Some of our work is dependent on when some of the other renovation work is completed (we can’t finish painting until the drywalling is complete), some is dependent on time (when you have two small kids running around, it’s hard to paint), and then there’s this minor illness that’s temporarily sidelined me. Y’know, the usual stuff.

Okay, so where did we leave off?

The kitchen part of the reno is almost completely finished, save for five things:

1. The doors of one cabinet have still not been delivered. These are the only glass doors, and are taking an unbelievably long time to show up. I’m mildly tempted to charge interest on their non-presence. A couple of weeks is one thing, but we’re nearly two months since the cabinets first arrived.
2. The dishwasher is now working, but only after we discovered that during all this renovation bruhaha, a vent hose went missing. It’s simply not there. So the part’s on order, which I’ll install, and then the dishwasher can be properly secured.
3. The backsplash on the side opposite the glass-tiled backsplash. Originally, there had been discussion about tiling both, but somewhere along the line the decision had been made to not tile the opposite wall. (Honestly, can’t remember when and whom.) So that needs to be properly finished so we can paint it; that’s nearly done.
4. Painting. Not heavy painting, but definitely the aforementioned backsplash, touch-ups in the dining area, and the baseboards.
5. The pendant lights are temporary, pending the discovery of ones we like. That’s proving to be tougher than we’d thought. Likely, this will be the last thing completed.

Outside of the kitchen, there’s a few more things that need attention. The work’s progressed a bit more slowly on this side, mostly owing to availability of people. And there’s been hold-ups because there’s been issues that’ve needed correcting, too.

First up was the grout in the entranceway tile. It simply gave way, leaving large holes. This was not only unexpected, it was irritating. The more I hear that the guys who installed it are “Calgary’s best”, the more I want to laugh in our contractor’s face, because we’ve seen some of the worst workmanship from them, compared to the other trades we’ve seen through the house. (Incidentally, if you ever do glass tile, never use it in an area that’ll have lighting directly over it — the glass tile exposes every little defect in your wall when the light shines through. Moreso when the tile isn’t lined up perfectly.) They also apparently need glasses, as they placed two tiles in our bathroom that had a different pattern than the rest, and used a different tile for the backsplash. Removing the offending tile broke other tiles … well, you get the picture.

The next issue was hallway doors. As you know, we’re replacing all but one of the interior doors upstairs with ones Alex had seen at Home Depot. Finding doors that would fit was a major challenge, as our doorways were apparently built in an era of “aw, just eyeball it and get ‘er done!”, so we have (no lie) four different door sizes for five doorways. The closet doors also got replaced (save for Megan’s, which are the only ones still fully-functional), leading to four closet doors needed for the front entrance, the utility closet, and the linen closet. Those doors were narrower and shorter than the original bifolds, leading to more framing and more drywalling.

That means that the baseboards aren’t done yet, either. They’re about 85% installed, notably not where the framing was going on for closets. That needs to be completed, the gaps and holes filed, and then painted to completion. The baseboards themselves almost became a problem, because where they lined up with the kickboards on the cabinets, the baseboards were over 1/2″ taller. You’d think someone would’ve measured twice before cutting? (Or maybe they thought we were blind? I’m not sure…)

Then there’s the painting, easily the largest (remaining) issue of this renovation. The hardest part has been choosing colours. Amber, our awesome next-door neighbour, is also a professional designer, and has helped immensely in vetting out a colour that might actually work. As I think I’ve already mentioned, Alex literally stumbled across a mistint that has been fabulous as an accent wall, but finding something that would complement it has been a struggle. Alex’s first choice worked well for many, but it didn’t sit well with her. A new paint seems to have solved that problem, however.

We still need to paint quite a lot, though: the dining area (retouches, mostly), the kitchen (backsplash wall), the living room, the entranceway (accent wall), the hallway, the main bathroom (last coat for most of it, though the closet needs to be painted entirely), the new doors (most have had two coats; three appear to be needed), the master bedroom (colour still to be chosen), and the kids’ rooms at some point this year. Oh, and the baseboards (that one is really going to suck).

My biggest desire is to get our living room back. I want to have a living room again, not a collection of stuff piled in the middle under a sheet of poly. I want the TV back on the wall. I want a couch I can sit in. I want chairs at the bar counter. I want pictures on the walls. I want to have people come in and feel at home, not wonder when the chaos will end. I can live with ongoing clutter for a while when I know there’s an end in sight, but there’s a limit to everything, and the sooner this completes, the better.

We’ll see how this next week goes. With luck, that’ll be the cabinet doors, the drywall, more of the painting, and the baseboards. Maybe our living room back in place?

Stay tuned for more…

We’ll wait…

Now when we last chatted, you left me lying on a bed in Rockyview General Hospital’s Day Surgery ward, waiting for my turn for an emergency operation. (The term “emergency” being highly subjective, of course. One person’s emergency is another person’s “hurry up and wait”.) The assessment had been long done, the papers were signed, and all I had to do was … well, lie there.

You’re probably wondering how I wrote that entry while waiting. It wasn’t easy. I was on a lot of morphine. It took me a while so it didn’t sound totally incoherent. (I’m leaving it in its morphine-addled state for posterity.) As for the mechanism of how I wrote it — thank the wonders of modern technology. An iPhone 4 with the WordPress app, and access to the hospital’s WiFi (courtesy of my wonderful wife, Alex, who happens to work there). The rest you’ve already read.

Somewhere around 14:15, Alex finally appeared (she’d planned to be there earlier, but chaos reigned once again around the house), early for her evening shift so she could come by and check on me. I had just been given my instructions to drop the trousers as the call to go to the OR would come “any minute”, so I had to be pants-less.

I didn’t have the apprehension I had for my first surgery, which was just over a year ago for my hernia. I was terrified of that one. Having had that experience, I was less worried for this one, though I still wasn’t really looking forward to it. So when they came for me a few minutes after Alex appeared, I wasn’t sweating bullets … although in hindsight, that could have also been due to the morphine.

I should also note that until writing this blog entry (which is just before I posted it; I don’t normally write blogs over long periods of time), I didn’t really understand how much danger I was in. I downplayed the appendicitis a lot more than I should have. It’s a serious thing, and treating it lightly in any way can quite easily lead to death. Point of note, there.

I waited for only a moment in the OR holding area before the nurse appeared to wheel me around to OR 12, where I was met by the anesthesiologist, and eventually the surgeon. The standard “what’s your name, birthdate, and what procedure are you having done” questions were posed (it’s a sanity check more than anything else), before I was brought into the OR itself. OR 12 is a lot smaller than the OR I’d been in before, and looked less TV-friendly. I repeated the answers again to the two other nurses in the room, adding “my appendix hates me, and I’m not particularly fond of it at the moment, either” before scootching over onto the surgical table.

The last thing I remember clearly was asking the anesthesiologist if I was getting the same drugs I got the last surgery (she seemed to have the record handy), since I knew those drugs wouldn’t, y’know, kill me or anything. Also, I’d found the recovery to be fairly easy. She replied that while the base drug was the same, the actual mix was usually left to the preferences of the individual.

An aside… I’m trying to understand this whole “preference” thing. I’ve never really understood how the medical industry has such a wide variance in the execution of a medical practice. Different drugs because of a personal opinion, even when documentation shows otherwise; or Doctor A doing a procedure totally different than Doctor B, even if the result is the same. Are standards that loose? I know this is kind of a rhetorical question, because the same nonsense exists in my field — standards are at best guidelines, and open to interpretation. Anyway…

I fought recovery tooth and nail. I simply couldn’t snap out of it. Whatever drugs that anesthesiologist used are going down in my books as “awful, not to be repeated”. I had to be on an oxygen supply for three hours before anyone would let me take that idiotic hose off my nose. My belly was sore, but the pain in the lower right quadrant was (thankfully) gone. About a half hour after gaining most of my consciousness, I was wheeled up to Unit 83 to begin my stay.

The reason for the stay is due to the seriousness of appendicitis. The appendix, depending on whom you ask, is a leftover (but still somewhat functional) part of your digestive tract, meaning that it’s still got some really nasty stuff in it. While functioning normally, it’s not usually a problem. But when something goes wrong … it goes wrong in a really, really bad way. Most of the problem is that its in an area with a (literal, but being used mostly for effect) shitload of bacteria. And they just love it when things get necrotic, like when appendicitis sets in. Leave it too long, and the appendix starts to fill with pus, bursts, and then you’ve got a major problem on your hand — lots of bad stuff now floating around in the most sensitive part of your body.

Antibiotics are a key part of this fight. I’d already started to receive them as part of treatment and preparation, but I was to stay on them (and am still taking them) as part of the cleanup. While some appendicitis cases are cleaned up entirely with antibiotics, surgery is still a very common practice. But even with removal, there’s usually some nastiness left behind.

By about 18:00, I was feeling somewhat stable again. News had been light on the surgery, and all I had known was that the appendectomy had gone well, and that the offending piece was “pus-y”. I was in a room with a older woman going through a very rough bout of recent diabetes diagnosis, migraines, and what appeared to be a rebellious intestine. For all that I was in discomfort, she easily put me in my place.

An hour later, I was already doing my first post-operative walkabout, having felt that lying down for the better part of two days was already too much. It had gone far better than I had expected, and was glad to see that my abdominal muscles had been left largely unaffected. (Incidentally, if you’re ever offered a choice between a laparoscopy vs. a regular surgery, get the laparoscopy. The holes hurt, yes, but the recovery is mind-bogglingly easier.)

