Mind-altering

Elizabeth Street, Thursday morning.
Brugmansia, from the Solanaceae family.
Nightshade tripping fragrant through the day.

Birthing a kitchen

One of the great joys of this project -- probably the greatest joy -- has been meeting wonderful people, with terrific skills and humanity to match.

Today was a case in point.

I'd been dreading the cabinet installers -- all the pages and pages of disclaimers and warnings I'd had to sign made me a bit apprehensive. But when Tim and Alonzo got to the house this morning, I forgot about paperwork and discovered two professionals whose goal was to make sure I was happy and the job was done with grace, care and incredible attention to detail.

They'd left Miami before dawn so they could be here for a 9 a.m. appointment. We broke out the work lights about 5. They were still smiling when they pulled out at 7:30; they'd be lucky to be home by 11.

Tim makes fine cabinets and furniture for a living (his website is here, and it's certainly worth a look), but also installs the factory goods we'd ordered. He does it with the same care as if he'd crafted every component, with the eye and hand of an artist.

Lorenzo, his assistant, is a solid right hand: adjusting this, maneuvering that into position, tying up the loose ends on something else.

As the day went on and our kitchen was born, Tim remarked that I seemed so much more relaxed than others he'd met at a similar stage of construction.

I shrugged it off at the time, but it occurs to me now that the people I dealt with today help show the reason why: all the Stafford team, Stacey the kitchen and bath equipment lady (I picked up all the sinks and faucets from her today), Marc and Dennis the tile guys (I re-confirmed the granite man with them), Tawny the kitchen designer (who wants to inspect the installation). . . .

That's just today, and the list for the whole project is a long one. Every name on it reminds me that I really need to give thanks for the people who have helped us realize a dream.

So thanks, Tim; thanks, Alonzo, for a beautiful day.

I hereby declare V-Day

Frank said it's coming early Friday, when the last few boards go up on a small section of dormer in the upstairs guest bath. Kurt said we might as well declare it today.

I figured the end of the month was a good point, so I made the official call: V-Day, the last of the v-groove boards going up.

The two worked up huge sweats to get it done Thursday -- here you can see Frank nailing in a plank at the head of the stairs, with Mr. B and Kurt running wood up to him.

Arnold, meanwhile, was perfecting the trims in the den. He was happy with them -- and I was delighted, both with the results and with all the thought he'd given to them.

I'm not sure you can appreciate it from the picture, but he found an elegant fancy-cut solution to the transition from the angle of the ceiling to the straight line at the top of the wall. I told him it was something I'd be happy to see every time I look up from my easy chair on the opposite wall in the next 20 years, and he seemed pleased to hear that.

At the end of the day, while the sun was lighting up the whole stairwell through our serendipitous light shaft, Frank said he really needed a hot shower and a cold Bud Lite. So I made the formal declaration: V-Day indeed, a really productive one. I said, "Say 'Amen,' somebody!"

And the chorus arose: "Amen" and "Amen."

Technical problems

The compressor that runs the nail guns was running this morning
. . . and running, and running. Which meant that the nail guns weren't, because no one wants to risk the damn thing blowing up.

I won't go into the gory details, but Frank dissected the infernal machine and we eventually found a ruptured supply pipe, which led to a trip for copper tubing, ferrules and the word of the day: nuts.

As Kurt put it, stuff happens (though he used a different word beginning with S.)

But Frank finally pieced it all together and work resumed on the staircase paneling and the closet liners with the pa-wham of nail guns instead of the banging of hammers.

In the meantime, Bob the tile man showed up relatively quietly and began putting the subfloors in the showers.

Cabinet meeting

Tawny got to the house only a little late Tuesday, juggling the cabinet crates (with Nate's help), carefully opening the crates, checking for dings and scratches, taking detailed notes on a checklist and restacking the cartons like the strong woman she is.

The good news: All the basic boxes are in great shape, ready for installation -- and I love the color. The spacers and the blank panels that will cover the living room face of the island are particularly pretty.

The bad news: Maybe a dozen doors (most of them right ones, for some reason) have little scratches and will be replaced -- no big deal, because the cabinets can go in anyway and the new doors will be here in 10 days.

The best news: The installers are scheduled for Thursday morning.

- ■ -

I mention Tawny's tardiness not to be catty, but for contrast. She apologized profusely. Compare that with Kenny, the HVAC man, who promised last week that he'd be at the house Monday. On Monday, he promised Tuesday.

