Well, we may not yet have decided one way or another where the kitchen was or wasn't to be, but fiberglass fibers from old ceiling insulation still needed to be blocked off from the air we breathed, walls still needed to be plasterboarded and the ceiling support issue had to be resolved. The renovation went on.

The most important job was keeping the ceiling propped up. I'm sure you can imagine why. The second most important thing was sealing off the ceiling - with spare sisalation in the bathroom area and black plastic in the dining room. The black plastic had already been up but was now replaced temporarily. The usual unhealthy effects attributed to breathing fiberglass fibers and dust would have been worse in a family containing at least three asthmatics.

The view from the kitchen toward where the bathroom had been can be seen above. The books and various paraphanalia that the dinner table is bearing up under was all mostly cleared off the as-yet-unmoved crockery cabinet that can be espied in the distance.

In this photo (above), we have begun cutting the second-hand gyprock to fit the wall we are facing. As neither Dad nor I enjoy this job, I'm afraid we weren't very cheerful. 

 

However, we got through it. And it looks good when done. At least, it does after living with black plastic for months, I assure you.

It is surprising how easily one becomes used to the look and doesn't notice it after a while. Until, that is, one entertains visitors and notices with re-sensitized eyes the eyesore it really is. Not that we left our walls unplastered and unpainted out of laziness or choice, but lack of resources and time did mean that we lived with this state of affairs for some time.

It is June 15th. Our kitchen has suddenly shrunk. As readers of previous posts have already seen, first a door has been removed, then a window installed. The wall separating the kitchen and dining area has also been removed, unfortunately without a photographic record. Now a completely new wall is being built, cutting the kitchen almost in half.

 

First, the kitchen was half cleaned out, then the wall framed in. Shelves had to be made and furniture, such as the pantry cabinet, fitted back into the remaining kitchen so the cook didn't go quite crazy. Then the panelling was nailed on. This tongue and groove pine panelling was actually bought new. Gyprock recycled from other walls in the house and gyprock bought for a song off the 'damaged pile' then clad the upper walls.

That night, Dad got out the (new) tin of Tongue Oil/Polyurethane mix and put down the first layer of floor sealant.

Oh, I nearly forgot. Speaking of the floor and sealing it, obviously the floor had first to be sanded back. The floorboards, fresh and new when we took up the linoleum fifteen months before, were by now darkened with a layer of ingrained dirt. In shifts, we painstakingly sanded off that fifteen month layer of our life story with a palm sander. Dad's belt sander died ages ago, so, going through many sandpaper pads, we worked the floor with a little, zippy hand sander. It was slow and numbing. After finishing a shift, your hand/s would feel fat and clumsy - as though you had pins-and-needles - and itchy, as well! But it was soon done, being only a small space, and resulted in a floor that looked and smelled almost brand-new.

Then the sealant poured on and transformed the pale honey pine into rich, warm tones that deepened even to black over the knots in the timber. Shame about the smell!

Winter was nearly upon us, but we were determined not to be caught again with an unclad wall. Last winter had been cold enough. Thanks to the assistance of an old friend, we were able to purchase the materials necessary to buy the (recycled) cladding. But before it could be put up, the rest of the insulation we'd salvaged from the tip so many months ago was finally to be used up. It had been sitting in a shrinking pile under an old blue plastic pool liner for the past twelve months, occasionally scattered by the wind or leaked on through stray holes. What a relief to go through it for the last time.

The steps that used to lead up to the old kitchen door look rather pathetically pointless.

 

I hate wearing masks, no matter how good they are for me. Either we didn't have access to a conventional mask, or I was determined to be a bit different since I had to wear one. I can't quite recall. Oh, but I didn't enjoy this. The fiberglass fibers are horrible - they make you itch all over. And then there was the added joy of the insulation being dirty and sometimes wet, depending on where in the stack it had been. As we couldn't put wet bits in the wall (damp was okay), we had to cut those sections out and adjust accordingly. Put it this way: there was a reason we got it for free. (Everyone else has more sense!)

 

 It was painful, but it was worthwhile. Our wall ended up insulated, for nothing more than our time and effort, and a waste product was stored in a useful, invisible way. Our struggles with recycled fiberglass insulation were over.

Guess what we found when we took out our kitchen door-frame, causing the hole in the wall to be seen below?

A little bat! I guess it was dry and snug there.

 

 

 

He didn't move much at first - he was probably bleary-eyed after a hard night's hunting - but after a while our excitement roused him enough that he flitted off.

