It turns out that old saying about the cobbler’s children having no shoes applies to ‘do-it-yourselfers’, too. Sure, we have shoes. Doors – now that’s a whole ‘nother thing.
The definition of ‘do-it-yourself’ really should include a picture of my husband. Bill’s the guy everyone calls when they have a home construction or repair question. And nothing makes him happier than rushing to the scene and giving advice – or even doing the work – to fix the home crisis of the day. When we visit friends, he’ll walk around the house looking at walls and doors and floors. Later, at home, I’ll ask, ‘Didn’t you love the decorations they had in the living room?’ and he’ll shrug, “I didn’t really notice, but did you see the crack in the kitchen tile? It must have been at least an inch long!”
Over the years, he’s acquired a vast knowledge of all things construction. And what he doesn’t know, he figures out. Good for the most part, but on the downside, this means no one else’s work is ever up to his standards. Which means he insists on doing all the work himself. Which really means with a helper. Which, unfortunately, means me. And, although our work is excellent, if I do say so myself, it is not quick.
Years ago, when we finished the basement in our first house, we hired a tile guy. The only reason is that we were bumping up against the deadline for the construction permit. Construction permits are good for a couple of years and no one ever bumps up against the deadline, except for us, of course. When the county issues new permits, new regulations come into play. Work that was “good” five years ago often doesn’t meet the regulations of today. In our case, if we had to get a new permit, we would have had to rip out work we’d taken months to complete and start over. Like a hamster on a wheel, we’d just keep running and never finish.
So, we hired a tile guy. He estimated three days for the work we needed done. I left him alone with Bill for a couple of hours thinking how nice it would be to return home and find work done that I didn’t do. Instead, I found the tile guy sitting on an overturned bucket, while Bill was on his knees putting in tile. The professional offered advice every minute or so, but looked quite comfortable sitting on his bucket. He said it was the easiest job he’d ever had. Now, we know how to do tile.
But back to the doors. Who lives in a house with no interior doors for two and a half years? The ultimate DIY guy, that’s who.
We’d picked out some beautiful doors during the framing stage of our house. Unfortunately, years later, when we were finally ready to put in the doors, the company we’d planned to make our doors had gone out of business. And, in the meantime, we hadn’t framed the openings to a standard dimension, so we couldn’t just go down to Ye Olde Door Shoppe and load up the pickup truck. Much as he hated to admit it, Bill knew we couldn’t actually make the doors, although installing them he wouldn’t leave to anyone else.
He shopped around. One place would make them but not finish them and you needed to have them finished and installed within thirty days or void the warranty. Like I said, we aren’t quick. Other places couldn’t make them exactly to spec. “I’ll figure something out,” he said. So I waited.
I waited two and a half years. And, in spite of what Bill might try and let you believe, a shower curtain does not take the place of a door. Have you ever tried to lock a shower curtain? Or knock on one? Or tell your dinner guests that they can either go to the barn for a bathroom with a door or use the one behind the shower curtain? I didn’t think so.
But, finally, he found a place to make the doors. We ordered them, keeping our fingers crossed that they wouldn’t go out of business while they made them. And, just a few weeks later, a truck pulled up – they even delivered – and some wonderful men carried them into the house and even up the stairs.
I admired the doors and after practicing on a couple of rarely used closet doors to make sure we knew what we were doing, we installed a real, live, solid, locking bathroom door. The joy. Like Christmas and your birthday all rolled into one.
Months later, we finally installed the very last door. I sit behind one now, still reveling in my ability for privacy. Although, I do wonder – when the cobbler’s kids finally get their shoes, do they ever get laces? Because I’ll probably be long dead before anyone gets around to the trim.
