I'm Floored: The Terra Cotta Tiles Are Going In!

Today, the reclaimed French pavers that we've had sitting outside under a tarp (for two years) are finally going in! Yeah! I can't tell you how excited I am. Our terra cotta pavers are century-old pavers, reclaimed and shipped from France—at least that's what the guy from Craig's List told us. I had my eye on this style of paver for some time, but the best price we could find in Los Angeles was around $18 per square foot and that was not in our budget. During one of my random searches on Craig's list, I found these beautiful little creatures at less than a third of the price. It was a huge stroke of luck because I'd never seen French pavers on Craig's list before, nor have I seen them appear again. 

With colors of moss, amber and bordeaux, this terra cotta tile (called Chateau Parefeuille) is wondrously timeless. In 100 years, they'll still look good. If floor tiles were food, these would likely be scones or croissants or an earthy rosemary baguette. My thinking: If these tiles lasted a few centuries already, I don't expect our dogs can do them much harm. And when the sun hits them through the sky lights—watch them cast a golden glow—just like the crust of a fire-grilled pizza. Getting hungry just thinking about it. : )

A discussion of terra cotta tiles would not be complete without a few examples from actual Provence vacation homes. Here's a nice one installed at an angle. They look wonderful next to fresh white walls and light colored cabinetry.

Here's a sample of tiles laid in another traditional tile pattern: We opted for this pattern in our kitchen. But running against (not in the same direction as) the longest distance of the room. 

This image is from Bramasole, the actual villa used in the movie "Under the Tuscan Sun," one of my inspiration houses. It's another traditional way to lay the floor. We started with this version, but opted for the more simplistic version shown above because with less angles, it would require less tile and we might eek out enough surplus to tile the sunroom and bathroom, too.

Another pretty kitchen floor!

These tiles look to be quite large and square. Pretty, but I still prefer the more rectangular shapes.

Another Provence kitchen. Rustic, yet timeless. 

This living room is located somewhere in Santa Barbara, Calif. There appears to be a lot of brown tones in the clay used to make these tiles.

Here's a shot of our tiles stacked in the backyard. Can't wait to clean up this pile and have some room for the kids to play!

Here is a shot of our kitchen with our new stone wall installed. We had to demolish the old kitchen right down to the original floor boards. The pieces of metal, of course, are where we had to patch up holes in the old wood planks. As a completely irrelevant aside, that little square cut-out on the wall will be a little secret wall niche for teas or a cell phone charging station. Right now, my daughter uses it to take imaginary ice cream cone orders. I'll have a twist with sprinkles, please.

Here's a shot of the underlay paper and the Wonderboard as it was going being installed. The entire floor was covered with these hardi-backer boards (they are screwed in) and then the seams were taped and sprayed with adhesive. 

A shot of our tiles at the onset of the job. We chose a band of 6.5" square tiles because we had a surplus of those. They will create the border for the 8" x 14" rectangular tiles. The traditional way of laying these tiles entails a very small grout line, hence ours are pretty tight. Because the grout lines are so small, we must go with a sandless grout. We chose the quartz color: an oyster-shell hue, a shade or two lighter than their "Dorian gray."

The kitchen is almost halfway tiled at this point--awaiting grouting, of course. with the afternoon sun streaming through the back door, I already want to take my shoes off and walk barefoot across it! Our crew will finish the placement on Monday and then, we'll determine if we'll go with the traditional boiled linseed oil and antique beeswax finish or a more modern chemical finish and sealant. From what I've read, using the linseed oil and beeswax makes your house smell wonderful, but you do have to do regular maintenance with the beeswax to maintain the tiles. I've also heard that linseed can change the color of the tiles--sometimes bringing out more red tones, which is not what I want, so we'll have to experiment first before committing to this method. I will be sure to report back on our progress with new pics!

Pools of Reflection: An Essay on Patience (Sort of)

Pools of Reflection

Originally written September 10, 2010

“Is the pool done?”

This has been a question asked by well-meaning friends for nearly six, maybe seven years now. Perhaps longer. We lost count somewhere after 2003. I could go back and check my receipts, but such a task would be far too daunting—not to mention demoralizing. Does it take six—or argh—seven years to renovate a pool? How could it? People build an entire house in less time? A concert hall. The freakin space shuttle.

“But what you don’t realize is that it wasn’t just the pool,” says my well-meaning husband, a cross between Indiana Jones, Dr. Who, Rain Man and Oscar the Grouch.

“You forgot that we also renovated the guest house, the garage, built a shed, buried the power lines, installed drainage pipes, new gas lines…blah, blah, blah.” After he recites the fifth or sixth item on his list, I’ve already tuned out.

