Ho Ho Home for the Holidays

The home-building process has begun to seem a lot like being pregnant (I imagine), what with all of the anticipation and questions, although thank god, no one tries to rub my belly or tell me about their episiotomy. But much like a pregnant belly signals to the world that a woman is a walking repository for horror stories and advice, outing myself as a homebuilder apparently signals to the world that I need/want advice. And like the suggestions collected by my fertilized friends (hi Jessica!), some of the proffered wisdom is useful, some of it useless, and some just bizarre.

Advice That Doesn’t Apply

So far, my favorite piece of advice came from a former neighbor, a retired gentleman who advised me, “Watch your contractor like a hawk!” and then proceeded to enumerate the many errors his own contractor made. “He would have put a window in the wrong room if my wife hadn’t been onsite everyday!” I’m sure the builder really appreciated the supervision. I worry that James has to steel himself for my every-other-afternoon drive-bys, and the idea of watching him like a hawk is absurd. He's one of the most meticulous, conscientiousness people I know, and it’s hard to imagine him putting a nail out of place, let alone a whole window.

Advice That Isn’t Needed

I think I’ve been spoiled by James’ and Jon O’s tidiness, because people are always telling me to make sure my contractor keeps the site clean, and I pretty much have no idea what they’re talking about. The lumber is always neatly stacked and the scrap pile contained when I stop by. The only garbage I’ve seen is neatly secured in regularly-emptied cans on the corner of the lot. Oh yeah, that and the piles of crap that the neighbor’s dog leaves behind. I know there are job sites littered with nails, cans, wrappers, and cigarette butts. I’m thankful mine isn’t one of them.

Advice I Can’t Forget, Part I

At the Large Box Store that Shall Remain Unnamed where I went to look at appliances, I was greeted by a VERY helpful sales rep (code name: Dwight) who first words to me after learning I’m building a house were, “Can I give you a piece of advice?” How else could I respond? You might as well,” I told him. “Everyone else has.” Dwight proceeded to advise me to plan my kitchen around the appliances. Apparently, some folks build the kitchen and its cabinetry, and then try to squeeze in the electronics. Amazing how many ways there are to screw things up.
“So, how big is the pass-through between your island and your counter?” Dwight asked. “Because you want at least 30 inches. You don’t want to get everything built and then find out that you can’t open the reefer door. I assured Dwight that I had paid a professional designer thousands of dollars to create a floor plan that would, in fact, allow plenty of room for maneuvering, including opening the “reefer” door. Dwight went on to point out in exquisite detail the pros/cons/superfluities of what might have been every appliance Big Box Store had to offer until I was ready to fake a seizure in order to escape.

Advice I Can't Forget, Part II

James and Jon O have been visited at the site by a neighborhood wanderer, a long-haired fellow named Gordy who claims to be a Native American Shaman. It's not my place to question anyone's ethnic heritage or abilities associated with it, but my guess is that any visions Gordy has can be attributed to that funny, sweet, smoky smell emanating from his person. In addition to being a shaman, Gordy has also professed to being a "broker" and told James and Jon O he estimated he could sell my house and only take $250 in profit. Again, Gordy may be a "broker," but I think he has more experience brokering items that he can carry in snack-size baggies in his pocket than he does houses. Gordy hovered around the site for a few days, but has since moved on, claiming to have been adopted by the Tulalip tribe. His nuggets of real estate wisdom will have to enrich someone else's life now.

Advice I'm Actually Using
From Brubaker: leave out the wall between the upstairs hall and the study to create a more open space because it's easier to put a wall in than take one out; from Anna: put a gas bib for a BBQ on the back porch and have hot and cold water taps in/near the garage for car-washing; from everyone: put in more electrical outlets than you think you'll need, because it's much cheaper to do now than to try to add them later; from Gretchen and Sarah Susanka (the author of The Not So Big House): design a mail-sorting center in your main living area; from Paula: get rid of the skylight in the master closet or else your clothes will fade and have unsightly pale squares on them (which would totally mess up my faux fur vest).

The Hardest Advice to Follow

Many folks have urged me, sensibly to do things I'm considering NOW, as opposed to after the house is done. "If you don't do it now, you won't want to spend money on it later," is the usual refrain. This is difficult for me, due to my PhD in procrastination, but I'm trying to follow it. I know I'll never put pull-down stairs in the garage later, so it'll get done now. I'd love to save money on windows and flooring, but again, I'm hardly going to rip the place apart later, so I'm going to for the best my budget allows. I figure appliances will have to be updated later, so I'll get the best I can afford without getting kooky about it (I can live without a TV in my "reefer" door).

It's easy to get frustrated by the suggestions, the decision-making, my current housing situation, the cold weather, the muddy worksite, the long wait, but I know what an amazing opportunity I have, and how much there is to be thankful for this holiday season--a wonderful family (including adorable nephew pictured left), good friends, wonderful pets, lots and lots of books, and the chance to be here, now, living and learning with people I love. Laural reminded me not long ago, "You have a good life." And that's perhaps the best advice all: to remember that, everyday.