Then came the sponge bath. This was unexpected, and not particularly desired, either. The reason is the iodine wash, which isn’t even really iodine — it’s an orange-coloured antiseptic whose name I’ve forgotten — apparently becomes itchy if left on too long. I didn’t remember this from last year, but I’d also been discharged the same day, and washed myself. Staying at the hospital, this puts the responsibility in the hands of the Nurse’s Assistant.

This was Divya, a nice young woman who announced herself as she drew the curtain around my bed, explaining what she had to do. I suddenly felt rather sad that this had to be part of her job, to remove the antiseptic, to have to deal with people’s private parts and various injuries. How numb must you become to such things? And also, a recognition that I had pretty much shed any remaining humility as this was done, for I (apparently) no longer had anything to hide.

By 20:00, I was eating. Toast, mind you, and dry at that. But it was food. I’d sufficed off of saline drips for nearly 24 hours, and enough was enough. Just a little earlier, I’d been fortunate to receive some ice chips; the sound I made from that first spoonful was so orgasmic that every nurse who came in related the story to me. It was honest, though — my mouth felt absolutely awful, and having something in my mouth, especially some form of liquid, was the most gratifying sensation.

I had refused morphine since coming out of surgery (not for any sort of “heroism” — the last batch had made me feel like my beard was made of electricity, and it totally buggers up my sense of time), so I had to struggle to get to sleep on my own, along with assistance from my old friend, Tylenol 3.

But rest came fitfully, at best. Aside from having my blood pressure taken regularly, I also had to get up to go to the bathroom fairly often (that stupid pee bottle didn’t agree with me one bit), and I couldn’t seem to get just warm enough to get restful (seriously, why are hospitals cold?). I finally “woke up” for the day at 6:30 — the time Choo Choo normally comes in to wake me up — and gave up trying to get any more rest.

The surgeon, Dr. Artan Reso, came in that morning and gave me the real shpeal on what had happened. Terms like “perforated” and “muscousy” had been tossed around the night before. Dr. Reso was more specific: perforated, no; but it had been very close to bursting. So close, it sounded, that I was a lucky man to have it removed when I did. Had it burst, very likely I would still be in the hospital, very likely fighting for my life. He seemed oddly cheerful about the whole thing, almost like an Albanian Dr. Julius Hibbert…

Apparently due to my recovery rate, and the ever-present need for beds, I was to be discharged. But before I was kicked to the curb, I got a highly appreciated breakfast, a visit from the two surgical residents I’d seen the day before, and my friend Dan, who arrived about 15 minutes before Alex appeared with the kids.

What I currently have to show for all of this are three holes in my belly. The largest is my belly button (where the camera was inserted), one about ten centimetres to the left, and third about six centimetres below the belly button. The dressings are clear transparent plastic, and adhere so tightly that it looks sort of like I’ve been shot three times, and the bleeding is just starting. It’s mildly creepy. (Monkey’s since asked that I not lift my shirt again. I can’t blame her.)

The pain is easier than my hernia, no question. That one was hell to sit upright with. This is much easier, but I’m still getting wicked sharp pains. Lying down is still, by far, the easiest thing to do.

And so recovery goes on. Sadly, this also impacts a few things: work (my boss actually called my wife, ordering me away from my phone and my computer — no lie!), being Monkey’s soccer coach (there’s three of us, but I still feel bad about it), any form of exercise (I’m doing laps around our new kitchen island, but … well, it’s boring), and my appetite is pretty low (okay, not really a bad thing, I might lose a couple of pounds from all this). But life should return to normal soon enough.

Y’know, if by “normal”, I mean “randomly chaotic”. Which I do.

By 9:30, though, the pains were back, and I tried to eat again. Nothing fancy, just a rice cake with some peanut butter. It only kind of worked. A half hour later, hunger had turned to real pain.

Things only went downhill from there.

By noon, the pain had become that I had to stop working (I was working from home) and go lie down — I simply couldn’t concentrate. But lying down did nothing. There wasn’t a single position that in anyway abated the pain.

Alex gave me Ovol. Nothing. She got me ginger ale. Nothing. I, for laughs, induced vomiting. Nothing at all. Acetaminophen had no effect, either. I figured it was time to call Alberta HealthLink and get an opinion. The call was short, but clear: get to a hospital ASAFP.

That was the hard part. Alex had an appointment, and had to work, so I was supposed to be the parent at home. One car. No easy way to pick up and run. I thought I’d just hold out until Alex was back, and go then.

My body, however, had other ideas. The pain was worsening. On a scale of 1-10 (1 effectively being nothing; 10 being the most unimaginable pain), I was around a 7. And climbing. I started to get light-headed and found it hard to breathe. I couldn’t walk or stand without hot pokers in my belly. I had no choice. Instead of calling a taxi, though, I called 911.

Thankfully, the kids did t register that Daddy was in trouble, and our awesome neighbour Amber appeared moments later to take them to her place. The ambulance arrived as the kids were crossing the lawn.

Three techs (one was a student) unloaded a barrage of questions. I hoped it might all be resolved there. But I found myself on the stretcher in the ambulance (I walked out myself), turning into a human pincushion. I got morphine and suddenly all was right with the world.

Despite a quick check-in, I sat in the waiting room for over two hours before a doc could talk to me. Pokes, prods, IVs, and blood and urine tests later, it was inconclusive. Either a problem with my pancreas, or it was my appendix. The resident nearly pushed his hand through to my kidney to get a sense of things.

I went home. I had crackers, apple sauce, and ginger ale. I didn’t feel much better.

The first Tylenol3 was at roughly 1am, along with a Gravol. It kind o helped. But by 4:00, it was clear that my abdomen needed additional attention. Back to Rockyview.

More pokes. More prods. But the answer seems, well, textbook (according to the doc who saw me: appendicitis. So textbook, in fact, that I’m bypassing more tests.

So, for now, I’m waiting for surgery. We’ll see how it goes.

But in particular, this year was important, because they’d somehow managed to arrange for the first-ever complete reunion (and the first gathering in celebration of the 25th anniversary year) of the complete (original) cast of Star Trek: The Next Generation. And for one night only, they’d all be on the same stage in an event called “Star Trek: TNG Exposed“.

Like I wasn’t going to go…

Now, for the record, I only heard of the event through my friend Tamara, who despite calling me a “nerd” more emphatically than most, is the one who actually went to the Calgary Comic Convention, stood in lines, got signatures, and so forth. So draw your own conclusions, there. But she was the one who first caught wind of the TNG Exposed event. And knew when the tickets were going on sale, and she was not going alone, and my presence was a requirement for my continued existence.

How exactly Calgary had managed to score this event is a matter for some debate. There are those who think Calgary effectively won the Convention circuit lottery, and paid the most to win the event. There are those who thing it was a matter of providence, where a couple of the cast members had already signed up, and it happened to line up with the rest. And then last night, it was suggested that, really, the rest of the cast was merely waiting for Sir Patrick Stewart to say “yes”…

At any rate, it was my first solo outing in … well, so long, I can’t even remember the last one. I met up with Tamara, our friend Adrian, and a couple of Tamara’s friends at Wurst, a restaurant on 4th St. that happens to have the best “homemade” mustard in town (challenge me otherwise, if you dare!), and some of the best bratwurst I’ve ever had. The beer is, regrettably, overpriced and when my headache hit me full-on during the event, I also began to question how often they clean out their lines. I may not be returning anytime soon as a result.

We got to the Stampede Corral just after 6:30, and wound our way through the rather extensive (but swift-moving) lineup to find our seats. Tamara had got the two of us a pair of seats in the sixth(!) row; poor Adrian was scattered into the Nether-regions of the bleachers somewhere. And we waited.

While waiting, we talked with a couple of folks around us (all geeks, and a surprising number of people who you may work with and never have a clue that they were Trekkies), and listened to Johnny Summers and his Little Big band, a local jazz-influenced performer who has a collection of some disturbingly talented performers (note: if you live in Calgary, you need to see these folks perform, it’s something else!).

Finally, just after 7:00, Emily Expo, the “mascot” of the Calgary Comic Convention (a 20s-ish woman with fire-red hair, who is pretty much just as geeky as everyone else in the audience) came out to introduce the show. The cast wouldn’t be seen until much later, but first there was an introduction of Garrett Wang (who played Ensign Harry Kim on Star Trek: Voyager), and a former director of Star Trek: TNG (whose name I’ve sadly forgotten), who regaled a few interesting notes about how the future they had conceived in the late 1980s, taking place some 400 years in the future, was already coming true today (witness the iPad, the US DoD’s research on cloaking, devices that effective operate as a phaser set to ‘stun’, and so forth). As he repeated stated: “we are living in Star Trek”.

Then came a reel that the Expo team had compiled of interviews Emily Expo conducted at the Emerald Con back in January. It opened not with any actor, but none other that Calgary’s most well-known geek, Mayor Naheed Nenshi, who was adamantly distressed about the fact that he was missing the show. (I doubt it was an act. No offense intended, your Honour, but you’re a lousy actor. You’re a much better geek.)

The reel showcased Emily Expo interviewing people such as Christopher Judge (Teal’c from Stargate SG-1), the most awesome Edward James Olmos (notably of the revamped Battlestar Galactica series, but I grew up with him from Miami Vice and Blade Runner), Adam Baldwin (a sci-fi regular, seen mostly on Firefly), Robert Picardo (The Doctor from Star Trek: Voyager, but Picardo has been seen in my sci-fi outings), Walter Koeing (obviously for his role as Chekov from the original series, but I would be remiss to not mention his awesome portrayal of Bester from Babylon 5), and the legendary George Takei (yes, his voice really is that awesome). Also included in the reel were people who you might not recognise on site, but their voices are also well-known: John Di Maggio (who performs Bender on Futurama; his reading of “Space, the Final Frontier” should be recorded for all time, by the way), and the prolific voice actors Rob Paulsen and Jess Harnell (best known for the Warner Brothers Yakko and Wakko, from the Animaniacs).