Being the stay-at-home half of our union, he was always the natural candidate-elect for house repairs. Not that I could have gone out and hired someone else to do it anyway. He would have found a million reasons why no one else could have done the job, but him. And he did.

Since he’s an engineer (read: automotive), I thought he could handle the job. But engineers are cut from a crafty, if not bull-headed, cloth. And three or four years into the project, I’ll admit I started to have my doubts. At first we joked that he wasn’t renovating a pool, he was building a teleportation device. And after his regular phone calls and email correspondence with NASA scientists about the pool—I did start to wonder. (More on our state-of-the-art, eco-friendly, no-chlorine filtration system in a future post.)

The crap really hit the fan after our daughter Zjena (pronounced Shenna) was born. My husband promised that the pool would be finished for my maternity leave. Along with my visualizations that my labor would be easy and over in under an hour (read: It wasn’t by a long shot), I had put a lot of visualization juice into imagining myself with our new baby poolside June through August 2006, which was my planned leave from work. Nursing by the pool. Staying hydrated by the pool. Working on my screenplay while the baby slept by the pool. Yes—I attached great emotion of joy to all of these images. So, if someone would consider that I just didn’t visualize strongly enough: well, I beg to differ. Which led me to believe there was some other element at work. An unconscious negative thought form perhaps. Mercury in retrograde? Or worse, bad karma. It was probably the latter.

By 2007, the pool started to become a big sticking point. It was inevitably the focal point of most arguments. No matter how an argument was started, it could always be obfuscated or escalated by my throwing the pool—and the small point about its lack of being finished—into the mix. It was like gasoline. Poof. My mom’s phone calls when she would ask if the pool would be finished by the time she came out to visit next—no, it wasn’t—didn’t help either.

Really there was no shortage of reasons why it was taking so god awful long. There were so many good reasons. Many days, our trade people just didn’t show up. They would say they were coming. Then, they wouldn’t show. Car trouble, family deaths, unexpected hospital stays, and a slurry of unidentified personal emergencies were the sundry assortment of reasons. And each one had their quirks, which we tended to overlook because our budget did not allow for less quirky hired help. One didn’t speak any English. One sang Mexican opera whenever he worked. And one brought his familial entourage, namely his sister, her boyfriend and their two kids—a toddler and baby. And sometimes the trade people would make mistakes. Like the time they installed the flagstone around the pool higher than the bottom of the French doors on the guesthouse next to the pool, which meant the doors could never be opened.

“No problem,” the one guy said. “We can just cut a few inches off the bottom of the doors.”

“But wouldn’t that create a huge gap under the doors?” I asked.

They scratched their heads and looked at each other grimly. 

Then, there was the department of Building and Safety. Don’t get me started. Suffice it to say, the only reason our Jacuzzi was finally approved was because one of the inspectors had a bad case of gas, diarrhea and/or intestinal flu. He signed off on our Jacuzzi (which my husband designed, dug out and constructed mostly by himself) because he just had to get out of there—and fast. It’s that simple.

And, then there’s the pool slide, of course. Since we were converting our old 1970s blue liner pool to a stone pool (my bright idea), we also had to remove the old fiberglass slide and replace it with a cement slide (my bright idea again) because that would look more natural. As if a cement slide is natural. Add to this the feng shui lady, the one who “feng shuid” The Grove, a shi shi mall in Los Angeles—a consultant I had interviewed for my work at the magazine, and so, she gave me a discounted hourly rate—who insisted that we had to twist the slide so that the water would always run toward the house, not away from it. Water running away was apparently not something you want in the wealth corner of your property! So, what we ended up with was a 20 foot twisting monstrosity that resembles a cross between the Matterhorn and Splash Mountain, which is likely a big insurance payoff waiting to happen. But luckily, most kids will be too terrified to slide down it anyway.

While I can report that the pool is now finished (permit and all), I did learn a few things from that big stupid hole in the ground. Some surprising things. One of which was taught by my very own daughter, who is now four.

All through the pool construction, she was never daunted as I was. She never once complained or worried what our houseguests would think about its sorry state. To her it was always perfect, which is to say she fully enjoyed the pool when it was empty and an eyesore. At one point, it held her sand box and several blow-up kiddie pools. She rode her skateboard around it. And she could busy herself for a good half hour by tying her jump rope to the stairs in the deep end, and using it to hike out like a mountain climber. We also discovered that if you worked up enough speed you could run around the inclined walls, defying gravity. When her father and I would run in separate directions we looked a lot like those circus acts with the motorcycles in the cage. And when the winter rains came to LA, she would take her dad’s hand and go swimming in it. Frolicking in the dirty water like a joy-filled chimney sweep. Sometimes I wonder if it was all her energy—the happy high-octane stuff—that got the pool finished after all. To her, the pool was already finished. It was always perfect. And now that it’s filled with water, it’s a new adventure, but not necessarily better or more fun than it was when it was empty.

