We’re in the home stretch of our Brooklyn brownstone renovation. Not really, but we’ve done 3 out of 4 floors plus hallway and laundry room. It only took us 3 years to get to this point. Well, a year and a 2 year break.
Anyway, the point of this post is to let everyone know that we have seen it all. This is our fourth DIY renovation and we’ve witnessed some pretty crappy work from previous owners and “contractors”.
A few things we’ve encountered:
1. Carpeting over rotting floor. (1st home)
2. Modular home not bolted together. (2nd home)
3. Support beams cut away to make room for pipes. (3rd home)
4. Workers put screws in our gas line after we fired them. When we turned on the gas supply to the stove, the screws fell into the valve so it could not be turned off. Luckily, the hubby decided to turn it on to blow out some dust before connecting, which is the only reason we discovered it. (1st home)
But ah, the Bed Stuy house wins the prize.
1. Boiler venting into the fireplace.
2. Tile floor under bathtub sitting on concrete directly on joists. Rotted joists.
3. Spliced two prong extension cord running up from basement instead of installation of new outlets.
4. Old penny fuse box. 1 fuse per floor.
5. Leaky gas stove.
And that was just some of the dangerous stuff. I haven’t even covered the cosmetics (like mirrors glued directly to plaster walls). But this weekend as I stripped paint from wainscoting caked in plaster, I reached my breaking point. It’s bad enough to strip 50 years of paint, but what’s with the plaster??? Like 1/2 inch. Yes, the wood was cracked, but what’s wrong with a touch of wood putty? Why the plaster? And caulk? Why? It took me all day to strip 3 panels.
But then why should it surprise me coming from people who let their kids write on the walls?
People, man.
1 Comment
nothing wrong with a little writing on the walls. my parents always let us sign and date, maybe do a little doodle, on the walls before the wallpaper went up. One of this little things that maybe the next person would find. Unfortunately, all the paper is down, and my parents still live in that house. All my youthful “art” was done for naught.