Then we had an intermission. Which seemed like a little bit of a let-down, but it was really understandable. And necessary, as both Tamara and I desperately needed to drink some water.

During the break, however, Tamara pointed out the Garrett Wang — seated barely five metres away — was seemingly chatting it up with various people. How could I resist? Waiting patiently, he very graciously spent about a minute having a short conversation with me, and I got to shake the man’s hand. He was enthusiastic, to say the least.

Now, before you all leap over me with “Garrett Wang?!” or “but you were there to see the TNG cast!” and such stuff, let me elaborate a bit. For the record, Star Trek: Voyager was not my favourite Star Trek series … it was, actually, dead last. By a wide margin. There were a number of things about Voyager that had always bothered me, the most notable being the ever-present “reset button”, whereby no matter how badly the Voyager (the ship, not the show) was damaged in any given episode, it was restored to perfect condition by the next episode. Personally, I’d have preferred if the ship had been near-unrecognisable by the end of the series, held together with futuristic duct tape. But I digress…

The one part of the show I had always liked was the character of Harry Kim. He was the most junior officer, the least experienced, the most naive. He was also the one who regularly grounded the show, keeping it from leaping off into “no problem” territory (whereby the other characters would perpetually overcome the issue seemingly without effort); Kim made sure that everyone understood the problem and that, no, it wasn’t easy. That kind of a character is not easy to portray, and I felt Wang had done an excellent job of it. I had to thank him for it, too. (I left out the part where I felt he was really the only saving grace of the show, other than Robert Picardo.)

Finally, Emily Expo came back and introduced the “moderators” for the evening: the cast of Space channel’s Inner Space news show: Ajay Fry (who repeated stated that he was a mere four years old when TNG premiered), Cynthia Loyst, and Teddy Wilson. I don’t watch Space anymore (or hardly any TV, for that matter), so I really had no idea who these people were, and the tall “captain’s” chair that we had thought reserved for Patrick Stewart was summarily occupied. There was a brief chat, and then came the crew…

First out was Denise Crosby (Lt. Tasha Yar), who came out wearing a Calgary Flames toque. She was followed by Michael Dorn (originally Lt. Worf, who went on to be Lt. Cmdr. in Star Trek: Deep Space 9), whom I had seen at a Star Trek convention back in the early 1990s when TNG was still filming), and then Marina Sirtis (Deanna Troi), who filled the right-most couch.

Then came Levar Burton (Lt., then Lt. Cmdr. Geordi LaForge), who received a lot of applause. Gates McFadden (Dr. Beverly Crusher) came out next. (I had a wicked crush on her back in the 1990s; she still looks almost as fantastic today at age 63!) She was followed by Brent Spiner (Lt., then Lt. Cmdr. Data).

The final couch was filled by the last three: Wil Wheaton (Wesley Crusher), who garnered the second-loudest cheer on his arrival; Johnathan Frakes (Cmdr. William Riker); and the loudest cheer went to the arrival of Captain Jean-Luc Picard (and Professor Xavier) himself, Sir Patrick Stewart.

(Sorry, can’t seem to get the video to embed. You’ll have to watch it here.)

It was interesting to see how the cast had aged over the years. Patrick Stewart I had seen out-of-character only once before, as a guest on BBC’s Top Gear (he was a Star in a Reasonably Priced Car). At the time, I’d been rather surprised by the fact that he seemed to be behaving much like Picard had acted when he’d — in more than one episode — ended up an old man. Frakes looked like he’d just gotten out of bed, or had been sitting at an editing desk for far too long. Wheaton, who’d left the series at age 18 after thinking he could do better on his own (oops!) had aged the best, but he’s also by far the youngest. Spiner looked quite dignified with his whitened hair (compared to Dorn, who had no hair at all). Burton seems ageless, save for the slight greying. Sirtis, like McFadden, seems to only get better with age — she would do well on a sitcom, I think. Crosby, the quietest of the lot, seemed the only one to be struggling a bit, which I might even pass off as a result of the dinner the cast had supposedly shared before arriving (which might also explain some of the overly giddy nature shared by all of them).

Once the chaos had died down, the interview started. But it wasn’t really much of an interview, so much as the “moderators” starting a conversation and letting the cast run with it from there. There was much laughing as the various stories (likely been told many times over the last 25 years) were told again, likely in different ways, with a few new twists. There were new stories as well, made obvious by the casts’ reactions to hearing them.

Some questions came from the audience as well, courtesy of a contest that had been run earlier. There were only five lucky people, so presumably they had to make sure they were really great questions. They were certainly amongst the best I’d ever heard asked of people who’d been asked such questions for a quarter century. A sixth was added by a “sick boy from Vancouver”, who was revealed to be actor Aaron Douglas from the rebooted Battlestar Galatica (he was declared to be “sick” because he supported the Vancouver Canucks). But by far the most interesting question was: What question would you ask of yourselves, that you’ve always wanted to ask?

This caught the cast off-guard (clearly not asked before), and even made the audience go “ooooooh” at the thought. The cast exchanged glances a moment before Michael Dorn responded: “Well, we pretty much know everything about one another. I don’t think there’s anything left to ask!”

That elicited a round of laughter. But then Wil Wheaton, who has the enviable position of not only being a former cast member, but also being a convention expert (as easily one of the biggest geeks in the room), leaned forward. “Actually, I have one.” He bent towards Patrick Stewart. “Just how cool is it really to be in X-Men?”

Possibly the best question that could ever have been asked, in the manner that it was asked.

After the cheering and laughter died down, Patrick Stewart noted that the coolest part was “arriving at the make-up trailer each morning, and passing by all the mirrors, saying ‘good morning’ and kissing Halle Berry, Anna Paquin, Famke Janssen, and Rebecca Romijn-Stamos”. Sir Stewart is a lucky, lucky man.

The moderators then asked a simple question: “Who was your greatest adversary on the show?” Audience answer: Q. After a bit of consultation on the left-most couch, the answer was “Daimon Bok”, a Ferengi character who had challenged Picard on a few occasions. The audience kind of nodded, but I didn’t buy it. It felt like a set up for something else. Which it was.

“That’s a load of poop!” came a voice over the speakers, but it wasn’t from those on stage. It was a familiar voice. And for the record, I (likely as many others) expected this.

John de Lancie, the actor who had played the intergalactic pain in the ass, Q (my favourite character) marched out from the rear of the auditorium, down the aisle passing within inches of me (excuse me whilst I sqweeeeeeeeee like a little girl), a large bouquet of flowers over his head. The cast, supposedly, had no idea he was going to be joining them, but since he was already at the Calgary Comic Convention, I doubt it was a complete surprise.

And suddenly, all the principal actors from the very first episode, Encounter At Farpoint, were all on stage again. Likely for the first time since that episode had been filmed, now that I think about it.

And then, all too soon, it was over. Patrick Stewart had “another engagement” (it was 10:00, so one could only imagine what he was trucking off to), and the actors all left the stage. John de Lancie would go out to the lobby for autographs (a two-hour lineup formed almost immediately; as much as I would have loved to meet Q himself, it would sadly have to wait for another time).

My head, by this point, was splitting. My headache had started just after the cast had taken the stage, and I was fearful that I’d have to leave so I could throw up (the pain was really that bad). So I was thankful to get outside, and even more thankful that Adrian drove us home (and I didn’t have to suffer on the bus).

So ends my evening of geekiness, for it will likely be some time before I get to do something that ridiculously nerdy again…

I’ve lost you, haven’t I? I shudder to think how few of you have an inkling of what I’m talking about. Yeah, that’s how old I am. I remember when there were only a handful of channels, when almost all of the content was on ABC, NBC, CBS, CBC, CTV, Global, and a few independent stations (such as the awesome CityTV and the the extremely nacent Fox). I remember the introduction of cable. I remember having to wait for the summer reruns because I missed that crucial episode of The A Team that everyone was talking about in class the next morning. I remember when the season debuts were a big thing. I remember when missing a live televised event was significant, because it was gone forever.

It seems somehow just as bizarre a concept as the Spanish Inquisition.

Up until a few years ago, this model was still fairly static. Despite the massive influx of cable, the ridiculous proliferation of specialty channels (seriously, I cannot fathom how some of them make any money), Youtube, Torrents, and the like, the concept of “television” hadn’t really changed. You still relied on the networks. Waiting for the most recent Survivor was still a big thing. And people watched the evening news.

In the last 24-30 months, however, I’ve seen a massive shift in service. The iTunes Effect completely altered the way that we consume music (despite the music industry continually trying to roll the clock back as if nothing ever happened), and it’s echoed into the way we consume video. And I choose that word very carefully: video. Not “television”, not “movies”. The length of a given item, or its relevance to a related group of videos (say, a television series of yore, or a trilogy of films) is largely irrelevant. Thanks to devices such as DVRs, tablets, Boxees, Apple TVs, and so forth, we can consume video on our own terms, and not at those of the telecommunications companies to whom we enslaved ourselves for over five decades.

A month and a half ago, my family moved out of our home so the kitchen renovation could begin in earnest. When we did that, we took our living room video display (I now loathe to call it a “TV set”) and the Apple TV so we could watch, well, something. For three weeks, all we had were whatever videos were on the Apple TV — we had no network connection to speak of, so no new videos during that time.

