Leaky Roofs
My husband and I longed to live at the beach, so several years ago we bought the only house we could afford on the Isle of Palms. Originally built on Sullivan’s Island in the 1940s as a doctor’s office, it had been moved to the IOP, put up on stilts and remodeled into a beach cottage sometime in the 1960s – a very small, traditional, old beach cottage. Within a few years of moving in, things started falling off the walls in the guest bath…mirrors, shelves, etc. That’s when we noticed mold growing in the guest closet and discovered that the walls along that side of the house were damp. We had a major roof leak.
It was the fall after Katrina, and I think all of the roofers were down in Louisiana. It took about six weeks for me to finally get someone out to look at the roof, and then it was going to be a fortune to get a new one. And it was so bad that it couldn’t be patched.
My husband had a brilliant idea. How about putting the house on the market? Houses on the island were selling left and right for incredible amounts and while our house wasn’t worth much, the land was. After all, we were about ten lots from the ocean.
But where to move? If we couldn’t be on the beach, we wanted a place with a view. And I had just the place.
I had a realtor friend meet us at the condo. As soon as we opened the doors I knew it was the place. Big airy rooms with high ceilings, a real fireplace, gorgeous wide marsh vistas, giant wall-sized psychedelic purple heron in Central Park mural…wait a minute. Did I say mural?
Well, maybe the place did need some work. The mural had to go. So did all of the vanilla walls and carpets. And the big open window in the master bathroom, the one that overlooked the living room…the one right beside the toilet. It did make it easy to ask for toilet paper if you ran out. One of your dinner guests could just lob a roll up.
We decided that we would get enough out of the sale of our house to buy and renovate the condo exactly like we wanted. Not just painting and new walls (gotta close up that toilet!), but even new furniture. Back when we moved into the cottage, my husband and I had furnished it with an eclectic mixture of our combined post-divorce odds and ends.
One of my friends had recently had some work done to her kitchen and recommended a contractor. Just to be on the safe side I interviewed a few, but ended up using the guy she recommended. (Which turned out to be a major mistake…my first clue was the weekend I couldn’t get in touch with him because his “brother” stole his wallet and his car leaving my contractor stuck at the funeral of his ex-wife’s father…fortunately the car was recovered at the drug dealers, but the cell phone was in pieces after being run over by the police chasing the car…I’m not sure he even had a brother.)
Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. Most of the work was done before that little incident.
During the remodeling there were the usual delays and disappointments. The floor wasn’t level so we needed new sub-flooring…several of the bathroom tiles mysteriously got cracked so we needed additional tile…each new problem another substantial cha-ching on the cash register. And, of course, what was scheduled to take eight weeks wasn’t quite completed by three months.
It was looking great. The walls calming muted colors of green and blue, cherry-stained hardwood floors and built-in bookcases, a new fireplace mantle…the mural replaced by a 75 gallon salt water aquarium…it was really coming together.
Not to mention my pride and joy; the master bath. No more open windows by toilets, or long beige veneer vanities, the room had been transformed into a spa. On one end was a deep oval-shaped soaking tub, surrounded with candles and soothing bath products. The new vanity was Japanese-style teak on which sat a white porcelain vessel sink, shaped just like the tub. The “window” was closed in with bamboo patterned tempered glass that provided ambient light into the 6 x 8 foot walk-in shower. We had two showerheads placed in it, a round rain showerhead on one end and a traditional showerhead on the other.
I remember the first time Bob and I used the shower. We’d been using the guest bath but had friends coming for the weekend and needed our own shower ready. That morning before work, we decided to try it out, our contractor having declared it ready the day before. We got in, excited about our new adventure, turned both of the showerheads on and…no warm water. We turned the dial to the left and to the right. Still no warm water. Disappointed but not too surprised after all of the other mishaps, we got out and used the guest shower. I called our contractor on the way to work, and he said he’d get right on it.
I got a call from him a few hours later. “Well, I’ve got some good news and some not so good news,” he said.
I’m thinking great, what now, but politely say, “Okay…”
“I got the showerheads working correctly now. You got hot and cold water, the blah, blah, blah (whatever) needed tightening.”
“Great,” I say, waiting.
“Yeah, that’s working great, but…umm…,” he said, lowering his voice to the point I can barely hear him. “But, well, there was a leak and now you haveaholeintheceiling,” the last words all running together because he said them so rapidly.
I was certain that I’d misunderstood him. “I what?”
He said it again, this time adding “it’s leakingintoyourlivingroom.”
“Did you say I have a hole in my ceiling?”
“Yes.”
“Leaking into my living room?”
“Yes. But we got to it before it messed up any furniture or rugs or the floor.”
“How big is it?”
“Not very big. Well, about two or three feet in diameter.”
I didn’t know what to say. And really, what could I say?
I came home to a big piece of plywood covering the hole in my ceiling. My guests came and were so impressed with the rest of the house that the hole in the ceiling became just a comical sideline.
Several weeks past deadline and a significant amount of money later, the ceiling was patched and the renovation was finally done. That was about two years ago, and I still love walking through my front door. I can feel the stress of the day melt off of me as I breathe in the scent of Demeter candles, watch egrets tiptoe through oyster beds along the marsh and hear the tinkling of the slate fountain in the foyer.
As long as I just don’t look up at that new stain in the ceiling. You know the one where the shower began leaking again…