No show, of course, and no call. On previous occasions, he's blown us off by as much as a week and a half. As Judge Milian says, at this point I wouldn't believe him if his tongue was notarized.

Free labor, and worth every cent of it

It was a busy morning: Nate (back from an unavoidable absence) and Mr. B were "blocking" the stairway, putting in nailers for the paneling that Arnold was laser-cutting with the radial-arm saw.

Frank was ripping boards to make boxes around the collar ties in the den and master bedroom, and Kurt was finishing up on window frames, and cutting out sills. Arnold asked whether we might want the top edges of the sills eased a bit -- sanded maybe, or perhaps routed into a small curve. He sanded one a bit, then pulled out the router . . . and I saw a job that might match my limited skills.

After a quick lesson, I was routing away, putting an eighth-inch radius on the proper edges. Arnold supervised for a minute, decided I probably wasn't going to shave my fingers off or ruin too many boards (nothing that a little wood filler won't fix, anyway) and finally asked me for the camera so he could record the moment.

Fifteen sills later, I was done -- well, almost. I reminded Kurt that he'd forgotten the window way up in the stairwell dormer, so I expect we'll finish that one tomorrow.

Reluctant as I am to appear in my own blog, I didn't want to be a bad sport. So here's me checking the finish on an edge, here's the rounded edge (I am kinda proud that it's so shiny smooth, thanks to a trick Arnold taught me) and then some real carpentry: Frank's boxes on the den beams.

Back to business

When I got to the house Monday, Brantley greeted me with a big smile and handshake and said he'd had a great Thanksgiving, sleeping most of the day.

Arnold was setting up his new worker -- the radial saw he'd brought back from his holiday trip to the mainland. He'd had some great time with his kids, but now he's back for the home stretch.

Kurt was in the den, framing windows and doors, Frank was working on the upstairs bathroom ceiling and Franklin was putting a polish coat on our drywall.

Apparently my crack about Frank chewing through wood "like a beaver on crack" had been popular holiday reading around Macon: Kurt now calls him "the Beaver," and Frank said everyone at his house had laughed at it. But at any rate, you can see his results in the fine finish on the west dormer in the guest room.

Big cartons full of kitchen cabinets had arrived just before me, so I made my way out to Home Depot, where Tawny said she'd be out first thing Tuesday to inspect the shipment and line up the installers.

When I got back to the house and stepped through the front door, I looked up again at the corner finishes that had taken my breath away just before I left last week: Arnold had installed vertical elements at both of those angles that smack you in the face as you come into the house, beautifully mated to the horizontal paneling.

And once again, I remembered why he's one of the blessings I gave thanks for last Thursday. He knows we'll be looking at those joints for the next 20 years, and he's making sure we love them every time.

Latitude adjustment

About 11:30 Monday morning I swerved a little to avoid a coconut on the road. There was a guy in a Speedo jogging on the sidewalk on the left. The dashboard said it was 79 outside, and the palms were swaying in the sea breeze.

I must be home.

Final acts

As an old showman, John Gray would have been delighted.

His obituary made the news on all three Chattanooga stations Wednesday night, and there were sweet remembrances in the press.

On Sunday, Channel 12 sent a camera crew to the visitation and got some great soundbites from friends, family and caregivers. His old neighbor, Mary Duncan, even made the trip up from Chattanooga and looked great on the evening news.

At the cemetery, we got a final duty and honor: carrying him to his place next to Amanda. The weather up on Fort Hill was spectacular -- bright, mild and breezy, in the 60s, the kind of "John Gray Day" he loved to forecast.

Afterward, when we gathered in the museum's Cultural Center, which he'd given in Amanda's memory, there was a Channel 3 crew getting more interviews.

There were meatballs and sandwiches to nibble on (of course -- sometimes I think it was no accident that he really, really loved ham), a little chocolate and a few things to sip while looking over nine decades of a life in pictures spread out on a table.

Admittedly, it was a slow news day, but John Gray led both evening newscasts one last time.

Remembering a TV pioneer

From the 11 p.m. newscast on Channel 3:

Longtime Chattanooga TV weatherman John Gray has died at the age of 92.