 

Did I ever mention how much harder it is to frame up windows with well-seasoned hardwood? But hey, that's sometimes what comes of recycling. You use what you can.

 

This is the new window, destined - eventually - to open into a new bathroom. It is so painful, expensive and time-consuming to put plans through our local council, that we made a lot of decisions in the renovation influenced by our wish to avoid having to go through that ordeal. After some inquiries, we discovered that - as long as we moved to a room with existing plumbing - we could move kitchen and bathroom without having to put a development application through council. The bathroom could not stay where it was, on the sunny side of the house with the view, but we could only move it to a room with existing plumbing. We decided to slice off the southern section of the current kitchen (which was not going to stay there) and bring in light through the western wall. The new bathroom is the only complete room in the house with natural light only coming from one side. (Though the incomplete en-suite is like that too, at the time I log this post.) Unfortunately, we could not avoid this problem of only one widow; fortunately, it hasn't been much of an issue, though.

 

There it is, the stained glass window Mum had been hanging out for! (And no doorway at the top of the stairs.)

Next up, the installation of the last window in the western wall.

A couple weeks later we were back to installing windows. The first one was put into the little bedroom.

 

 

 

Of course, the window was recycled, as were the timbers used to frame it. Most of the timber, in fact, was already there; it just had to be rearranged somewhat.

This wall was the last one remaining uninsulated and unclad. As we were heading back into winter, the push was now on to change this situation as soon as possible - as coming posts will show.

On April 11th, we celebrated one year's ownership and development of 'Lizard Rock'.

Llick holds up the cake (probably made by someone other than Mum, judging by the lack of height). We are dining in the area that used to be veranda till we installed the windows, clad the outer and took out the inner sliding doors. The bathroom is still on the other side of the plywood behind Mum. Do you see the stains at the bottom of that wall? Water from the shower on the other side sometimes leaked through and drained away under the window.

And on the same day this photo was taken of the shed/laundry wall, opposite the kitchen. As you can see, not only is it clad, but at some time during the last three or four months Slick has installed a new door and two new windows. But more on this project later.

The renovation had been hard - emotionally, physically and mentally - but it was wonderful to contemplate what we had managed to accomplish, by the grace of God, on an almost non-existent budget. The application of much hard labour, time, initiative and innovation, combined with some skill, to materials from the local dump, various jobs, friends and a unexpected places, gave us results that many people pay much money for. It would have been much easier to take out a loan, but we were determined to use our skills and the materials available and to come out the other side beholden to no-one. We saw this house as our God-given opportunity to work our way further out of morgage debt. Once finished, we planned to sell it and move straight on. As it turns out, two years later, we have not yet arrived at the right time to sell. The house has been on the market, and then been taken off. But I am jumping far ahead of myself. Look out for the upcoming laundry post!

I know this post really doesn't have anything to do with the renovation, but if you keep your eyes peeled you'll see bits of the shed, house and front fence.

At our previous address, the people on our street used to decorate their houses and hold a street party in December. We never bought into the whole 'christmas lights' thing. Instead, over our fifteen years stay on that street, we devised nearly fifteen different displays for our front yard. From a simple paper mache snowman (eminently ironic in our blisteringly hot Aussie christmas season), to the complexity of Rachael's Tears (strong political comment), each and every one of these displays had a message. Some were obvious, others subtle; all of them pushed people to re-evaluate, re-asses, re-think. Maybe change.

This year, we might be in a completely different location and season, but we (that is to say, Slick) decided to take advantage of our street exposure and carry on our tradition. We believe that absolute Truth exists and is so important that it should not be concealed, but revealed for all - whether comfortable for people or not.

It was Thursday the fifth of April. The next day would be so-called 'Good' Friday, the day on which Christians officially remember Christ's death. Inspired by God and orchestrated by Slick, we set out to portray two scenes: Christ's dead body in the tomb and, three days later, the lack of Christ's body in the tomb.

 

First we wrapped Slick snugly in chicken wire. Recycled, of course. (Did you doubt it?)

By the way, notice the stack of recycled palings leaning against the shed? They have been taken off the hands of a local fencer (still in panels), disassembled, de-nailed and stacked, and are currently waiting to be turned into new fence panels.

Looks a bit weird, hey? A friend arrived at a slightly later stage (when he had his hands crossed over his chest), walked down the drive from an angle behind Dad's head and just about freaked out. She saw us all standing and kneeling around a body on the ground and thought he'd had a collapse or something. It was kind of funny because it was an unexpected reaction and yet a close interpretation of the scene we were creating. At least, it was amusing to us because we have a warped sense of humour.