When we got back into our home, the living room was far from any suitable state to be able to hook our video displays back up to the television display boxes. No TV. (In fact, hardly any video at all.) At the end of a month and a half, it’s hard for us to really “miss” television at all.

We had Telus Optik. It was a decent service, and the only real complaint I had with it was that we had about 180 channels more than we watched. There were four on any form of rotation: Discovery (for my MythBusters fix), Treehouse (for the kids’ shows), whatever channel showed Greys Anatomy, and one or two other channels were in the mix for a few things. But that was it. No kidding. No joke. We paid $80 to watch less than a half dozen things.

Yesterday, I pulled the plug (not completely, mind you — I rather stupidly signed up for a three year contract, thinking this blog post was still quite a ways away; the account is in “suspension” for $5/month, though it counts towards the contract term), and we started onto a new path: internet-only content.

We are far from the first to do this. I have several friends who cut their cable a while ago, and have sufficed quite well off of whatever they could glean from the internet. iTunes has been a major source of material, as has the ubiquitous YouTube. Many have turned to the less-legal Torrents to acquire television shows and movies, while others have looked to online services such as Netflix.

My problem with the internet aspect until recently was twofold: fragmentation, and accessibility. There’s a lot of different venues in which to find the content one might want to watch — think of it as having two constantly criss-cross a typical urban mega-strip mall on an erratic shopping spree, rather than being able to go to a single store and finding all that you need. And then it’s an issue where you go to a given store expecting to find the very shirt your American friend told you about, but despite it being an American clothier, that specific shirt isn’t available in Canada. (Canada remains, frustratingly, a digital backwater when it comes to internet content.)

So what’s changed? Aside from the realization that we just don’t watch regular television anymore, it was the introduction of a “content aggregator” (not sure what else to call it), some handy (but legally grey-area) tools, and the ability to be a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Allow me to introduce our new media setup…

The Device

Ultimately, you need a unit to actually serve content (the stuff — literally — doesn’t fly through the air, anymore). The Apple TV (version 1) had been a decent first attempt, but it failed in a number of ways, not the least of which was a strong tie to iTunes and not a lot of expandability (even the aTV Flash hack offered little more). It meant that it was hard for us to use different media sources, or even watch DVDs through a single device.

Enter the mid-2010 Apple Mac Mini, model A1347 (non-server). Slightly taller than the Apple TV, this is a complete computer, and can run any software we need. Furthermore, it has full support for 1080p video, complete audio support, and because it’s a full computer, it can be used by Monkey and Choo Choo as they grow up and need to use computers in their school (while Mommy and I get to help/watch). Even more key for this specific release of the Mac Mini, however, is that this is the last one that came with a SuperDrive built-in — the next release was without an optical drive, making it hard to watch those reams of physical media we’ve been accumulating.

The Mac Mini is limited to 320 GB, which seems like a lot, but it’ll fill up quickly with the media we hope to deliver through it. So instead, I’m going to be attaching it to a terabyte drive (ideally a RAIDed one, with a secondary backup for real redundancy) that will store all the music, movies, photos, and various videos that our family will use. Our network is gigabit (thanks to Telus), so network speed shouldn’t be a problem.

The Software

Operating system aside, the complete list is still pending, but I’m looking at:

• iTunes
  Duh. We have a significant amount of content in iTunes, and there is zero reason not to use iTunes to access it.
• Plex Server
  This is the aggregation tool. It offers a significant amount of functionality for linking disparate pieces of content (including iTunes) into a single interface, and offers a variety of “channels” for watching online content. Because it works full-screen, it’s a suitable replacement for the venerable Front Row. It also includes a player that can play software copies of DVDs…
• RipIt
  Boy, it didn’t take long to get back into that legal black hole, didn’t it? Yes, I am using a piece of software to extract the content from media I have purchased and am placing it in a non-public system for my own personal entertainment, digital lock provisions be damned. Big Media pushing bullshit like SOPA and C-11 can suck my balls. I don’t like physical media, it’s too prone to damage by jam-covered fingers.

Beyond that, we will install what’s needed, when it’s needed. Right now, I’m not sure what that is, but I’m sure we can adapt when the time comes.

The Services

The hardware and software alone will not solve our problems. It’s not really any different than buying a “regular” television set. The problem is that you still need to have content provided from somewhere.

• iTunes
  Again, duh. Our existing library is one thing, but iTunes still has an extensive (and lovely) collection of media from which to select. We’ve used iTunes for quite some time, and plan to keep using it.
• The Service I Can’t Really Talk About
  Okay, this is another one of those “grey area” items. Technically, Canadians can’t see American content (think Hulu, American versions of Netflix and iTunes, and Comedy Network) because some dumbass decided that we’re not allowed to see it. So our IP blocks are scanned and summarily blocked. This service makes you look like an American — a sheep in wolf’s clothing — and away you go. It’s not illegal, but I’m sure that some moron lawyer will cry foul (because he’s paid to do so) and it’ll get yanked. Hence, I refuse to name it. Like Plex, it also provides a number of channels, so we should be able to watch … well, pretty much anything we want, really.
• Netflix (the American verison!)
  My biggest gripe with Netflix is that the Canadian content is so wildly different than the American content … despite it running off the same system. So thanks to the aforementioned service, we get the added benefit of a larger library.

The Result

To be honest, I don’t know yet. From everything I’ve read and from everything everyone who’s already gone down this road has told me, this seems like a solid path. But I’ll be the first to admit that it won’t be a bed of roses (and, really, when you think about it, is a “bed of roses” all that appealing? Think of the thorns!) and this could fail. I doubt it will fail entirely, since we get content no matter what, it’s just the depth at which we get it.

So what of actual “television”? We’re in the shift now, and already it’s showing. Advertisers are trying to find new ways to market to people who are willingly skipping commercials. Big Media is slow to adapt (surprise, surprise!), but is at least starting to recognise the revenue potential, so it’s doubtful they’ll fight against it. But the transition from network model (which provides funding and marketing for television shows) is at risk, given a more fragmented market.

For us, this can only be a win-win. People want to make video, and we want to consume it. The question of how remains, and its only a matter of time before these bits of technology-in-infancy are replaced by more robust and “complete” systems that hide the mess of aggregation, bringing about a true “on demand” environment that has been promised for the better part of 20 years.

As for our specific experience, we’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, I’ve got a Mac Mini to set up.

Like most international agreements, it’s not perfect, and many governments have gone well out of their way to thoroughly botch and/or screw around with the implementation — so much so that, in some cases, the concept of a time zone really makes no sense at all. Given the rise of the internet, the massive synchronisation between continents in real-time, and the presence of global companies, it’s frankly a wonder why we even think time zones are a good idea anymore.

So let’s get rid of them!

For anyone who’s ever had the challenge of scheduling meetings across time zones, you know the story:

Them: Let’s meet at 1pm.

You: Is that 1pm your time?

Them: I thought you were on the same time?

You: No, I’m two hours behind you.

Them: Oh, so 3pm?

You: You mean 11am.

Them: No, I mean 1pm.

You: [Commits sepuku to end the suffering.]

I’ve done this more times than I dare to think about. And things get doubly worse when you have to deal with the equally inane concept of Daylight Savings Time. Yes, we northern countries would like to take advantage of additional daylight. So why don’t we just get our asses out of bed an hour earlier? No, changing the clocks for everyone on the planet makes much more sense!

The internet runs off UTC — Universal Coordinated Time, what we humans refer to as Greenwich Mean Time. (If you’ve ever heard a military person refer to a time in “zulu”, that’s the same thing.) Yes, differences are applied, but everything starts in UTC. Because one time makes sense.

Hopefully you see where I’m going with this…

Does it matter what the hour is when you get up? As a parent, I’ve learned that the numbers on the clock don’t matter — if I’m up, I’m up, and I’ll motor through. Having travelled enough, I know that the hours on the clock don’t matter in the slightest, because my body thinks it’s not where it actually is (and adjusting watches is not a fun task either, I might add).

Time is — literally — arbitrary. The concept of an “hour” came from observations by the Ancient Egyptians and the Greeks. They decided the divisions (they originally had 10, believe it or not), and Ancient Sumer, India, and China created the 24/60 divisions we’re familiar with (the 24 came as a result of two 12s — one day, one night — because 12 was attributed to the number of lunar cycles in a year).

So you can blame civilisations long gone (and dead, in some cases) for our current mess. Then add in the railroads who were obsessed with noon, not because it was handy to know when to eat lunch, but to keep the railroad schedules in sync. (Later, the idea of “high noon” was replaced with a synchronised clock, with the time sent over telegraph wires.) But it all comes back to why on Earth should I care about getting up at 6:15 every morning. Why not 00:15? Does it really matter?

When I lived in Costa Rica, I got up at 6:00. The sun had been shining quite well for over an hour at that point. Costa Rica, again for whatever reason, is in the “wrong” time zone. Because it’s arbitrary, and someone decided badly. Venezuela moved it’s clock 30 minutes to get a “better distribution” for poor children going to school.

That concept of “better distribution” is also how we ended up with that abhorrent Daylight Savings Time. Originally, it was for farmers, who needed the light to work their fields. Okay, fine. But if you’ve ever driven out into the country at midnight these days, you’ll see terribly bright lights from the modern tractors illuminating things. Now we defer Daylight Savings to — of all things — saving energy, a dubious point at best. Most of the planet has dropped the concept of Daylight Savings (or never used it at all), and there’s little reason it should continue.