Visitation for Mr. Gray will be at noon Sunday, November 26 at the Jim Rush Funeral Home, 2600 N. Ocoee Street in Cleveland, TN. It will be followed by a graveside service at Fort Hill Cemetery conducted by the Rev. Joel Hufstader of St. Luke's Episcopal Church.

Mr. Gray died Tuesday, Nov. 21 in a Cleveland hospital. He was 92.

He was the 6 p.m. weatherman for WRCB-TV from 1956 until 1970. He also anchored the 11 p.m. news. From 1970 until 1979 he worked at WDEF-TV, where he did the evening weather reports.

WRCB Sports Director Randy Smith worked with Mr. Gray at WDEF from 1977 to 1979. He said, "Everybody trusted John. He didn't have the technology we have today, but he managed to get the forecast right, and he had a great voice that got your attention."

WRCB News Anchor David Carroll grew up watching Mr. Gray's weather reports, and remembers that "John Gray and newsman Mort Lloyd were an unbeatable team in this town until Mort's death in 1974. I interviewed John Gray back in the 1980's and it was an honor. He was proud of his place in Chattanooga's TV history, and he had every right to be."

Mr. Gray was born May 1, 1914 in Casey, Iowa, and was a graduate of the University of Iowa.

He served as a public relations officer for the U.S. Army during World War II, and then embarked on a broadcast career that included news and announcing posts at major CBS Radio affiliates including WBBM in Chicago and WGST in Atlanta. Before his television debut, he had a popular radio program, "Gray's Array," on Chattanooga's WDOD.

In Chicago he met his future wife, the former Amanda Thrasher of Chattanooga. They were married in 1942, and she died in 1996.

With her, he operated an antiques business, also called Gray's Array, and was one of the original organizers of the Plum Nelly Festival. They also had a gallery in Gatlinburg and were among the founders of Chattanooga's Northgate Gallery.

Mr. Gray was a generous contributor in the Cleveland charitable community, donating the Cultural Center of the Museum Center at Five Points in his late wife's memory, and providing major gifts to the Cleveland Public Library and its foundation.

Survivors include his sister, Mabel Artes, and nephew, Fred Artes, both of Golden, Colo.; and a niece, Barbara Bedell, of the Orcas Islands, Wash.

The Grays had no children, but honorary nieces and nephews are Mr. and Mrs. William Lillios, Mrs. Sally Nevin, Robert Rymer and John Teets and Mr. and Mrs. Bob Card, of Cleveland; Mr. and Mrs. Esmond Grosz, of Orange Lake, Fla.; and Mr. and Mrs. Hoyle Rymer, of DeLeon Springs, Fla.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations to the Leah F. Hoyle Fund of the Cleveland Public Library.

A sad trip to Tennessee

Robert had barely arrived in Florida -- we had a great time Monday choosing granite for countertops in Miami and ordering deck furniture in Marathon on the way back to Key West -- and then about noon Tuesday we got the sad news that our dear, old friend John Gray had just died. Thanks to some amazing action on the airlines' part, we made it back north by midnight.

He had a wonderful life -- 92 years' worth -- and we'll miss him terribly.

I think you shouldn't expect any posts until next week.

Ripping, in a good way

Some carpentry terms sound a lot more violent than they deserve.

In the first picture, for example, Arnold is ripping a board -- cutting along its length, in this case with the blade at an angle -- and Frank is helping with the thin pieces as they come from the table saw.

(Behind them, Franklin is working on the second coat of drywall "mud" on the soffit in the kitchen.)

In the second picture, they're nailing the angle-cut board flat against the intersection of the ceiling angles, "killing" the gap between the two planes.

Ideally, you apply similar solutions to the same questions throughout a house -- so in the the upstairs guest room, the valleys will have a similar beveled board; the hills will have two boards that have been beveled to make one slim cap like a V.

Another flashback

First May, then November. It's come a long way, baby.

Push, pry, nail

That's Frank on the left, Albert in the middle and Kurt on the right -- Albert levering a ceiling board into place, and the other two nailing it tight. One board after that, and that room was finished except for a bit of trim.

Some of the boards are a bit twisted, bowed or otherwise stubborn. It's hard enough to bang them into place as you stack them on a wall, making sure tongue fits into groove along the entire length.

Put the boards overhead, working against gravity as well as wayward wood, and it can be a devilish job.

