Tiling the Living Room

Living in a fixer upper and not having an endless budget reminds me of an old Chinese proverb: "Starving man wait long time for roast duck to fly into his mouth." Translation: If you want something done, get off your butt and do it yourself. Hence the reason I decided to use my week off for Thanksgiving break to tile the majority of my house.

The entryway was covered in old, ugly brown mosaic. Since I wanted the new tile to be level, we had to chip the mosaic off of the entryway. It was grueling work for me.

 But not so grueling for others.

 I know. It's a small space, but trust me, this is harder than it looks. Once we removed the old tile, it was time to start setting the new tile in place.

 Actually, laying the tile was not as difficult as I thought it would be. Using a chalk line, we lined it up to the corners and made a large X across the room to find the center. We then laid our first tiles in a cross to set our rows. After that, it was just a mater of filling in all of the rows. I worked everyday from 8 a.m. until 5 p.m. I made the cuts on an inexpensive tile saw. When it was all said and done, my hands were cracked and dry, but I now have a beautiful floor and I saved myself five dollars for each tile I set (can you believe that's what the flooring store charges for installation?).

 I can now add "tiling" to my list of things I can do. And trust me, if I can tile a house, anyone can.

welcome home

The perfect home: architectural detailing that makes it stand out from all the rest, a patio or deck that extends the living space outdoors, a lush manicured lawn with fountains of flowers dripping over moss covered planters, and a front porch swing swaying in the wind. Do these homes exist? They do in my dreams.

For myself, this is where I call home:

The front yard is dead and filled with weeds. Paint cracks and recedes under the demanding heat of the sun. The old single pane windows allow the scorching heat to penetrate in the summer, and invite chilling winds to enter during winter. Despite its quirks, this home is a blessing. I often think of this house as a metaphor for my life. Life will run us down if we let it, but if we focus on healing and recovering, we can and will.

In the midst of chaos, there are also places of rest. Even though things may not be perfect, we can choose to have a better perspective. My father once told me that true happiness does not reside in the acquisition of new things, it’s learning to be content with what you already have. I am still learning.

The house stands ready and waiting. I face each day with anticipation. If I think about all of the work that needs to be done, I get overwhelmed. But if I take my time, introduce myself to each room of the house, focus on one project at a time, the house reveals its secrets.

And I am privy to a new awareness, so that even a dying branch on an old apricot tree holds value as a place of rest.