More Before and After on the Pool and Backyard: A Reminder That Mess Eventually Equals Progress

Before and After on the Pool

Before and After of the Guesthouse Outdoor Kitchen Area

This stainless-steel outdoor kitchen (made in America by the way--Torrance, Calif.) has been a godsend now that the kitchen in the main house is completely under construction. The side burner handles everything from soup to noodles. We even bake cookies on the BBQ.

Before and After of the new pool slide. We added a lot of trees on the South side to give us privacy. All we had originally was this five foot wooden fence. Just beyond these chairs is where the slide was ultimately placed.

You can see all of those trees here. They were five foot trees when we planted the row of them, but they shot right up in no time and create a wall of privacy that does need to be trimmed from time to time to ensure we get full sunlight on the pool and not too much shade.

Before and After of the backyard area. Notice all of that dirt to the right. That was what was dug out to create the hole for the new jacuzzi. Talk about a lot of work--and my husband (see pic) gets the credit for that back-breaking endeavor. Eventually, all of the dirt piled up on the right was used to create the mound for the new slide and waterfall area.

Woah. What a mess!

This is a view outside the front door of the guest house looking up toward the back of the house. The mess is gone and flagstone has taken its place. You can close the back gate and really feel like you're in another world. Wow--that really was a lot of flagstone—called Wolf's Creek—that went into this backyard.  

Another view of the pool in progress and this isn't even the worst of the earliest before photos. We really built up the rear of the backyard to create the giant cement slide and waterfall. Was it all worth it? The squeals of excitement heard in the next little video clip reminds me that it was. Everyone is enjoying the finished pool and slide! For our family, this was a many-year project (I hate to say how many years it actually took), but thankfully—it's now a dream come true. 

Reading List: Books That Inspired This Journey

OK. I admit it. I get quite a bit of inspiration from walking through IKEA. And I found this book during my last trip to the giant furniture store. It's published by Ikea Family, and so Ikea does influence the style depicted in these rooms, but it doesn't dictate it.  A pictorial review of nine Swedish homes, this book is a treasure trove of ideas. What's wonderful about the Scandinavian farmhouse design it its lightness. Because sun is not as golden in Sweden as it is in California for most of the year, homes there must maximize the feeling of lightness, hence all the blonde woods and white furnishings that Ikea is known for. The design is also relaxed and makes such smart use of space with wonderful ideas for storage. After reading this book, we've started to carve out niches in the interior walls of our home. Not sure what we'll use them for just yet: cell phone charging station, wine bottles, boxes of tea. Who knows?

You can't design a farmhouse without going a little farther north to Ireland to get some tips. I love the sparsely decorated, open-air feeling created by the great rooms shown in this book. The concrete floors warmed up by plenty of wood notes and white walls really sold me on this look for our house. We'll be adapting a vanity cast from concrete that I found in this book for our own second bathroom.

This is one of my favorite books and may be the first inspiration for our remodel. Something about the truly enchanted artist colony in Carmel, Calif., and its characteristic fairy-tale style that really ignited my imagination. This book opened my eyes to the possibilities of creating a writer's retreat, a home that by its very design could fuel new ways of thinking about things. A writer myself, I loved the crooked chimneys, nooks, alcoves, libraries and writer lofts depicted in this book. My old traditional house style just seemed too square and boring after I looked at these timeless homes. My family made a road trip to Carmel after I read this book and had a wonderful time. I took plenty of photographs of actual Carmel homes by the sea to further fuel my fantasies of one day living in one in Los Angeles.

Ah, this book was also a very early inspiration and introduced me to some great fundamentals of design. In such a helpful way, the author prompts inquiries and reflections about how you want to feel in your space and then, elucidates you on how simple design elements—many inspired from Chinese and Ayurvedic design principles—can evoke feelings of peace, calm, movement, lively social engagement, balance, etc. I find myself returning to the images and tips in this book again and again, always reminding myself not to over-decorate or over-do anything. It expresses the beauty of simple, clean, organic spaces and timeless, natural building materials.

