contributed by Debra Brennan Tagg [financial wiz / pr guru / future screenplay writer]
EDITOR'S NOTE: A big part of any designer’s job is informing the client about The Process. Whether dealing with acres of commercial lease space or a modest personal residence, clients desperately want to believe in the Bewitched method of project management: a little twitch of the nose and all is magically complete. From unseen structural problems to important consultant’s fees, from outrageous lead-times to obscure code issues, from inevitable construction delays to the occasional lost cat (just read on), it’s the designer’s obligation to prepare the client for just how unglamorous the whole thing can be.
PLOT SUMMARY: When last we left Client Debra, Designer Rob had wowed her with his Design District domination and selection savvy. He did exactly what a design consultant should do: direct her focus, set her at ease and attempt to prepare her and her husband for the not-so-fun part: The Remodel.
The Remodel Diary of Debra Brennan Tagg
Day T-3 (and counting)
Meeting with Rob and David (Rob’s assistant and contractor). David confirms the final details they need to start the demolition phase of the project. The project demo will take a week, and we will need to move out of the house in two weeks, barring any surprises they find. (Remember those words.) Rob presents the color palette. Very pale blue for the walls in the living room, den, and dining room. Pale tan for the kitchen, front hall and wall that extends to the second floor with the stairs. Chocolate velvet for the settee. Pale beige chenille for the fancy couch. Pillows in a deep peach pattern, and others in a seafoam stripe. Fabulous art accents here and there. I am in love. I look to my husband, who has a look of horror on his face. He says, “I’m going to try to be clear about this. I hate, loathe, and seethe when I see that shade of blue.” Subtle. The issue goes back to an old aunt’s house that was baby blue in every room. I advise him that this is not baby blue but a very sophisticated pale blue. Unfortunately when we look at it in the room, it’s baby blue. Back to the drawing board.
Day T-1 (and anxiously counting)
We spend the day packing rooms that I consider to be insignificant. The den, the kitchen desk drawers of crap, the ‘mail’ table. Prior to the packing I consider how nice it will be to have these cluttered pieces of my life packed away. As I actually pack them away, I realize how right Rob is about this being an emotional process. I mean, I never cared about the abundance of little dark brown rubber pads that we have to put under furniture legs. But here I am packing them away. What will I do if I need them? Should I have used them before now? Microcosmic inquiries such as these will plague me for the duration of this project.
Day 1
The day we’ve been waiting for! No one shows up. Why did I pack half of my life until midnight last night?
Day 2
A roll of tape shows up on our counter.
Day 3
We are going out of town. We call the designer to tell him that “SOME SERIOUS WORK BETTER BE DONE BEFORE WE GET HOME OR WE WILL BE VERY UPSET.” You see, we’ve been told we have to stay on top of our contractor.
Days 4 & 5
I am skiing and drinking hot toddies. I am happy. I silence people when they ask how things are going at home.
 Day 6
I arrive home at 7pm in the dark, just in time to run off to a fundraising gala. My husband is still skiing. I trip over the vast pile of lumber on my deck and wonder where the hell it came from and where the hell it’s going. I find my refrigerator sideways in the middle of my kitchen, the door about six inches from the counter. Little do I know that I will fight with this six inches for weeks just to get soy milk on my granola every morning. As I drag my suitcase upstairs, I catch something askew out of the corner of my eye in the dining room. I turn on the lights and find my oven / microwave unit between the table and the sideboard. Alright, I see how this works. I walk the remainder of the house and find my kitchen cabinets in the den, the den bookshelves in the living room, and half of my tile shower in my bedroom. I’m no contractor, but doesn’t this seem like a lot more work than is necessary?
Day 7
Paul arrives home, and I lead him through the battlefield. He is just not annoyed, and that really irritates me.
 Day 8
The trash pile from our deck is loaded into a trash trailer (think 4 pieces of plywood held together by blue tape). The trailer is moved to the front of our house, where it will remain for weeks, if not months. The neighbors love this.
Day 9
No visible work is done. I am told that they will know in 2 days when we need to move out of the house.
Day 10
Our contractor tells us our carpenters had to be pulled to finish another job but will definitely be there tomorrow.
Day 11
Carpenters show up at 4pm and work until 7pm. Does that count as a full day’s work since it is almost entirely overtime?
Day 12
I meet with the contractor at the house. He needs to “show me some things”. The carpenters found termite damage under the house when pulling up the wooden floor. Do we want to do the expensive fix or the inexpensive fix? I decide on the expensive fix since we just repaired the foundation and are embarking on a significant remodel. I can tell already that I will not want to do this again for a long, long time. If my wall falls off the house because we took the cheap option, that would just be asinine.
