We did major surgery on the inside of a 1925 colonial in Winnetka, and you can catch up on the colossal mess we made in Winnetka Colonial Chronicles Part 2.
The dust has temporarily settled. Just when we thought we were losing our minds with all of the debris, rotted pipes, fire-hazardous wiring, and atomized plaster particles covering every square inch, we finished most of the items behind the walls. New electrical. New plumbing. New windows. New roof and gutters. Repairing the walls, ceilings, and floors is just around the corner. We're getting close to sewing this patient back up.
During weekends and off-hours, we give the doors some much-needed attention. We think this old colonial would approve.
We decided to preserve as many of the original solid wood interior doors as we could. Some were in rough shape, and all of them needed to be stripped, sanded, and repainted.
We saved the front door of the house from the landfill. After sanding it down to bare wood and repairing some minor damage, it received a coat of Hollandlac oil-based primer.
Although it's pricy compared to water-based paints, we like Dutch oil paint and primers when the job calls for it. The rich depth of color is incredible and nearly impossible to achieve with latex paints. This exterior door will endure decades after we're finished with it.
Our resident artist at work. It's not too early to start thinking about the interior paint schedule.
The former attic might be our favorite space to finish. It was unfinished when we came upon the property, but it was connected to the 2nd floor by a full stairwell. Tall cathedral ceilings, be still my beating heart!
In order to create the required headroom at the top of the stairs, we could have removed a step at the peak and dropped the ceiling on the 2nd floor to accommodate the new landing in the attic. Or . . . we could rip out a big chunk of the roof and build a dormer for a dramatic tree-house effect.
Happy to finally meet you, my favorite new tree house. I feel like I've always known you somehow.
I feel something sentimental as the project turns the corner from the unglamorous plumbing, electrical, framing, and other "behind-the-scenes" work to some of the tangible finishes. It's a mixture of relief and anticipation with a twinge of farewell because I can see the end approaching just over the horizon. There's probably a German expression for this jumbled feeling, like schadenfreude, but I don't know what it is. I'm glad for it, I suppose. It reminds me that we must hand over the keys eventually, so we'll make every day count until then.