Same with time zones. They serve no purpose, when it comes down to it. They made sense at a time when global synchronisation of time was difficult, when messages took days to arrive, rather than our current milliseconds. We are a global people, having extended beyond our nations, using services that span every continent, and learn of events mere seconds after they transpire. A “local time” is absolutely irrelevant.

Global time. One time. Everyone uses the same clock. You choose when to rise, when to sleep, when to eat. Yes, there will be adjustment — we’ve spend a hundred years fixating on the idea of “noon”. We don’t need “noon”, we just need a time. A local agreement that the work day starts at, say 04:00, or 22:30, or 11:00. We eat at our midday, we sleep after it gets dark (mostly; extreme northern and southern climbs notwithstanding). Yes, it’ll take adjustment, but within a year it would seem so much simpler than it ever did before.

Metric time? A waste of time, I think. Yes, we’ve got the opportunity, but rolling both together will cause chaos. Humanity has observed a 24/60 division for nearly two thousand years. Changing that habit will be a lot harder than just picking one common time.

So what say you? Why shouldn’t we change? Let the debate begin!

The new doors are hung, but without handles it’s a little hard (read: painful) to open closet doors, and we can’t actually close any other doors since … well, there’s no handles. The kitchen cabinets are still missing a couple of doors, which are hopefully going in soon, and some drywall is still needed around the new closet door framing.

But at least we can live in the place…

That’s the key thing, really. Live. It’s not perfect live, yet, since we’re also painting. (And that’s “we” as in Alex and I, not the contractor.) The painting is a bit of a sticky point at the moment, since we’re having issues choosing a paint colour, and matching other colours. We need/want something good, and we’ve got a wall we rather like. Alex has already done the ensuite, and the main bathroom will get its update once all the other painting is done.

Left on the list? Living room, what’s remaining of the kitchen walls (not many), all the baseboards, the new doors, and touch-ups here and there. And then, hopefully, the reno will be done, done, done and live officially continues as it did back when all this mayhem started.

Which would be nice. Because mayhem isn’t remotely as fun as it sounds…

Today just added more salt to the wound, with things that didn’t necessarily go wrong so much as things that went unexpected. I like surprises, don’t get me wrong, but there’s a world of difference between people leaping out from behind a couch, and having your hopes dashed by a change.

It would be nice for this to all be over…

We had a minor invasion today to try finish things off. Cabinet doors are nearly all in place, now — the corner unit assembled, but door missing — and the glass doors for one cabinet are still MIA. Some of the finishing seems to be done, with edges cleaned up and baseboards in place.

One wall is still unfinished, which is an issue that still needs to be resolved. No-one — including us — have had a conversation about it, and we’re not sure what we’re going to do about it. We gotta do something — it’s just taped drywall with pencil marks all over it.

The electrician came and fixed the downstairs lights (new switch, thankfully, was all that was needed), finished hooking up the undercabinet lighting, and got all the switches installed into the kitchen. It was almost nice to see that done, except that the potlight dimmer switch is defective, and the GFI socket in the island has come loose. The phone line in the kitchen is still not hooked up, and the vacuum still sits on the floor.

The plumber arrived to finish installing the dishwasher, and installed two toilets and our ensuite pedestal. This is where most of the stress has come from today. For, you see, it started with different toilets. We’d originally wanted American Standard. They were cheap, and they work. Our contractor talked us up to Toto. We like Toto — Alex’s dad has them and they work fantastically. They’re not cheap, though. But given the fairly small difference in cost, it seemed reasonable. So we were prepared to go for it.

Today? Kohler Sterling Karsten. Without any warning that there was going to be a difference. The reasoning was simple: lower cost, and the colours would match. But given how much talking up we’d been getting, this was beyond a mere “better way”, this was just outright frustrating. It’s a little thing, I know, but it’s just another in a long line of “just freaking tell us before you do it, okay?” situations.

(Incidentally, we’re not the only ones this happens to. Most of the contractors who work on the job complained about the same thing.)

And then, almost as a coup de grace, someone broke the dishwasher. I don’t know who, and I don’t know when, but when I last used the dishwasher, it worked. Today? Leaked all over the place, and the damn thing won’t actually start running — the motor whines like it’s trying to wash dishes, but nothing happens. I’m praying we can get it merely repaired — replacement is not something I care to think about right now.

Doors are still off on our bedroom, and the two bathrooms. So although it’s very handy that we now have toilets upstairs again … there’s a certain lack of privacy.

The floors are still unfinished, although the floor tiling is done. The wall tiles were done and grouted yesterday, but still have a layer of grout all over them that is due to be cleaned.

Cleaning is another matter. We’re still living, as Alex best described, a warzone. Things are still a mess. Our kitchen table is fully covered in things we’d taken to the temporary house and brought back (all our other kitchen things are in the basement on the floor). The bathtub is coated in a brownish-red filth. The floors are mucky. There’s still dust on everything.

So, I’m tired. Really. I want it over. I want our lives to get back to some normalcy again, and soon. We need it. All of us. Kate’s still in Megan’s room; Kate’s room is storage.

Can I get off this ride now, please?

The entire process has really reinforced my belief that if you want to succeed in business, you need to do two things well: Communicate, and set expectations. If you do nothing else right, these two will save your ass, not to mention help you get out of the mess you got yourself into.

Now lest ye believe that I’m merely standing on a soapbox (which I regularly do, anyway), please remember that I’m a 17-year veteran of internet marketing. I work in advertising, one of the more notorious industries for screwing things up and having to make sure you say the right things or lose your client. (If you’re not in the ad industry, watch “Mad Men”. You’ll get it.)

In my world, everything starts with communication. You need to make sure everyone understands what’s been requested, what’s being done (and how it’s being done), when it’s due, and how much it’ll cost. Those are key points to getting what you asked for, and it doesn’t matter if you’re the client, or the vendor. (Or the person working on the project, for that matter…)

Clear communications leds to the second important thing (they’re related, if you haven’t picked up on that yet): setting expectations. Here’s the single biggest problem with dealing with humans: we leap to conclusions, especially when we’re not presented with enough information. (This is why action movies thrill us, horror movies terrify us, and jokes are funny.) These expectations prepare us for what will come, and these expectations are created through communication.

The key thing is whether or not you deliberately set expectations. Like it or not, expectations will come, so it behooves you to be the one in control of those expectations, and make sure they’re set properly so there as few surprises as possible (and, hence, fewer people pissed off).

Let me give you a very recent example of why this is important…

Our kitchen renovation also includes upgrades to the two bathrooms upstairs, part of which is two new toilets. Our contractor had convinced us to go with Toto toilets, which we already knew and liked, and he said he could get us a decent price. We’d pushed (a bit) for cheaper American Standard toilets, which we felt would be more cost effective, but in the end bought into the higher-end Totos.

Today, not 30 minutes ago, the plumber hauled in a pair of Kohler Sterling Karsten models. Imagine our … puzzlement. This, naturally, precipitated a conversation with the poor plumber, who had apparently been instructed in such a way as to decide that the Kohler was more cost-effective, and the colour would more closely match the pedestal sink in the one bathroom.

In the Grand Scheme of Things, does a different toilet really matter? Not if it flushes properly, in my view. We weren’t about to balk at a change of manufacturer if the overall aesthetic is maintained or improved (and money saved is also a benefit). The balking came in not knowing there was going to be a change. It was a complete surprise, because our expectation was for something else.

I see this all the time, too, in my industry. Someone makes an “executive” decision that affects a delivery, be it time, scope, appearance, or functionality. In the Grand Scheme of Things, said decision is usually for the best. But, ultimately, someone else needs to know of this decision so they don’t … well, balk at the surprise. We engage in that discussion to mitigate the shock, and ensure things continue moving forward as they need to.

So consider this, dear readers, as you engage in your daily hullabaloo. Make sure you’re clear about what you’re doing, and make sure you stay on top of that message — especially if it needs to change — so your partner/client/spouse/teacher/etc. know what’s coming. It just saves grief, and keeps things calm.

Anyway, one topic that’s come up a few times is the issue of royalty rates that companies pay to extract oil from the oil sands. The NDP (who’ll never see office in this province) want to raise the rates, the Liberals waffle, and both the PC and the Wildrose are adamant that the rates not change. It got me to wondering: are our rates even remotely fair?

To paraphrase Adam West’s Batman: To the internet!

“Fair”, as we all know, is highly subjective. But we’re talking the use of a natural resource, and a reasonable compensation for its acquisition. The best other example of a (current) use of a natural resource is logging in British Columbia. (Yes, mining would be much more comparable, but mining has pretty much all but collapsed in British Columbia.) So I wondered — is Alberta getting for its oil what BC gets for its trees?

Okay, so this information is a bit tricky to find, and even harder to compare. So let’s consider the realities first. I’m going to compare the rates at which BC collects revenue for trees harvested in 2010, and the revenue Alberta collected from extracted bitumen (the oil sands) in 2010. Both will be measured in cubic metres, since there’s no way to compare them otherwise (trees are in cubic metres, but oil is measured in BBLs, which is some typically archaic measurement — more on that later).

Let’s do trees first. They’re easier.

British Columbia harvests a lot of trees (for better or for worse). Despite the environmental issues surrounding logging, I find harvesting trees to be a (relatively) good industry, in that it’s an organic product that tends to grow back.

BC charges what it is called a “stumpage fee” for cutting down a tree. This not only generates revenue for the province, but likely also keeps entire forests from disappearing due to the inevitable cost. Those fees vary throughout the year due to market influences, as well as where the tree was cut down — it costs more to cut down a coastal tree than it does an interior tree.