Feb. 9, March 26, Nov. 17

On our way back from lunch, Arnold stopped at the thrift shop up the street to pick up a couple of wood clamps he'd seen there, and I told one of the sisters who run it that I hoped to do proud by Marvin, who owned our house before us.

"Oh, he's looking down and smiling," she said. "I mean, you did put a pool in back there, didn't you? He always wanted one."

More-igami

Compare this with yesterday's picture, taken from almost the same angle, and you'll see why I choked up a bit Friday morning.

Truth be told, some days on this project are truly overwhelming. It's been that way since the start in February: I come in, look around, and see something that makes me find a quiet place where no one can see that my eyes are wet.

Frank has been cutting through lumber like a beaver on crack. And the painter I was showing around today, so he could come up with a bid, had what I think will be a typical reaction:

"That's an amazing ceiling."

Origami in pine

I told Frank on Thursday that if anyone in the upstairs guest room ever has trouble sleeping, all he'll have to do is to start counting the planes in the ceiling.

He had the good grace to laugh, but the thing has been giving him nightmares.

Angles aren't much of a problem, but intersections are, and every so often he calls a conference with Arnold and me to discuss solutions.

Describing the ones we've arrived at is difficult without a ton of verbiage, so i'll leave it at this:

Trust me. They'll be gorgeous. You'll see.

Testing, 1, 2, 3, testing . . .

In the immortal words of Robert's brother, Hoyle, "One experiment is worth a thousand opinions."

Which is why I went to the paint store today and talked with a guy who's been selling paint for 30 years, rather than 30 weeks, and got the lowdown on paint-staining wood -- a technique Robert and I have been talking about since the pine started going up.

With thinner, rags and paint in hand, I made it back to the house and did a few tests with various dilutions and setting times on some chunks of scrap. Raw wood is on the right; a short set is in the middle; a longer set is on the left. (Robert's fave regular paint is in the background.) Click the pic and you'll see the grain better.

I think I still want a more intense yellow, which should be fairly easy to get, while retaining all that grain. But with Robert coming this weekend, we'll both be able to vote -- me with one ballot, and him with one every minute or so.

In a word, wow

When I got to the house Wednesday morning to show a prospective painter around the place so he could submit a bid, the sound track was a symphony of sawing, hammering and nailing.

Arnold was in the little guest room, and he'd already paneled the front wall.

Kurt and Brantley were way up the east ceiling in the master bedroom and going strong, notching panels so they could accommodate the collar ties (which, unlike those in the big ceiling, will be sheathed in paneling).

And upstairs, Frank was running a hot chop saw to start on the big puzzle: what Ref always called "that chopped-up roof."

In the top picture, looking out toward the loft (and the big ceiling, done but for a central trim beam), you see where Frank started: the second floor gable. The guy knows how to cut boards: Slice 'em right, and you can use the leftovers from Section A to face Section C, which is why you see pieces stacked and ready to go.

The second picture was from later in the day, and it reflected proportionate progress all through the room.

Around that time, Dollie stopped by on her way to the grocery to say hello.

"How about that ceiling?," I asked with a grin. She hadn't noticed, but she looked up in the big room and said, "Wow!"

I took her into the master bedroom, and she looked up where Kurt was working out the notches (as you can see in the bottom two pictures; at the saw, he's tilted the board for a tighter match to the ceiling tie). "Wow!," she said, and caught herself. "I should have something more articulate to say, but that just slipped out."

Then we went upstairs to admire Frank's handiwork. "Wowwww!!," she said, and then started laughing at herself. "It's the best word for all this -- but I really do need to spend some more time with my dictionary."

Rock and roll

That's Franklin installing metal corners on the living room soffit Wednesday morning, while Arnold and Mr. B go over some paperwork.

Note Franklin's nifty little cart. Work on a stretch, then shift a bit, and it rolls on to the next little section. Sheet rock and roll.

He's ready to tape and "mud" -- but for one thing, and I could not make this up if I tried: The screwing inspector.

I'm sure the city's toughness on building codes is a simple pendulum swing from wilder and woolier days. Franklin, like the other subs Ref hired, has an impeccable reputation -- but they still want to check his screwing, so we've called for an inspection Thursday.

Still, I guess I shouldn't be surprised on an island where I have to get my house paint certified as appropriate.

Ruffles, flourishes

I don't know the name of the plant, but our neighbors, the Clarks, have it in abundance on the den side of our house.
- ■ -
Imagine Old Bess one consonant earlier -- Floriana, instead of Gloriana -- with these on her fine neck.