 Day 13
I am at a yoga seminar all day while my husband, brother and friend move all of our furniture to a storage space. I come home to a nearly empty house. I really didn’t consider how hard this day would be for me before the project started. It actually didn’t occur to me before the last design meeting that we would have to literally move out of the house. Though it is only a few months, I really like my ‘stuff’ and start counting down the days until I see it again.
Day 14
It’s Sunday. Thank God for a day of rest. Unfortunately there’s no place to do that in my house. I go to work at my office to stay away.
Day 15
Rob informs me that he has found the new color scheme for my house on the cover of Elle Décor. He will have fabulous new choices Friday. Truth be told, I’m a little bummed because I liked my old color scheme. But I am dying to tell people my house looks just like the one on Elle Décor.
Day 16
No visible work is done. I am told – yet again – that they will know in 2 days when I need to move out of the house.
 Day 17
I really don’t care what was done today. As I brush my teeth, I decide to peek in on the shower in the master bath. I scream and drop my Braun toothbrush, spraying watery paste all over the door. There are more ladders, pieces of wood, rolls of insulation, and tools in a 10’ x 15’ space than I have ever seen in any Home Depot. Later, as I e-mail a friend, I accidentally rant uncontrollably about how much I hate the house: the filth, the sneezing, the itching (presumably my allergy to insulation – who knew?), the whole (feel free to insert expletive of choice here) thing. I realize minutes after sending that I will need to make an apology call tomorrow.
Day 18
No visible work is done. I am told that they will know in 2 days – you guessed it – when I need to move out of the house. Though I assume work is actually being done, I do not assume this project will ever end.
Day 19
We meet with Rob again. He has painted a few paint samples on the wall so we can see shades of brown-gray to blue-gray. I, of course, pick the blue-gray sample. Paul defers because he doesn’t like any of them. Rob and David (the contractor) tell Paul that it’s a very sophisticated shade of blue (sound familiar?) which will look fabulous with all the other colors Rob has chosen. I am beyond thrilled to see my apricot and sea foam fabrics show up again, along with other fabrics incorporating all of my colors. Suddenly I love my house again. I can’t wait until it’s done, and now I have a reason to be patient.
 Paul is on board with the colors, but only with one foot. I completely respect his opinion and taste because it has been spot on so many times. So Rob and I start the coaxing process. What started as “do whatever you want - this is your project and you should like it” has morphed into “if I like it, great – if not, I’ll let you know”. After an hour of Paul trying to put into words what he likes, all that we can determine is that the set of striped armless chairs that we both really wanted to see in the living room has never materialized. Rob tries delicately to explain to us that he just doesn’t like the idea. Then he tells us firmly that he thinks it’s a bad idea. Rob is a wonderful designer and is smart about the value of interior design, which we both appreciate. He would rather us buy furniture we can use for twenty years and change out the pillows every three years than to buy a ‘2005 stripe’ and notice it in 2008. We agree, but we still love the idea of the chairs, and Paul still can’t quite get his taste across in words.
We shop. We go to local stores that we know, and Rob walks around with Paul, who points out what he likes and hates. I make calls because this is between the men. We end the day with Rob feeling like he learned a lot, and with Paul and I looking forward to our new house. What more can I ask for?
Day 20
It’s Saturday. I was out late last night. I worked all day until 4. I need a nap. I come home to someone relentlessly banging a metal tool on wood. This is misery.
Day 21
The workers show up at 10 and leave at 2. It’s Sunday. Will I ever be alone again?
 Day 22
I am awake for only 10 seconds when it hits me: where’s the cat? No – seriously. Where’s the cat? I nudge (read: shove) Paul. “Have you seen the cat? I haven’t seen him since Saturday morning!” Unfortunately Paul doesn’t fall for dramatics anymore. “Yes we did. We saw him yesterday morning and even talked about him.” Still, my kitty adores me. He is up in my business all the time. 24 hours with no business is too long. Then it occurs to me. He’s under the house. I run down the stairs, hoping I’m wrong. I call out to him: “Meow? Meow? Meoooooow!” Then Paul hears him. The smallest, faintest tiny meow answers back. I follow it to the den. Sure enough, the workers covered the floor opening with plywood. They boarded up my cat under the house. Paul thinks this is a great idea, but I immediately move into full-on panic mode. With feats of strength, I move 6’ x 9’ pieces of plywood, construction tools, and pillars of wood to create an opening. I bend down and call out to him. He meanders over to me, covered in 60-year-old dirt, and refuses to come out. He’s actually happy under there.
Have an idea for a topic that you think should be explored? Then keep it to yourself! Oops… sorry for the outburst. We need to practice what we preach: better communication skills. Would you be so kind as to email us about it at contact@plinthandchintz.com, and be sure to put PSYCH 101 in the subject line. Thank you kindly.
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