In 2010, British Columbia reported a softwood lumber production of 27 million cubic metres. Fees ranged from $5.34 at the start of 2010 to about $6.87 at the end of year on the coast; the interior ranged from $4.06 down to $3.52 in the interior.

I could go rather insane on the dynamics of cost variations and how to calculate a reasonable average … but you’ll find I don’t need to go to that level of detail. I couldn’t find a total revenue from felling trees, but apparently in 2010, the Ministry of Forest, Lands and Natural Resources (who collects the stumpage fees) collected merely $433 million.

Okay, now let’s talk oil.

This one, as I said, is a bit trickier because it’s not actually easy to find the collective output from Alberta per year. It’s important because royalties are charged on different rates depending on the investment a given company has made, how long it’s been there, and even if the rates are grandfathered from much earlier negotiations. And frankly, I’m not an expert, so me trying to decipher all of this before the election seems really hard.

Anyway…

According to the Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers, the average oil sands production was 1.5 million barrels/day in 2010. (Admittedly, that link is for a forecast, but it was made halfway through 2010, so I imagine it’s not far off.) That works out to 547.5 million barrels for 2010 (give or take a couple million). Using a standard measurement of 158.9873 L per barrel, that gives us 87.04554675 billion litres of oil sands production, or 87.04 million cubic metres.

Revenue from the oil sands (in the way of royalties) was more than $3.7 billion. That equates to roughly $42.51 per cubic metre in revenues. Nearly ten times what BC gets for its trees. (Minor detail: BC’s trees grow back. Oil doesn’t.)

I’m reticent to draw a conclusion here, mostly because the numbers just somehow feel wrong. I’m hoping I’ve got them calculated right, but … well, I guess Alberta doesn’t have that much to complain about, at least comparatively speaking? I’d still argue for a higher rate (when the oil runs out, Alberta might not be any better off than Dubai, just without the mega malls, insanely tall towers, and uber-opulence), and invest that in our future.

But at least for the present, maybe we’re doing alright?

(Disclaimer: I had the hypothesis that tree stumpage fees were higher. I honestly felt — and still feel — that the royalty rates are too low. So I fully expected oil to come in way under trees … probably why the numbers don’t feel right to me. I’m happy to be corrected!)

Are they cheap? No. A standard incandescent bulb is easily 10-50x cheaper. A compact fluorescent (CFM) bulb at least 10x cheaper. Halogen (usually) gives off more light. And you’re still a little limited on options in terms of dimming and colours, and so forth.

So why do it? Because you should.

Okay, bad argument, so let me expand it a bit.

Incandescent lights are energy wasters. Big ones. Same with halogens. Yes, the produce gobs of light, but you can pretty much heat your house with them. (Remember the Easy-Bake Ovens? Guess what they use…) In terms of energy-to-light, they’re absolutely lousy.

Okay, what about CFMs? Better in energy usage, no doubt there, but there’s two issues going with them: first, they use mercury vapour — that’s the “fluorescing” part of the bulb’s mechanism. Second, all fluorescent lights need a ballast to up the voltage so that the mercury vapour will go bananas and generate light. That’s why CFM’s have that massive white base on them. I’ve seen a couple of stories (of course, links are now impossible to find…) that suggest that CFMs wreak havoc on your electrical grid, and produce significant amounts of EM within your home.

Okay, LED, then. Well, until the last couple of years … there really weren’t much of an option. Early adopters found them to be too dim, they buzzed a lot, and you couldn’t put them on dimmer switches.

That’s all changed. LED lights come in nearly ANY shape (beat that, incandescent), use extremely low amounts of electricity, and are so cool that even after an hour’s use, you can pull them out without burning your fingers (try that with a halogen). And bright? The lights we just installed in our kitchen need a dimmer, they’re so bright.

Okay, so here’s the big downer: LEDs still aren’t cheap. And they’ll never be cheaper than incandescent. They’re so much more expensive, that I’ll even wager that even with the electricity saved, they’ll always be more expensive that replacing incandescents.

So why do it? It’s not to save money, really. In my view, it’s to save electricity.

Our electrical grids are finite. We don’t have an unstoppable amount of power. We use a lot of devices that suck up and waste vast amounts of energy. Lighting is a big part of that equation, and we — as a society — really need to think about how we use that power. For example, when Castro came to power in Cuba, he ordered all the lights in the country replaced with fluorescent bulbs. Attractive? Maybe not. But the reduction in power meant Cuba could survive on what little electricity it could generate on its own.

That’s what LED brings to the table: lower usage. That leaves more electricity available for other things when its needed. Areas that need air conditioning (Calgary really isn’t one of them) should take note — it’s getting warmer every year. Already places in North America have hit massive new high temperature records, and I would be stunned if this doesn’t continue all the way to late September. I foresee more than a few power issues as more and more people turn on the A/C to try stave off the heat.

It might not seem like much, but low-power lighting can help. And if you can afford it, you really should consider your part in helping reduce the overall load.

[Additional note!]

This is TOTALLY, COMPLETELY, 100% UNSPONSORED, but is provided as an example of what you can do. That’s my disclaimer.

LED World is a local (to Calgary) provider of LED lighting. And I don’t mean just lightbulbs. They provide nearly everything. And, if I’m not mistaken, these are the guys I talked to at the Home Show a few weeks back, who had insane amounts of insight on what we should do — information imparted to our electrician, and resulted in some of the lighting we now have.

Yep, it’s a typical renovation, alright!

We had some big moves forward today, which help bring the kitchen closer to functional. First, lighting. The kitchen’s been wired for lights, but none were actually installed until today. In fact, beyond the bedrooms, there were no functioning lights at all — getting through the kitchen was nigh impossible due to the darkness.

          

The only “downside” of the lights is that they’re really, really bright. And somehow, despite it being said more than a few times, they’re not on dimmer switches — though that will be changing on Wednesday (when the electrician comes back). Once all that happens, I’m sure the lighting in the kitchen will be fantastic … and once we find pendant lights that we like. (Yes, that battle is still ongoing.)

The plumber is back tomorrow (I believe) to finish the last bit — connecting the dishwasher to the drain. Apparently someone (not me) tossed the connecting hose that binds the dishwasher’s outlet to the Y-pipe on the drain, so we have to get a new one. And then once we get our cabinets done and cleaned, we can wash all the dishes properly, actually start putting things away and get them out of boxes (and out of the basement).

Tiling started today as well. There’s five tiled areas: three flooring (entrance, main bath, and ensuite), and two walls (opposing walls in the kitchen). The floor tiling is set and drying, which hopefully means grouting tomorrow; the wall tiles are only about half done, so it’ll be a while before those are complete. Already, though, it’s looking fantastic.

The other nice part was new electrical sockets all around the kitchen and living room. They’re a new-fangled socket (apparently required by code in the city) that is “child proof” (I use the term in the same way that we refer to “child proof” medicine containers). You cannot shove a knife blade into one, for example — there’s a little plastic slide that stays in place; you have to push in a 2- or 3- prong plug for the slide to move out of the way. And yes, it does make it hard to plug something in — I suppose that’s the point.

The end, as they say, has to be near. I know it has to be if, for no other reason, our contractor wants to finish so he’ll get paid. But I still worry about that light down the tunnel. Because I know it’s not really the end of the tunnel.

It’s a train headed my way…

…the bill.

The renos are still on-going, and while we might be quite a ways further a long than when we moved out three week ago, we’re still a ways from having our house complete, functional, and dust-free.

But at least it’s our house.

Living in someone else’s house is always awkward. You’re scared, really, about making a mess, or breaking something, or generally being there. It’s not your home. It’s not familiar. You always feel out of place. Even hotel rooms spark that unease, and it’s always good to step back across your own threshold.

This house should feel equally unfamiliar — there’s been a lot of changes: walls torn out, floors ripped up, cabinets replaced, holes made (and patched), and dust scattered on about nearly every horizontal surface. Asia the Cat has been more than a little bewildered with all the changes, and spent a good two hours constantly wandering about trying to figure out where she was.

Now, you’re obviously wondering two things: 1) were we actually out of our house these last three weeks, and 2) why would we move back before it was done?

Yes, we were out of our house. Our contractor, being a very generous person, felt it would be beneficial for all to have us out of the house (thus avoiding the inevitable problems with work times and trying to work around a family living in the to-be-renovated space, as well as allowing us to avoid the equally-inevitable noise and mess). Thankfully, he had a house available not far away, and we needed only pay for the utilities. It was a deal that while reticent to accept (see previous missives about moving), we could not pass up.

It was a house with next-to-no furniture. There was a kitchen table, four chairs, and a single (heavily used) coffee table. We brought three mattresses, clothes for a week, some plates, pots, pans, a TV and our Apple TV (movies and TV shows for the kids), and a large duffel bag of toys. It was going to be a spartan stay, but it ended up being more spartan than we’d thought — due to confusion with the electrical billing, Enmax put the account in arrears (not our fault), and the house was placed on a 50 amp limiter. Basically, no stovetop (oddly enough, the oven worked), no dryer, and using more than the fridge (which was usually on) and one more appliance (toaster, microwave, kettle, or grill), and the limiter tripped. Making dinner became a challenge…

But our contractor needed to rent the house out (it is a revenue property, after all), and it was so arranged for the first of the month. And we were nowhere near able to move back to our house. Again, this is where the generousity of our contractor showed — he gave the renter a break, and allowed us to stay an extra week. But that was all he could give us.