Looks kind of freaky, even though you can tell it's just a wire frame.

Slick and the younger three did the angel wings, which involved a take on an old Slick-developed artistic technique. Rather than creating wire frames, as we have in the past, and semi-melting plastic for the outer covering, Dad used branch off-cuts and the same plastic wrap he used on the stone pillars. (We had used our only chicken wire on the body, you see, and didn't have much plastic hanging round, either.) Necessity is the mother of invention, they say, and it has certainly proved so to us many a time.

Notice that there are new windows installed in two of the laundry walls and that most of the nearest wall has been clad?

On to the next stage: The Wrapping of the Body (with strips of a not-too-stained drop-sheet). Each strip was glued down, but not with a strong glue. This body was to become a life-size representation of Christ's dead body in the tomb.

Slick positioning the first angel's head. This head is plaster, hand carved by Dad for one of our past Christmas displays. Most things from past displays haven't ever lasted more than two years, but this head and another are truly works of art that can and will be preserved. This head was put on the pole for this specific purpose.

You can see, by the way, that some progress has been made on the fence. The front gate used to swing to the left of these panels.

Part Two of the Easter installments coming soon.

Remember how we had a long, boring, dirty white picket fence along the front of the property? As you know, we decided to pull it out and replace it with our zigzag recycled paling fence. We at first considered selling the pickets as they were largely in good solid condition, due to being treated pine. But then we began to consider what we were going to do up the back of our property in the interests of security, property definition and privacy. Those scorned pickets, far from being sold, ended up individually de-nailed, scrubbed, painted, trimmed and turned into our fresh, cottage-y back fence. Even the long horizontal (hardwood) rails from the original front fence were recycled. Only the posts had to be bought, and they are treated pine as well. They will last a long time.

As usual, we had a goal - we wanted merely to build three fence panels and two gates, and hang those same gates in one afternoon. Well, we wanted to go away the next day, yet were loath to leave the property unsecured at the back. Remember what I said about our goal setting habit in 'Snapshot: The List'?

The original fence.

The first panel of pickets is installed and Slick is glad-wrapping the freshly mortared top section of the pillar so it holds firmly together as it dries. I don't know where he got the industry strength plastic wrap; I think either he salvaged it or someone gave it to him. It has come in very handy for various things. Note the new garden, which is basically cow manure from the saleyards and kitchen compost rotting down together. The old drive was so packed and gravelly beneath that we gave up on the idea of trying to dig into it.

The Klick, Alick and Glick Painting Squad. As you can see, the pickets have been cut and nailed to the rails, already. As you can't see, the pickets actually all have an initial coat of white paint, so this is just touch-up time. The day was beautifully warm and as soon as the panels were dry we were able to lug them across to the posts they belonged to, chock them up and screw them on.

Slick outlining the process necessary to install the fence panels.

This photo was taken approximately from our back door. By the end of the day almost the entire fence was up ...

... except for a few last pieces. However, by nightfall all was finished, including a clever bolt to secure the big gates. We could go away the next day in peace and satisfaction.

At the end of January, 2007, we officially put up the name of our property. It all started when we were given two sandstone pavers recycled from a neighbour's garden. Alone, they were useless - big and heavy, but not interesting or large enough to be much use in the general way. Slick's natural creative innovation got to work, and soon he had transformed them into pleasing objects that were of practical use, added romance, interest and value to the front presentation of the property, and which could only improve with time.

 

Clever, ain't he?

Our front fence as it was when we bought the property:

Dirty, boring and wobbly. Ridiculous from all angles - this was our fence. It had to change. Our resident designer (Mum) cleared the drawing board (found a space on the handiest scrap of paper), the resident carpenter ordered the materials and generally figured out how to translate the drawing into reality - while the remaining innocent residents waited to be transformed into resident laborers.

Voila! The laborers appear and the picket fence begins to disappear.

 

It was a jolly hot day.

Visitors. What a shame.

 

The First Panel.

The boards (old recycled fence palings) were cut square, lined up along the centre diagonal board, nailed on and then trimmed with a circular saw.

 

Notice the washing line in the distance? It was not going to stay there much longer.

Standing at the top of the kitchen stairs, in the doorway. The panel is three quarters done.

Success. The first panel is installed and the highland mist is rolling in.

Note the long, narrow trench: our plumbing according to laundry, kitchen and bathroom plans...