My folks are at it again with ambitious home renovations. Yesterday, my Dad ripped-out the solid wood bannisters, spindles and railings around the two-stage stairwell with a landing at the front entrance. This forty-year old bannister might not have been a jaw-dropping focal point as you enter the front door, but it wasn't showing any signs of deterioration, and it was continuing to function well for its intended purpose.
Today it's time to install the new bannister. About one hour into the project, Dad was cursing-up a storm over some inevitable oversight. I don't know why some people insist on endeavouring to tackle expensive and complicated DIY projects with so many experts around. By the time it's complete, a layman who pretends that they're a finishing carpenter for a week will probably end up buying everything twice, and spend twice as much time and money as they first anticipated. Why not just hire a true professional and see it done right the first time? After factoring-in your own labour equivalent and elevated blood pressure, the extra money is more than worth it.
I have to simply lie or bite my tongue whenever my parents ask my opinion. They don't want to hear my rationale concerning what I see as futile vanity projects. I don't like to paint walls if I can help it. I don't like messing with power saws or sand paper. I find noisy machinery, banging hammers, and pungent solvents to be irritating. I don't share their enthusiasm for making cosmetic changes to the inside of a box. If my folks derive satisfaction from the process and enjoy the end result, then that's just great, but I acutely avoid being drawn into their vortex of menial toil. For me, being right is gratification enough. Saying, "I told you so," when things go awry and they find themselves forced to spend more than they thought they could get away with is strangely uplifting after enduring their scornful onslaughts in response to my pragmatism.
My prediction is that the new installment around the stairs will be flimsy and dangerous. I don't know why so many ordinary folks like my parents can't simply be content with what's already in place if it's not posing any problems. I think it might have something to do with my Mom watching back-to-back episodes of Love It Or List It and mistakenly believing that she can realize a substantial return on Dad's time and labour investment. What she conveniently neglects to address is that these shows have seasoned design experts making the calls, and the top-drawer tradespeople doing the work can easily foresee potential obstacles before they start dismantling something.
The home-owning couples participating in Love It Or List It are typically high-earning professionals with budgets of between forty and a hundred thousand dollars. I'm no exert on real estate or interior design, but is it not wishful thinking to believe that spending five hundred buck here and a thousand bucks there on things like paint, mouldings and flooring will miraculously inflate the value of your house by any more than the cost of the materials and the sweat equity? I suggested doing away with the popcorn ceilings and installing cedar or something nice. Nope. We'll just paint over it for a third time. They spent the time and money and it looks just as tacky as ever... only whiter. I don't really care one way or another what the ceiling looks like, as long as it's not on the verge of falling-in while I'm under it.
I think serious home buyers look beyond the colour of a wall or texture of a floor. Almost anyone can paint a wall or cut a piece of trim and nail it in. Home buyers are looking at things like layout and structural integrity. How high are the ceilings? How big is the bathroom?
My parents' house was built in the early seventies. It's a compartmentalized rectangle both upstairs and down. The three upstairs bedrooms are small, and the hallway leading to them is narrow. The bathroom is tiny. The powder room off the master bedroom is tinier. It wasn't intended to be a show home. It's just one of many basic and utilitarian raised bungalows on the street with a big backyard and a separate two-car garage. It's got plenty of room for a young growing family, but is far from spectacular when juxtaposed with the big dollar character dwellings popping-up around the neighbourhood.
Only drastic renovations, such as structural additions or major installations like jacuzzi tubs or fireplaces can realize significant returns on an investment: making a basement into a granny suite; installing a sauna; making a home theater room. You can put so much lipstick on a pig. Spending twenty grand over twenty years on trendy colour schemes, trim pieces, carpeting, paint, tools and various supplies will keep you in a perpetual state of toil and mess, but won't substantially increase the value of your house. Why not just save up all those nickle and dime expenses for a major project that will surely impress?
Today it's time to install the new bannister. About one hour into the project, Dad was cursing-up a storm over some inevitable oversight. I don't know why some people insist on endeavouring to tackle expensive and complicated DIY projects with so many experts around. By the time it's complete, a layman who pretends that they're a finishing carpenter for a week will probably end up buying everything twice, and spend twice as much time and money as they first anticipated. Why not just hire a true professional and see it done right the first time? After factoring-in your own labour equivalent and elevated blood pressure, the extra money is more than worth it.
I have to simply lie or bite my tongue whenever my parents ask my opinion. They don't want to hear my rationale concerning what I see as futile vanity projects. I don't like to paint walls if I can help it. I don't like messing with power saws or sand paper. I find noisy machinery, banging hammers, and pungent solvents to be irritating. I don't share their enthusiasm for making cosmetic changes to the inside of a box. If my folks derive satisfaction from the process and enjoy the end result, then that's just great, but I acutely avoid being drawn into their vortex of menial toil. For me, being right is gratification enough. Saying, "I told you so," when things go awry and they find themselves forced to spend more than they thought they could get away with is strangely uplifting after enduring their scornful onslaughts in response to my pragmatism.
My prediction is that the new installment around the stairs will be flimsy and dangerous. I don't know why so many ordinary folks like my parents can't simply be content with what's already in place if it's not posing any problems. I think it might have something to do with my Mom watching back-to-back episodes of Love It Or List It and mistakenly believing that she can realize a substantial return on Dad's time and labour investment. What she conveniently neglects to address is that these shows have seasoned design experts making the calls, and the top-drawer tradespeople doing the work can easily foresee potential obstacles before they start dismantling something.
The home-owning couples participating in Love It Or List It are typically high-earning professionals with budgets of between forty and a hundred thousand dollars. I'm no exert on real estate or interior design, but is it not wishful thinking to believe that spending five hundred buck here and a thousand bucks there on things like paint, mouldings and flooring will miraculously inflate the value of your house by any more than the cost of the materials and the sweat equity? I suggested doing away with the popcorn ceilings and installing cedar or something nice. Nope. We'll just paint over it for a third time. They spent the time and money and it looks just as tacky as ever... only whiter. I don't really care one way or another what the ceiling looks like, as long as it's not on the verge of falling-in while I'm under it.
I think serious home buyers look beyond the colour of a wall or texture of a floor. Almost anyone can paint a wall or cut a piece of trim and nail it in. Home buyers are looking at things like layout and structural integrity. How high are the ceilings? How big is the bathroom?
My parents' house was built in the early seventies. It's a compartmentalized rectangle both upstairs and down. The three upstairs bedrooms are small, and the hallway leading to them is narrow. The bathroom is tiny. The powder room off the master bedroom is tinier. It wasn't intended to be a show home. It's just one of many basic and utilitarian raised bungalows on the street with a big backyard and a separate two-car garage. It's got plenty of room for a young growing family, but is far from spectacular when juxtaposed with the big dollar character dwellings popping-up around the neighbourhood.
Only drastic renovations, such as structural additions or major installations like jacuzzi tubs or fireplaces can realize significant returns on an investment: making a basement into a granny suite; installing a sauna; making a home theater room. You can put so much lipstick on a pig. Spending twenty grand over twenty years on trendy colour schemes, trim pieces, carpeting, paint, tools and various supplies will keep you in a perpetual state of toil and mess, but won't substantially increase the value of your house. Why not just save up all those nickle and dime expenses for a major project that will surely impress?