The kids got ditched at a daycare for the day while Alex and I proceeded to clean, and move, and clean, and clean, and paint. And clean. There was a lot of dust. Have I mentioned the dust? There was a LOT of dust. And sadly, dust in places we understood there shouldn’t be any dust. It was a bit frustrating, but these are the things you have to deal with when you do a significant renovation.

The downstairs — our first major renovation back in 2007 and 2008 — is now our refuge. The kids have to sleep in Monkey’s room (Choo Choo’s is filled with all manner of materials); Choo Choo is now in a toddler bed, her crib having ended its necessity.

The new floor is mostly in, save for part of the living room near the window. Tiling of the entry and bathrooms takes place tomorrow (so we hear). But we’ve got a few other major things like getting lighting completed (and hopefully figuring out why some of the downstairs lights and the ensuite vanity light refuse to come on), finishing work (handles, drawer fronts, and kick boards), and so forth.

Another week, I’m guessing, but each day should get us closer to back to normal. Y’know, normal with a new kitchen…

Have I mentioned that Alex and I have seen the Bourne Trilogy, like, a hundred times? We know how a good climax should go.

Not that I’m hoping for someone to come crashing through my front door or something (although if Alex has her way, that’s next).

The ceiling alone suddenly made everything seem so much more “done”. There’s still a ways to go, mind you, but that alone seemed to cover up so much of the “ew, that looks terrible” stuff, and made us feel a lot better about it.

Today was one of the major points: countertops. This was unexpected; we’d been expecting at least another week based on what the granite company had told us. (This elicited another short rant from our contractor about his vendors talking to his clients.) This was mildly important as we hadn’t selected a kitchen faucet yet. We’d seen a couple that we liked, but none that were … well, “perfect”. To be honest, I’m not sure what “perfect” is, anyway. We’d seem some we liked,which might well be “good enough”. Either way, Alex had to dash off to Rona to snag the one we had seen, as they had to bore holes in the counter for it.

What’s still left on the agenda?

Well…

• Cabinet drawer fronts
• Cabinet glass doors (two only)
• Cabinet handle install
• Cabinet hardware installation (not all done)
• Flooring in the kitchen, entrance, and the bathrooms (kind of a major one)
• Baseboards
• Lighting installation (basics are there, but need the rest)
• Completion of electrical and plumbing in the island
• Completion of the vacuum install
• Toilet installation
• Backsplash install
• Microwave wall-mounting (I hope the contractor will do this; I’m not sure I can)
• Smoke detector installation (it’s getting properly linked with the one in the basement)
• Attic insulation

and

Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. There’s dust on every surface — horizontal and vertical — and it all needs washing. Preferably before our first night back in the house, which will likely be Saturday (if not Friday). Our contractor has been exceedingly kind in letting us stay (rent-free) at one of his rental houses. Despite an issue with the electrical account (we’ve been on an 50 amp electrical limiter for about a week), it’s been a very generous offer, and we’re certainly not going to argue about staying until all is done. Besides, he’s got a paying renter who expected to be in on the 1st.

There’s also the decorating. Alex has already tackled a wee bit, using a mistint we got at Rona last night. It was almost perfect for the colour we wanted, and seeing it on the wall, it’s actually rather fantastic. The tricky part, however, is that we ran out (it was a small can) and we’ll need more. Hopefully they can match it. The other walls all need painting, too, which is going to be a bit of a struggle … and yes, Alex, I know you love painting on your own, but I feel that I have to help you to get it done as quickly as possible.

We also have to choose pendant lights for over the bar counter. We’ve seen lots, but only a couple we liked. And at over $400 a pop, it’s not a price we’re ready to pay. We may just go the route of “nice” Rona/Home Depot specials with dimmable LEDs, and do a light upgrade later on down the road.

Then will come some furniture acquisitions to work with our needs in the living room (coffee table that we’ve never actually had, plus a new “entertainment” table against the far wall, and a new entry-way table for keys, bags, and whatnot). Then we’ll get some new blow-ups of pictures we’ve taken, and bring some life to the place.

It’ll be good to get home again.

Budget’s the big thing. I know it’s gone WAY past what I expected (see above note), but I also understand and respect that we’ve pushed it that way for a hundred reasons — none of which I disagree with, or don’t look forward to. Just that it’s more weight than I wish to carry. But, in the grand scheme of things, it’s something I know I’ll move past before too long.

The other issue is schedule. Now, for the record, I’m in no way suggesting that this reno is moving slowly. Given that it hasn’t even been two weeks yet, this reno’s clocked at a rate that seems almost unimaginable (especially when envisioned from the perspective of doing it myself). Walls removed, floors pulled, wiring ran, plumbing … plumbed, patches made, surfaces smoothed, structure reinforced, and so on and so on and so on. It’s almost inhumanely fast.

And, yet, I worry when I see nothing (effectively) happening for a day. Yesterday (Friday), I stopped by the house on my way to … um … well, not “home”, but where my temporary lodging happens to reside … and I became worried because I could not visually see any progress since the previous day.

I bit my tongue, and said nothing. I need to trust the guy who’s doing the work. (I mean, really, it’s the same as if I was building a website. I don’t get clients questioning my abilities — though I’m prepared if they care to.) Just that after so much in so little time, I really had to wonder.

Anyway, today was another bout of movement. Our contractor stopped by to make sure we’re clear on the size of the tiled space near the front door when you walk in. He picked me up, drove me over, and we did the numbers. Upon arrival, two other guys were already there, mudding the ceiling in prep for the knock-down spraying. Then two MORE guys showed up (one left almost immediately; he was only bringing over a tool) to deal with some more patches, and was also directed to deal with the messed-up main bathroom vanity installation we’d noticed a few days ago (the vanity’s been pulled out, and someone’s going to move the plumbing around).

The schedule, such as it is, has us in the borrowed house until next Saturday morning, after which we’ll be utterly, totally back into our own house. This is important because the contractor has this house rented out for TOMORROW, and he’s being exceedingly generous by letting us stay, and giving the renter a two-week break on rent. I’m certainly not going to argue about that.

This is a minor change in the schedule, but it works in our favour: the ceiling is supposed to be in on Thursday, the floors arrive Wednesday and should be done by Friday, the lights in sometime during the week (I only overheard part of that conversation), with the rest of the changes taking place as quickly as possible. The countertops are the only question, and it might not be for another couple of weeks. A sheet of plywood will solve that problem in the short-term, however.

There is the matter of cleaning, however, and we’ve got a fair bit of it. Despite best attempts, dust has settled on just about every single surface around the house, in every single room, upstairs and down. Not what we’d expected by a long shot. Given the changes we’ve made, though, not entirely surprising, either. Such is life, I guess.

If nothing else, the change in schedule will also let us deal with the moving aspects, notably cleaning (our house and this house), as well as packing and moving (which, hopefully, won’t be too big an issue).

I hate moving.

Or rather, I would, except that I know damned well that there’s a fair share of communications failure on the other end, and it’s not from a lack of us trying to keep things straight and even. (That said, having talked with some of the guys doing the work, this is normal within the renovation/contracting biz. Go figure.)

As I’d posted earlier, Cathy (my sister) had reminded me that my father never really died, he just lives on to remind us not to do dumb things … like skimp on a renovation to save a few bucks, ‘cuz the end result will drive you bonkers. Pay the extra, get it right, and be much happier with it.

So the kitchen floor now extends to the living room and hallways. (Those disappeared today. A fairly stunning speed, too, I might add.) We’re also changing out the doors in the rest of the upstairs, which are driving Alex (and by extension, me) insane. Those are fairly cheap, and they’ll look much nicer than the cheap-ass ones in there now (original, so far as I know).

Oh, I should also note that while I thought the floors that just got torn up were original, they’re not — they were apparently installed in the early 1980s. They were a style called “Sugar and Spice”. If that ain’t enough of a reason to pull ‘em…

Anyway, the doors on the cabinets went on today, which elicted another series of phone calls, because — darn it — we stupid owners didn’t buy the stupid handles and leave them in a BIG BRIGHT ORANGE AND BLACK BAG to be installed. Okay, we had forgotten what the exact configuration was — which handles went on which doors/drawers. Turned out that when I went in to sort that out after work, it didn’t make as much sense as it had in the store when we’d bought them. I ended up exchanging a few to sort the issue out. Tomorrow, maybe, we might have drawer fronts?

The countertop also came up as an issue. Apparently, the original countertop we’d chosen no longer comes in the gloss finish, and has another finish called “honed” (whatever the hell that means), so the granite company (it’s a quartz countertop, by the way) called to ask us if we wanted a different shade that was still in gloss. Call, debate, discuss, check, recheck, and we’re still getting a countertop we want. Just another day later, now.

Speaking of days later, our contractor (see aforementioned issues with communication) apparently missed the rather detailed notes that Alex had been sending him regarding the new floor. This led him to showing Alex several red oak samples that utterly baffled her — why would we be looking at something new?? Debate, discuss, realise that the floor we want will take a day longer to get so show us a floor we didn’t choose that we can get, remind the contractor that we didn’t choose that floor so please make sure you get the right one…

Oy.

Now, in his defence, part of the reason for the different floor was timing. The floor we want will take a day longer to get. Why is that significant? He needs us out of the house we’re borrowing from him — he has paying tenants ready to move in. Which I totally understand — it’s lost revenue. So we’re going to have to contend (to some extent) with an unfinished home when we move back a week tomorrow.

A week tomorrow. ONE WEEK. I can’t wait, personally, but I know those first couple of days will be hell. Heck, the first two weeks might be hell. But it’ll be hell at home, which is a lot better than hell anywhere else.

