The Sky's the Limit

Given that we live in this ancient house, I can't help but muse once again about the projects that have transpired. Thankfully, the bones of it were sound -- a good roof, the original trim and doors intact, and none of the floors were falling in. If you venture to crawl around under the house, there are all many of crazy things holding it up. Stacks of bricks, stones, jacks -- a testament to the many advances in technology over the years. Don't roll a marble across the dining room floor...it goes wonky. But that's okay and part of the charm.  

What wasn't charming, besides the challenging bathrooms, was the living room. I adored the 100-year-old crackly wallpaper (though my mother-in-law thought I'd lost my mind), but the trim was cracked and peeling (with all that wonderful lead-based paint), the ceiling was wallpapered with fragile-looking paper and covered with all manner of mysterious stains. Then there were the old stained glass windows surrounding the front door....two of the panels were threatening to implode at any moment. Every child and adult that passed by them just had to reach over and touch them, too. I never understood that. I couldn't just let them fail, so I sold a house and put the proceeds towards restoring those windows. I will never regret that one. But that ceiling... 

There are gorgeous reproduction ceiling tiles to be had on the internet. What did we do before we had all these instant solutions? After much mental wrangling, I decided on a design and ordered enough to fix the blight above our heads. Liz and I again started one of our grand projects. Two of my sons got up in the ceiling and popped chalk lines so we would have something to go by. She and I laid them out and then started applying them. In very short order, I saw the results of my directionally-challenged brain. North was now slightly northwest and the river was meandering. We kept going, but before long the cracks between tiles got wider and my heart began to sink with the truth that this just wasn't going to work. We got off the scaffolding and took a nap. Weeks later, after beating myself up and despairing of ever fixing it, my son Daniel agreed to help. He has an artist's eye and is a skilled trim carpenter, thank the Lord. And he loves his Mama. He peeled off the bad seed, worked like a Trojan to undo the havoc and before I knew it, our gigantic living room had a new crown. I caulked all the woodwork and Liz set to painting the nasty trim. Now it looks like the King and Queen live here.

I still haven't gotten around to caulking between all of those individual tiles. Every time I think about getting up on that scaffolding up there in the stratosphere, I get shaky knees. I'm going to have to do it someday soon, 'cause everyone's sick of me whining about it every time I stretch out in my recliner.