Bathroom Overhaul

     Once upon a time, there was a bathroom, a not-very-big bathroom.  One wall was taken up by the bathtub, a one-piece tub-shower with surround, made of fiberglass.

     It was scratched and looked soiled.  Scrubbing and scouring only made it look dirtier.  Centered on the wall opposite of the bathtub was a vanity, a one-piece fiberglass vanity.  About a one-foot space bordered each side of the vanity.  The vanity, too, looked worn.

      On the third wall sat the toilet.  It sat pretty close to the tub on the right and the left front corner of the vanity on the left as you sat.  It was a small bathroom. 

     The fourth wall was, of course, the doorway.  Closing the door to use the facility revealed a mirror attached to the inside of the door.  You could view yourself while sitting on the commode.

     The interior decorators and floor planners among us soon determined that given all the details, shall we say liabilities, of the room, it needed a makeover.  The destruction crew made short work of the tub, stool, and vanity.  A reciprocating saw segmented the surround and separated it from the tub.  Once the vanity and stool were gone, the tub relinquished ground it had held for nearly thirty years.

  

      Some of the floor had rotted and had to be replaced.  A vinyl tile or linoleum clung pugnaciously to the subfloor.  Removal left a rough surface.  Once the rotted portion had been replaced, the floor got the same treatment as the rest of the house:  Kilz oil base primer.  It covers stains and seals in smells.  (Previous owners had four dogs, little yappy ones, that weren’t very well house trained, plus a cat, for a few years.)

     A wise man once said any fool can destroy.  It takes a craftsman to build, repair and/or replace.   

     The first goal was getting the new steel tub in place.  There had to be some plumbing done.  The new faucet was different than the old, of course.  Flexible pipe and slip on fittings made the task fairly easy.  The drain needed no modification. 

      The tub was reluctant.  The five-foot tub had to go next to wall studs on either end.  We had to get it past half inch sheetrock bordering the tub on either end.  Some sheetrock had to be removed. 

     The left end wasn’t much of a problem.  It required moving four or five inches of sheetrock from a corner and up 17 or 18 inches high.  The tub still wouldn’t go in.

     The right end was solid wall, no corners or offsets.  We cut one piece out and found we had to roll the tub slightly.  The sheetrock had to be cut higher.  By holding the tub very straight, perpendicular to the end walls, not at an angle, it finally slid in to place.

       The floor planners “suggested” the stool should be relocated to sit beside the vanity on the wall opposite the bathtub.  The vanity could be moved to the right and adjoin two walls.  That would eliminate the useless space on either end of the vanity.

       This was major plumbing.  An underlayment had to go down to cover up the rough spots on the floor before the hole for the new stool could be cut out.  Once the hole was cut, then the plumbing could be done.

      The new drainpipe had to serve the vanity and the shower in the second bathroom as well as the new location for the stool.  It took a day or two, not actual work, but a lot of head scratching.

        The planners selected tile for the tub surround.  Cement board installed on the studs provided the base for the tile.  Ravaged sheetrock had to be replaced, including  tape and texture.

     Two-foot by one-foot tile went on fairly easily and quickly.  A borrowed professional tile cutter facilitated things.  Built-in shelves provided a challenge.  The challenge grew when bull nose tile that was supposedly in stock could be found only in Texas, two weeks away.

     Tile folks suggested metal borders to cover up the shelf corners.  To look nice, the metal trim had to be cut and fitted with 45-degree angles with very little room for error.  It got done, but the shelves took longer than the rest of the tiling project.

      Joints have been grouted, and at press time, the tile only needs sealer applied and it’s ready to go.  Tub and shower spouts and the control handle will complete the tub job.

       The walls will be painted, the new floor put down, the stool and vanity set, and the bathroom should be complete. 

      The second bathroom awaits.  The planners have already been to work.

       

Smart Phone

   “We didn’t buy anything from Tracphone, did we?  I just got an email from MasterCard asking if we authorized a purchase.”

      Pause.  “Yes, I bought you a phone for Christmas.  Merry Christmas.”  It was December 15.  I did my shopping early.  I was proud of myself.  Then, this.

     The phone arrived a few days later.  The Goodwife declined to get her present early, so I dutifully hid it in my sock drawer until December 24, when I got around to wrapping it.  It was dutifully unwrapped on December 25. 

     It sat around on the counter for a week.  On a cold day in January, I made up my mind we had to attack the usual frustrations that attend learning how to activate and use a computer.  The first instruction allowed us to procrastinate further:  charge the device.

      Some hours later when the phone was fully charged, we chose to go online rather than spend an hour in a holding pattern on the phone waiting for customer service.  We navigated the shoals of apps and ads, many of which we probably did not need.  We signed away another chunk of our privacy to Google. 

     Lock the screen?  A high degree of safety, the instructions said.  But then, every time the phone shut itself down due to inactivity, while we tried to figure out the “prompts”, we had to put in a pin to start it up again.  What a pain. 

      The Goodwife had reached her tolerance level.  It took awhile, but eventually, I found “settings” and chose to go with no security and have things open up when you start up the phone.

       Eventually, I got to the order to dial a phone number.  I dialed the Goodwife’s old number.  Nothing happened.  Back to the instructions.  If the call doesn’t go through, hang up, wait a few minutes, and try again.  I did.  It worked.

       I took her phone and gave her the smart phone.  I dialed the new number from her old phone.  The smart phone rang.  And rang.  And rang.  How do you answer the dang thing?

      I took the smart phone.  She dialed the new number from her old phone.  I couldn’t figure out how to answer it.  Back to the instructions.  Nothing.

      Fortunately, there are other inept people out there.  A google search on the old laptop found an inquiry from another bumbler, how do you answer the phone when it rings, and an answer.  Swipe the phone icon toward the center of the screen.

      I dialed the new number on my old flip phone.  When the smart phone rang, I found the old-fashioned receiver rocking back and forth on the screen.  I put my grubby finger on it and swiped toward the center of the screen.  It worked!  I was having a conversation with myself on two phones.

     It’s not the first time I have had a conversation with myself.  But in the olden days, it wasn’t necessary to rely on Verizon or T-Mobile in order to give myself a good talking to.

      Once again I handed the smart phone to the Goodwife.  I dialed the number.  It rang.  She swiped the screen.  We were connected.  We had a long distance conversation over the island counter.  We said goodbye and hung up.  That was enough for one day.

      The smart phone now spent a few days idling around in the Goodwife’s purse.  She still has the old flip phone that everybody calls.  We will have to figure out how to transfer her old number to the new phone before she will be forced to rely on and really learn how to use the new phone.

       It was a Thursday night, the night we were to join the book club and discuss The Girls of the Atomic Club.  The meeting was at the Verboten Brewery.  I was pretty sure I knew the way, but as we left the driveway, I persuaded the Goodwife to dig out her new phone and open it up.

     Hit the “Apps” button.  Hit “Google”.  Hit maps.  I dictated as I drove.  The voice-activated feature isn’t set up yet, apparently.  Is there a keyboard?  Yes.    Type in Verboten.  Before she could get it all done, “brewery” appeared.  OK.

      About two blocks from our destination, “Bitchin’ Betty” was instructing me where to turn.  Yea!  One small step for the electronically retarded.  Many miles to go, however.

     Rome wasn’t built in a day.  Neither was Cleopatra, according to The Three Stooges. 

      We can now answer the phone and use its GPS feature.  One of these days, we will work on some other app, like maybe the camera function or something. 

      Maybe now the Goodwife can avoid the embarrassment of pulling out an old flip phone in front of her friends.  I don’t embarrass that easily.