Whaddyadoallday? Real Life on a Desert Island Rotating Header Image

Reconstructive Surgery

My island physician is a trained plastic surgeon who won’t give me a face lift. Lord knows I have begged. He remains firm (pardon the pun). His sage advice includes a recommendation to gain 5 pounds to fill out my wrinkles – as if that is EVEN an option – and admonitions about how ‘once you’ve had a face lift you always look like you had a face lift’ – duh, isn’t that the point?! – and ‘you have to look older first’ – as if that makes any sense at all. If I didn’t mind looking older I wouldn’t be asking about a face lift in the first place. Apparently, his particular medical school education included an ethics course but not a logic one.

Over the last couple of weeks, however, I have become aware of another strong argument against reconstructive surgery. That being: where do you stop? Do your face and then your sagging neck looks not just worse but incongruous. Go ahead and do your neck too and then what about your arms? Your hands? Your stomach? Your knees? I fear that there is no way to create a smooth (again, with the puns, I crack me up) transition between the reworked areas and the ‘natural’ ones.

Sadly, I have not been blessed with this epiphany because I finally successfully cajoled myself an ill-advised brow lift. I realized this because Michael has started us down the apparently never-ending path of home improvement. It’s not that we ever fell into that trap of ‘deferred maintenance’. If you read anything that I write you know that we are constantly fixing things and we’ve done one small remodel (turning an indoor, open courtyard into an actual room). But we haven’t ever found ourselves sucked into this particular kind of vortex.

It all started innocently enough with the thought of putting up some pretty crown moulding around some rooms. This was not my idea, but I will resist the urge to point fingers (opps, too late. I see that I already ratted him out in the previous paragraph.) The problem is that our house has a very open floor plan. One story. Hexagonal rooms linked together in such a fashion that you can stand in one place and see into every single room except the guest bedroom, its en suite bath, and one other bath. And every room has its own vaulted ceiling that starts up from the recessed beam on the top of 10 foot walls.

floorplan

(FYI the skinny lines are not walls. They are just there to define the rooms. In those areas there are only columns on the corners holding up the roof.)

We made a decision to start with our master bedroom, the living room and the dining room. We bought the wood. We prepped the wood. And we set out to get a quote from a guy to hang the stuff. He gave us a quote. $3200U.S. Yes, $1000+ per room. I do not know if he misunderstood and thought we wanted him to hand carve the strips, but there was no way that was happening. So we did it ourselves. Michael already has an air compressor, a nail gun and a compound miter saw. We got ourselves a miter master builder’s protractor and set about learning how to use it. Thank god we did since, as might have been feared, no two walls are the same length. No two angles are the same angle. Nothing is completely smooth. Nothing is actually level. And the degree of variation in the ways that the wood ceiling beams meet the walls defies imagination. (Some beams sit completely above the shelf, some are plastered into the wall at the base, some wall corners are centered on the ceiling beams, other are to one side or another. It is complete and utter insanity. Picasso, himself, would have been impressed.)

However, our creaking, old bodies persevered climbing up and down ladders and scaffolding and in and out to the garage and now, after having done three rooms, we are getting ready to do a few more. I mean once you learn a skill, it’s so tempting to make good use of it. Seriously, here are before and after pics. Wouldn’t you want to do more?

crown before 2

Crown after 2

But deciding to do more crown moulding isn’t even what I was getting at. The plastic surgery addiction only begins with the crown moulding just like a little restylane and botox is just the hook that snares you in. Now that I have sparkling, white crown moulding, my older, white window and door frames look shabby. Clearly I have to slap a coat of fresh paint on those while I have the brush wet. If I am going to do that, though, I should first clean all the rust and corrosion off of the ‘corrosion resistant’ window mechanisms. And then I am going to need to touch up (read paint in their entirety) the walls. But I shouldn’t do that until I finally replace the curtains and the curtain rods because they have needed replacing for quite some time and I will have those holes to patch and to repaint. Not to mention those track lights aren’t low profile enough so we’ll need cool and trendy LED rope lighting instead. And now that we moved the guest room furniture around to get to the ceiling, why don’t we spruce things up by rearranging all of that. After all, we don’t have a television in there anymore so the set up is not dictated by the location of the cable outlet. That means the bed can go on the opposite wall with a better view of the ocean. And that couch is pretty old. And those pictures need moving around. And wouldn’t it be nice to introduce a pop of color here and there….turquoise? Orange? What do you think? Shall we throw that old rug away? Reframe that picture?

Sonofabitch!

Can’t a house simply age gracefully?

Somebody please tell me what the architectural equivalent of dark glasses, a well placed neck scarf, and some support hose is.

On the up side, all of this stress and hard work just might be the ticket to aging me enough to bring the plastic surgeon around to my side.

 

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