The ties that bind

I took this picture Tuesday when the dust was settling around noon.

Brantley and Kurt, who'd already done the front-facing wall just around the corner to the left, had just begun a quick lunch break after starting up the loft ceiling.

Arnold and Frank were off ordering doors.

Franklin had finished the upstairs drywall and was moving his stuff downstairs so he could tackle the water-heater cubbyhole.

And there I was alone again at eye level with my beloved collar ties.

Five months ago, when I first spent some time up close and personal with them, I said, "I think the contrast between the new wood ceilings and the old wood ties will be just wonderful."

I think I was right, and of course they're even older than I'd thought then -- from the early 1880s.

Today I got a piece of sandpaper and buffed off a bit of the oxidation on a side you wouldn't see from the door. Sure enough, the old hand sawing marks stood out smartly.

"Oh my goodness," said Franklin, who'd come back upstairs for a sawhorse. "It really makes you think about how they built these places." It does indeed.

Monday's other masterpiece

Here's what I showed Brantley working on yesterday -- the media wall in the den, as seen through the door from the big room.

As ever, Arnold paid great attention to detail, for example the casing-as-trim at the top. Eventually the edges will be milled a bit, but you get the idea.

Also eventually, the bottom center will have double doors covering an office/computer nook. A big flat-screen will hang just above. On either side will be cedar closets.

That side-to-side board along the bottom, by the way, is there just to establish a level base line one board high. It will come out (to be replaced by short boards cut to fit and wedged in) and then be recycled in a ceiling.

Every time I look at this wall, I'll think of what a Stafford/Sherman production our house has been: Ref built the room, Shawn framed the office/closet structure and Arnold clad it with a beautiful face.

Fall color in paradise

An orchid tree today on Fleming Street.

Ho. Ly. Cow.

Kurt and Frank got into town from Macon Sunday, huddled with Arnold Sunday night, and came out swinging (and measuring, and sawing, and nailing) on Monday morning.

It was a fairly cool day, starting out in the mid-70s, but they'd still worked up a good sweat by 9. They take work seriously.

I'll let the pictures speak, since I'm about speechless. So here's Monday morning, midday and afternoon -- with the fourth shot a teaser for what you're going to see tomorrow. (There's only so much I can absorb -- or transmit -- in one day.)

- ■ -

And the tease for Tuesday . . .

Going, going . . .

"Hey, John," I heard behind me as I was walking from the house.

And there was Michael, the manager at La Trattoria, coming down our street on his bike.

I quickly apologized for not dropping by in a while -- there's the budget, plus the question of eating alone -- and said I'd make sure to come in this weekend to celebrate the paneling.

"I'm not there anymore," he said, which is about like Mickey not being in Orlando.

Virgilio Vitale founded the restaurant at Duval and Applerouth in 1984, and it's passed down through the family since. But it seems Carmelo and Carolyn got a too-tempting offer from a pair of guys from Texas. And when the family left, so did Michael.

C&C will still be in Key West -- devoting more time to the Bottle Cap, down near Camille's, which they bought a few years back and are turning into quite a fun club. Michael's staying on the island, too, though he wants a day job for a change.

Just goes to prove that it's true, from Heraclitus to Quincy Jones: Everything must change.

Make an exception for the tortellini alla romana, dammit.

- ■ -

People thought Michael Patrick was gone, but no.

He's the escape artist who hangs upside down in chains and a straitjacket at the Mallory Square sunset celebration. On Halloween, which he pointed out was the anniversary of Houdini's death, he hopped over to the water's edge, swathed in said chains and straitjacket, and plummeted into the water like a stone. And stayed gone. Bubble. Bubble. Bubble.

Tourists freaked out, leaving the scene of the fruitless search shocked, some weeping. Fellow sunset performers freaked out, too; some jumped in to try to save him. Then the harbor scuba cops, and the sheriff's divers, and the Coast Guard, who all searched for the body into the night. . .

And into the morning, when he was found sleeping, along with his girlfriend and his dog, in a Truman Avenue guest house (somebody snitched), and thence transported to the county clink.

Government agencies put the tab for the searches at $25,000, which happens to be half the amount required to spring him on bail, so he's still the sheriff's s guest. So much for his prowess at real escapes. And the grand finale: he's been banned for life from Sunset.