac (we learned that a cheap shop vac with 1.5 horsepower is merely dumpster fodder) for the floor, walls, framing, etc.
3. Old Dyson to vacuum the filter of the shop-vac and then to remove the remaining dust and biohazards from the floor. You know how the ads say it never loses suction? True!

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Downstairs demolition 4: Drill Driver of Destiny

Demolition takes brute strength combined with an understanding of engineering and physics. Matt’s job was detaching things from the house. My job was to get these things out of the house.

In other words, he played the role of Master; I was the Stair Master. Nineteen interior steps connect the upper and lower levels. There are 19 exterior steps from the back to the front yard. Neither has a consistent rise and run. One must traverse either set to get debris from the downstairs to the dumpster. (The second dumpster arrived on Friday, April 4.)

I had to decide whether my approach would be fewer trips with more weight or less weight and more trips. My hands are each 6.5 inches long—not a lot of carrying capacity—so more trips it was. To avoid scratches by yucky things, I alternate holding everything carefully away from me with contorting my body away from the things.

My other job is to play fetch. The other day, presumably as a tribute to Tenacious D, Matt asked for the Reciprocating Saw of Destiny. Over time, he needed the Drill/Driver of Destiny, Phillips Head Screwdriver of Destiny, Crow Bar of Destiny and, near the end of the day, the Broom of, yes, Destiny.

Although I’ve embraced my destiny as a Helper Monkey, I’m not always gracious in my acceptance of direction. Like the times I feel compelled to quote Falco before doing as I’m asked:

Er wird dich anschau'n
und du weißt warum.
Die Lebenslust bringt dich um.
Alles klar, Herr Kommissar?

On a recent Saturday, our shift began at 8:10 a.m. By 2 p.m., I hated everything and everybody. Making clear that I was a knowledge worker, I demanded to know when the crew of laborers would finally arrive. Matt countered cheerfully that we “were getting a good workout.” I silently turned my head towards him, to which he replied, “Don’t look at me with the ‘evil eye.’ You need to look at me with loving eyes.”

I tried it. It worked. We continued demolition and extraction until 4:15 p.m.—time for a mad dash to the shower.

How much money did we save by doing this work ourselves? Certainly enough to pay for a massage. So at 5 p.m. we were laying side-by-side at the Urban Muse, having our sore backs and muscles attended to by professionals. Then we filled up on Italian at Café Navona.

After all, we had to be in top shape for the Sunday shift.

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Downstairs demolition 3: Operation Seek Out Scary Surprises

Living in this house since 2000 has taught us that effective planning and execution were not always part of the previous owners’ DIY projects. As Mike Holmes would say, “Did they do it right?” To which he himself would answer, “No, they did not.”

So we decided to find out all the problems ourselves, before we hired anyone to work on our home. This way, we figured, we’d avoid being taken hostage by an “I’ve found a problem” situation that came with a both a major bill and an additional delay. (I know, I know, we’re still expecting cost-escalating, schedule-squashing surprises.)

To uncover the home’s secrets, we had to keep peeling away layers of the onion.

So off came the paneling on the inside wall that separates the lowest level from the utility room. See, this house is built into a hill and the utility room is halfway between the upstairs and the walk-out basement. Think of it as a series of terraced levels.

We found a white concrete wall, poured in a curve and as high as the utility room floor. It seemed to serve as a foundation, which explained the noticeable drop in temperature once we revealed the structure.

There is also a French Drain, now more filled with soil than gravel, into which the paneling had been set (to wick up water). Our theory is that previous owners added this lowest level to the original home, enclosing part of the back yard.

On Saint Patrick’s Day, after doing a full shift at his office job, Matt eschewed drinking green beer for doing demolition. We filled the dumpster on Wednesday, March 19. Not only did we work at night in the rain, we traded our beloved yoga session with terrific Tiffiny for physical labor. There was a deadline to meet: Rebecca’s Roll-offs removed the dumpster on schedule on March 20.

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Downstairs demolition 2: Trim hides all sins

There is something wonderfully liberating about tossing one’s accumulated detritus into a dumpster. Since there was room left in the waste receptacle, the real fun could begin!

On March 16, we started demolition on the walk-out basement, which will retain its current footprint when we renovate. The two of us had enthusiasm, two crowbars, a power drill/driver, gloves and safety glasses, and set to work.

The process was not unlike peeling an onion: we had to remove one layer at a time.

I’d often wondered why the previous owners installed such an elaborate baseboard around the room. The trim was green, about a foot high and held in place by an absurd number of screws and nails.

When we pulled off the baseboards in the corner near the stairs, the room filled with the smell of a damp meadow. Lovely when you are actually in a meadow after a spring rain. Pretty disconcerting when you are inside your home.

You know that ching-ching-ching sound you hear upon entering a casino? I was hearing that sound inside my head—backwards—as I sensed the cost of our remodel project going up.

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Downstairs demolition 1: Dumpster delight

For a project that kicked off in February 2006 with the search for an architect, we had little to show for our efforts. We’d now hired a replacement architect and were growing impatient for some sign that this home would eventually be renovated.

What could we do? Prepare.

We began the sorting process on March 8. Actually, Matt had started earlier. I was more than a little resistant—until my husband told me to quit snarling and get with the program. I bared my fangs one more time for good measure and joined him downstairs to fill boxes and snap photos of items we hoped would find a new home.

The dumpster arrived Friday, March 14. Nephew Nick arrived on Saturday. A spectacular worker: charming, funny, uncomplaining and unstoppable. Like his Uncle Matt.

When you have a rented dumpster and access to teenage labor, you don’t have time to be sentimental—or environmental. You must survey all your stuff and decide: keep, donate or dump. Thus, it all had to go: fake art, hand-me-down and low-quality furniture long past its prime, leggy plants and played-out planters, a broken screen door, a stack of stiff shingles from the scary crawl space, knick knacks and do dahs—even Matt’s sports trophies.

By early afternoon, we took a break and ended up sitting on the couch, watching a Mets preseason game with unblinking eyes. That was quit enough heavy lifting for one day!

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