Believe it or not I bought this beautiful book at a car wash. After looking at these soothing outdoor living images, I couldn't put it down. Somehow the simplest things: a folded chair by the beach, an outdoor table lit by old hanging lanterns, a piece of wood mounted as a primitive shelf reminded me of how soothing rustic, natural elements can be.  In addition to the movie Under the Tuscan Sun, this book's promise of a relaxed, comfortable outdoor lifestyle inspired our entire backyard renovation. In fact, the decision to turn our blue liner pool into a stone pool was catalyzed entirely by this incredible cover photo. And I must admit, my latest obsession with gypsy wagons came from this book. I've spent many nights on Craig's list and Ebay trying to find an affordable one for sale!

I purchased this book when our renovation started to get more serious. It discusses the nuts-and-bolds of traditional building materials and methods used in Italy and has been a go-to resource time and time again. Floors, ceilings, furnishings, windows and doors are all covered in detail in this book. I was sold on finding reclaimed terra cotta tiles after looking at the ones shown in this book. 

Another great book on Italian design.

No country farmhouse design would be complete without some tips from architecture and interior and designer John Saladino. I learned of him after reading one of my favorite blogs: Velvet and Linen. And then, once I heard his name, I kept seeing it repeated elsewhere again and again. He is a master of relaxed, but classic design. Simple, yet elegant. Rustic, yet refined. All those juxtapositions are expressed seemingly effortlessly in his homes.

Reading this book forced me to straddle the two worlds of Italy and France. Each design style is similar, and yet--also different in many ways. My style borrows from both.

I must have about four of these quarterly Tuscan Style magazines. And while I see many of the images therein repeated online, I never tire of turning through these glossy pages again and again. 

Renovation Realities: It's Not All Roses Under the Tuscan Sun

We have officially passed the one year mark of living through our home renovation. If this blog were a sea captain's log, this entry may be the one where a long, arduous journey on a tumultuous sea has taken its toll on the ship and its mates leaving everyone wondering when land will finally appear and how much more they can possibly take cooped up on board. Here, the captain would likely be taking inventory of gains and losses, reflecting on his or her mistakes and challenges over the last year, and hint in the journal's subtext—although ever so subtly—to the real possibility of a mutiny.
   Around May of 2012, the dismantling of our kitchen sent our family of four (and two dogs) packing into our two-room guest house. At first, it was a delightful break from routine. And we were relieved to escape the clamor and dust of the main house. Since we renovated our backyard first, our setup was not altogether primitive. We were freshly squeezing oranges from the trees in those early weeks and enjoying sunny afternoons by the pool. So, at first, it was delightfully reminiscent of camping. I remember even making a sorbet from mint and basil grown in our yard, adapted from a recipe I happened upon in my Under the Tuscan sun book. How blissfully ignorant I was of how long it would really take us to get back into our house. I had visions of making Thanksgiving dinner in our new kitchen. Not even close!
   While our guest house has no kitchen, it does have an outdoor barbecue with a useful side burner. And  early on we moved the big french door refrigerator from the main house to just outside the front door of the guest house. Not pretty, but useful. Unless, of course, you have a late night craving and have to venture out into the dark of night in PJs and bare feet to get a snack. This job I usually leave for my husband, who often delivers a nice selection of cheeses and wine after the kids go to bed.
Certainly most sane people who renovate their homes move into apartments. But, we are trying to save money, of course. Living in our guest house could be potentially saving us thousands, so we have never entertained any other option.
   While the winters in Southern California are nothing like the snowbank-filled winters of my youth growing up in Syracuse, New York, it can still get pretty cold at night. Try washing dishes outside in 40 degree weather. Another job for my husband, who often leaves it for morning when the sun comes out again. And it must be noted that there is quite a bit of rustling heard in the orange trees at night. I heard footsteps on the roof of the guest house the other evening as I lie in bed, so heavy I thought there was a man running across. A very large rat? Racoon? Or chupacabra!
   Christmas in the guest house was another challenge. While we tried to keep gifts to a minimum, the issue of not enough space is always a challenge and readily apparent. If I were to take a snapshot of our main-room at this instant, you'd see cereal and macaroni and cheese boxes stacked up on open shelves, a new-gift guitar messily stashed above the highest book shelf and linens crammed into a box above our only wardrobe, which can never be opened because my son's basket of Christmas toys are sitting in front of it. Having no room to store many clothes in the guest house actually makes the selection of one's daily attire a little bit easier: You just wear the same thing you wore the day before! Unless, of course, your one-year-old smeared his nose, blueberry face and hands all over it, which nine times out of 10 is the case!
   Ah, but how can I be complaining? I know I shouldn't. I am grateful to have a house and the means with which to renovate it. And yet, I must admit, there are times when the doubt sets in and lingers. Did we do the right thing? Should we have made less changes? Why does everything cost so much? Will we ever be able to move back in? Will we have to sell this house when it's all finished because we can't afford it? Why doesn't the electrician ever show up when he says he will and will he ever return? Will be ever be able to stop making runs to Home Depot at 9 O'clock at night?
   The other day—when glancing through some old photographs, my 6-year-old daughter said she really missed our old house. And while I assured her that her new bedroom would be even more wonderful than the last, I couldn't help but to feel a few stabbing pangs of loss for our old house. It wasn't so bad, I thought. While I sometimes used to enter my old purple kitchen with my eyes averted to certain areas that I loathed—the lighting, the old linoleum floor, the tattered back door, an oven from the 60s that smoked...I could go on...what I wouldn't give to be able to cook in there now. To wash dishes and be able to find a glass or bowl when I need one! To have a bath in the old bath tub! To watch TV again! Ah, the good old days when we had a satellite dish and movie channels, which by the way, was removed with the old roof as we decided it wasn't worth hooking back up until we were living in the main house again.
   As I write this, the exterior of our home is now complete. And that is something to be truly grateful for, especially since it has rained quite a bit in these past few weeks. A new roof, new stucco, new stone walls, new rain gutters. It's quite beautiful and while there are little details to still attend to on the outside, such as staining and painting the doors and windows and installing hardware, the lions share—including the most challenging parts of our total reno—are all behind us. My husband, though weary, is tireless and deserves quite a bit of credit for keeping this train full steam ahead. Beyond being the chief engineer of this project who solves unsolvable problems by the minute, he's also the voice of reason and hope—and for that, I am truly most grateful.
   We're working on the inside of the house now. And while we must admit we do get tired of this renovation, we are still excited about getting so close to its finish. Hold onto your hard hats.
   "Ahoy, maties. I think I see land!"