Pictures, as usual, are up on Flickr for your enjoyment.

Thanks to my father’s ghost (as communicated by my lovely sister), and some “concerned” friends, we’re doing the living room floor, too.

(And I’m sure I’ll thank y’all later after the sticker shock goes away.)

At the same time, I’m starting to get worried. I can see what remains. I know how things tend to get rushed towards the ends of projects, and how corners get cut. I know how things can go from “good” to “okay” to “terrible” in a shockingly short period of time.

I’m hoping I’m way, way wrong.

The Problem of the Day was flooring, notably the patches that are needed where the wall was removed next to the front door (the edge of the hardwood will need to be cleaned up so it lines up neatly with the tiling), the patch where the banister was removed, and the hole left in the floor where the fireplace venting used to be.

There’s three ways to approach this:

1) Patch, and understand that the patches will be visible (especially to you, the owner).
2) Patch, and then resand and resurface the entire floor. Sounds like overkill, but has been a consideration (the floor is original, and it kind of shows).
2a) Also restain the floor. That adds another $350 to the price of #2.
3) Replace the entire floor so that it matches the hardwood we’re putting in the kitchen. (Yes, this was a serious consideration.)

The cost doubles with every successive option, and adds more time to the final delivery.

In the end, we’ve opted to stick with #1. Our contractor has said flat-out that it’s a mistake, and he’s right. It is. We know beyond doubt that it’s the wrong thing to do — we should be making sure it’s clean and right throughout, and this is the best possible time to do it. Budget and schedule, however, are at work and we’d much rather replace it with hardwood that matches the kitchen. Right now, it’s just not an option.

(I hope we don’t come to really regret that decision in a few months…)

Anyway, we dropped by the house after dinner tonight to see that the floors look cleaner (in preparation for the flooring), the cabinets are all in place (they lack the final trim and doors, as well as the countertops), and our previously-removed eighth potlight has magically returned.

   

We’re getting closer to reality. We’re getting closer to having a kitchen … no, a living space that we’re happy with. And I can’t wait!

But above all else, we have progress. Dramatic progress.

Let’s recap, shall we?

Prior to Monday — the official start of the renovations — the only things that truly been done in the house were the removal of the old kitchen cabinets, and the vanity in the ensuite bathroom. That sounds like a lot, but really, it’s not. Those went out in a combined three hours, and were saved — they could have gone much faster with a saw and sledgehammer.

On Monday:
Things got started. And by “started”, I mean “destroyed”. The tiles in our entranceway — laid directly on top of the hardwood flooring (things that should be punishable by flogging, I tell you…), the banister that jutted out from the kitchen wall (I will never understand why that was there), and the kitchen floor (would would prove to be a nightmare to get out).

On Tuesday:
The demolition continued. The wall next to the front door came down, followed by the wall between the kitchen and the living room. The latter is a load bearing wall, so there’s a new microlaminate beam tucked up into the ceiling to take up the difference. The former was believed to not be an issue, but it would prove otherwise…

The kitchen ceiling, in a bit of a snap decision, was also torn out to help deal with the potlight install, but also because there was going to need to be significant patch work in a couple of places. It would also prove handy because removing it exposed the disaster of insulation (we already knew about it), which led to the next snap decision of putting in a large amount of blown insulation to keep our rooms from being so freaking cold in the winter. (I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, anyway.)

Electrical kicked off as well, which is one of the major needs, given that we’re rearranging several applicance locations. And lights.

On Wednesday:
I think the main bathroom came out. I think. I kind of lost track with the other issues that were coming up, so it’s not terribly clear.

There was more demolition (the last of the floor), some more electrical work, and the exposure of the single biggest issue yet discovered — the living room ceiling. When the wall next to the door came out, it accentuated a problem that was pre-existing. Apparently, when the house was built, there was a single 2×6 that ran 16 feet from the outer wall, across the living room, to the house’s internal supporting wall. Sadly, the wall next to the door supported it a bit (though not a lot, according to the guy who tore the wall out).

The sad reality is that it’s a bit of a structural issue. So we’re adding a second microlaminate beam to make sure the living room ceiling doesn’t go sour.

The potlights went in. Eight of them. This was a little concerning since we’d originally instructed six potlights. However, our contractor’s electrician thought otherwise, and put in two more. I was originally VERY annoyed with this change, as it was a total surprise, but after a bit more thought, I realised that it was actually the right thing to do. Still, it led to a few words over communication…

On Thursday:
As I stood in the living room, I witnessed the end of our fireplace — a floor-to-ceiling addition that used a wood-burning insert and covered with some strange and mildly atrocious speckled rough granite. It was pulled out, piece-by-piece, and taken down to the original floor and walls — even the knock-down was still in place. With the fireplace gone, the last of the walls came out.

The problem of the day was yet another communication issue, this time with the cabinet supplier. Our contractor has one view of how that relationship works, the cabinet builder has another. The end result was that we didn’t fully understand how we were supposed to pay for everything. The net result was for me to go down the next day, cheque in hand, or the cabinets wouldn’t be delivered, and the fairly break-neck pace would pretty much stop.

The electrical inspection took place, and the plumbing work started (which I think included the built-in vacuum — it went in, too). So far as I know, it was all done and approved, ‘cuz the next day…

On Friday:
I took the cheque to the cabinet builder. Easily enough done, and the schedule continues.

Back at the house, some of the drywall went in, and the cabinets showed up. Which caused the Problem Of The Day — one of the potlights was in a bad location, and would have been far too close to the cabinet upper above the fridge. Net result: pull the potlight (not really needed). Down to seven potlights.

Today:
The cabinets started go into today. The biggest issue was that there wasn’t enough drywall yet to allow some of the cabinets to go into place, so there was a bit of a mad scramble to get more drywall in, and the cabinet install almost went home as a result. But some quick work led to things moving forward.

And we got news of the next steps…

Monday will be “templating” for the countertops, which are due later in the week. The flooring will be going in as well, which should hopefully lead to the last of the electrical (under-cabinet lighting), and the start of touch-ups. The new microlaminate beam will be put in on Monday as well. But a week later, we should be back in our house (we’re still living nearby), and cooking in our new kitchen.

But if there’s one thing I can say, we have progress. Lots of it.

Since we last chatted, the floors have completely come up in the kitchen. However, the subfloor isn’t perfectly level. The contractor said the addition on our kitchen was a “handyman special”, which I gather is a term for “put together very quickly, and not enough attention was paid to the right things”. I wasn’t the least bit surprised.

The wall near our front door is gone, as well, which exposed another issue with the house. In the original construction, there’s a 2×6 beam that runs from the wall perpendicular to the front entrance over to the main load-bearing member, which runs longitudinally down the house. One 2×6. Just one. 16 feet long. And it supports the weight of the gable over the living room.

Those of you in the know are nodding, perhaps gravely. For the rest of you, this is the same as having a four-legged chair with one leg made out of spaghetti. You can sit on the chair if you’re careful enough, but … well, don’t be surprised if it cracks and breaks. Which is sort of what’s happening now. There’s a crack just under the joist, and the entire ceiling is bowed. (Incidentally, it’s not likely a result of the reno per se — it looks like it’s been there a long time, only we couldn’t see it until we were eye-level with the ceiling.) A second joist will be added to strengthen the ceiling and prevent potential collapse.

The wall between the kitchen and living room is gone; that’s now a beam tucked into the ceiling to support the weight. The kitchen ceiling has come down (along with the paltry excuse for the insulation in our attic — something that will also be addressed) along with a fair amount of drywall in the kitchen.

The electricians have come and (almost) gone, having run in the wiring for the new stove outlet, the light fixtures, and the wall sockets. The plumber will be along shortly to deal with the new fittings for the island, the new main bathroom vanity, and tweaks to our ensuite lines so we can hide them behind a pedestal sink (repurposed from our downstairs bathroom).

The fireplace is gone. We’d discussed at length about refinishing it, then changing it to a gas insert and moving it down the wall, but in the end the sheer cost of the job combined with the reality that we don’t use a fireplace that much anyway pretty much killed the idea entirely. While I do love fireplaces … I’m not heartbroken over it. I’d rather have the space.

The cabinets arrive tomorrow. (Keep in mind, folks, the first bit of destruction was only on Monday of THIS week!) That’s assuming, of course, that I can get my arse down to the cabinet builder first-thing tomorrow and half off a cheque for the remainder of the price. Our contractor is none-too-pleased about that arrangement, either. We’re only supposed to be dealing with him, but things went wonky. My guess is that the dealings with the cabinet builder’s founder had slowly changed over the last little while as the builder hired new people to help deal with the workload, and they don’t follow the contractor’s verbal agreement, single point of contact approach. (The builder’s accountant doesn’t seem to much like our contractor, as he doesn’t follow the “rules”.)

For the record, I side with our contractor. Why? Because I’m a contractor. I know that world works: you do what needs to get done, and worry about the aftermath afterwards. When you’re on a schedule — which we are — any slow down like that’ll kill you. Frankly, I want my house back, so I’m quite alright to drop a cheque off and make sure this happens … fast.

Anyway, the electrical walk-through is tomorrow morning, followed (I think) by city approval. Plumbing will likely occur a bit before the cabinets actually get installed, which also gets an approval. Then the walls and ceiling are seald up, cabinets go in, the countertop goes on, the floor goes in, and in theory, we have a kitchen back. (Alex will do the painting later.)

Total elapsed time? Hard to say, but possibly as little as two and a half weeks. Were it me? Two and a half YEARS. Maybe decades at the rate I’m going…