Crazy Stable

The revelation of the floors was perhaps the most gratifying part of the Extreme Ratty Attic Makeover. Why? Because the previous owner painted all the floors—virtually all 3,000 square feet of house—with 2 coats of oxblood-red paint. This scary sander, its ultra-fat'n'scary extension cord sucking electricity straight from the box downstairs, was up to the task.

With much screeeeeeek and zzzaaazzz, the layers (including a mud-brown topcoat that may simply have been filth) started coming off. The house was filled with a strange, resinous smell: that of fresh-cut pine lumber.

This was old-growth yellow pine, according to our contractor, easily found in century-old houses but no longer available; the fresh-cut smell was the amazing old wood, still loaded with some "juice" about 100 years after being felled. And yes, the hideous paint had served to protect the floors from their boarding-house battering for all those decades.

The saddle and edges needed hand-scraping, and lots of places needed putty fillings. Hey, this isn't Monticello; I'm delighted with the rehabbed-factory-loft esthetic. Super-thrilling bonus: We did the third-floor landing, too!

Finally, two coats of polyurethane and a good buffing. (Years ago, in a tiny guest bedroom, we hand-rubbed the floor with tung oil and loved its sweet-smelling, mellow burnish, but this time we weren't up for quite so much effort on our knees.) When the sun hits it, it glows like caramelized sugar. It is the color of redemption.

This is, supposedly, a sort-of renovation blog, and yet...since this year of grace 2010 began, we have been renovating our butts off, and I haven't breathed a word of it here. I have been holding out on you! Maybe this Blog Block stems from my intense superstitiousness, my fear of Drawing Attention to even a morsel of good fortune lest the earthquake-dealing gods decide to smite me. Yes, I have issues. They peek out like glimpses of old ivy-twining wallpaper when you kick the plaster too hard.

But I also have a new Blue Room. It will never be blue again (or ivy-covered), and will henceforth be referred to as The Studio.

I have shared the story (and my dreams) for the Blue room before, here.

The dream has totally morphed, from master bedroom to book art and printmaking studio. But for now, there is fresh, clean space awaiting paint rollers...and, except for a length of old baseboard, no more blues! More details to come, but meanwhile, I am still taking all this in. Behold, before and after porn!

The room, vaguely L-shaped, is under the eaves on the third floor, all interesting shapes and angles.

 Goodbye to the hippie mandalas left over from the Stable's incarnation as a boarding house.

Here's another view, facing the front of the house.

Below: No storebought track light fixture has ever been loved as this one is; it radiates legitimacy upon all it illuminates.

Next: the miracle of the floor.