Ventura California Home Inspiration

 We made a special house material run to Santa Barbara on the weekend after Thanksgiving (more about that trip in a future blog), and couldn't resist stopping in Ventura on the way back. This is one of my favorite little towns. With cute little shops and restaurants, it's super-quaint and still a little undiscovered. It's also a veritable treasure trove of thrift and antique stores. Although I haven't taken an official count, there must be easily more than 10 in the little village (main street and side streets). And the prices are exceptional. You'd be hard-pressed to find unique items at some of these prices in Los Angeles. Of course, our first stop in Ventura always involves eating (can't shop on an empty stomach). Since it was a little rainy, we ordered the coconut soup at this cute little Thai restaurant called Rice. And accompanied it with a pot of tea. We arrived just in time on Saturday as the restaurant closes for a few hours in the mid-afternoon (so the staff can eat their lunch) and then reopens for dinner. There were quite a few people who stopped in to eat (and had traveled from far distances), only to discover quite disappointedly that the kitchen was closed!

 The architecture of the buildings in Ventura add to the quaint old-town ambiance. Notice the nice columns here. Who knew there was a Bank of Italy in Ventura?

One of the many antique stores. There is so much stuffed crammed into these stores, you have to walk very slowly to take it all in.

 More funky stuff.

I always find I get home decorating inspiration from shops and M. Frederic on Main St. is a perfect example. I was drawn right in by the sparkly chandelier with the white washed brick and lintel way in the back. I could live in this store.

 Now, here's a secret find: Called American Home and Garden, this shop is must-stop in Ventura. I'm always amazed at how less expensive many of the items are in this store (compared to shops in Los Angeles.) They also have their own blog called chateauetjardin.com or chateauetjardin.blogspot.com if you'd like to check it out.

I've been thinking about getting one of these big clock faces as some art work in our main great room. And they had several nice ones at American Home.

I do love stacked suitcases, especially when they are as vintage-looking as these guys.  Whoever displays the items in this store does a great job. Each little consignment corner displays so many great vignettes of intriguing items.

Could these suitcases make a bedside table? And wow--provide extra storage for items you don't need every day such as old photo albums.

This hanging bench has me pondering where I could put it—or something like it. I'm convinced our livingroom should have a swing/couch.

Another of our usual stops in Ventura is The Bella Maggiore Inn. They have a fabulous restaurant called Nona's Courtyard Cafe that is a lovely little secret hideaway. If my friend Susan had not told me about it many years ago, I never would have found it. I've never had a bad meal here. Some wonderful omelets and grilled veggie sandwiches.

A pretty little fountain inside Nona's Courtyard cafe. The magical sound of the water cascading relaxes you as soon as you sit down at your table. My daughter has always enjoyed the freedom of playing at this fountain while we've waited for our meals. A few pennies have been wished upon here and I can say that it must be a special fountain because more than a few of those penny-tossed dreams have come true.