Turning Tables – Diary Of A Residential Remodel… Photo Finish
Behavior 19 years ago No Comments

EDITOR’S NOTE: When Barry Manilow wrote Looks Like We Made It, he probably hadn’t been inspired by the completion of his home renovation project. But he could have been. In this seven-part residential design series* told from the client’s perspective, we’ve covered the following crucial psychological components that make up the client / designer relationship: empathy, tact, balance, clear communication, reassurance, and compromise. If the list is executed well, then the relationship will hopefully lead to the last — and best — component: mutual satisfaction. Despite the mutual angst, confusion, and pitfalls along the way, not only does the client feel a mixture of relief, contentment, and unadulterated joy when a job is finally finished, but the designer does as well. For either party, it doesn’t get any better than that. We love happy endings.

*If you are just joining us, we recommend that you start from The Beginning.

The Remodel Diary Of Debra Brennan Tagg… Photo Finish

Have you been wondering where I’ve been” Well, dear reader, I’ve been in my house. And loving it.

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So let’s return to where I left you… After I finally grow up and pick a paint color, the house starts to really come together. My first new chair is delivered. It’s a leather Crate & Barrel number, and it looks spectacular all by itself on the coffee-colored floors against the pale blue-gray wall. In fact, it looks like a Crate & Barrel catalogue shot. I sigh. I am dying to live in this little slice of heaven that looks just like I had hoped.

Then one day, I move back to my house. It’s simple, really. I take my pillow and toothbrush, walk to the house, lay out some sheets on the bed, and climb in. I wake up the next morning and smile. I am home again and the world is a happy place. I walk out of my bedroom, past the laundry room, which is still covered in sawdust, down stairs that need to be touched up, and into my kitchen, which still houses buzz saws and the like. I don’t care. I am elated just to be in my house, and my sane world begins anew.

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Oh, Canada

We are fast approaching a deadline: the annual Canada Day Party on July 1st. (When one is married to a Canadian, one has a party on Canada Day.) It’s a big shindig and our friends want to see the new and improved pad, so JULY 1ST IS OUR DEADLINE. Said deadline carries with it both fortune and misfortune. Fortune: designer, contractor, and resident (yours truly) feel a sense of urgency. Misfortune: this doesn’t change much.

The following month is filled with maneuvering my and my husband’s (Paul) work schedules to meet our designer (Rob), our contractor (David), and delivery men at our house. The latter group nearly drives me to the loony bin. What is the purpose of a window of delivery if there is no intention at all of arriving close to those hours” I decide there is a conspiracy to waste my time. I even become convinced at one point that Ashton Kutcher is about to jump out of my drapes and tell me I’ve been punk’d by the delivery service. Alas, no Ashton. Just supreme disorganization and a mastery of inefficiency. As I moan to Rob about it, he laughs it off with “welcome to my world.” I know he’s used to it, but I loathe this part of his world and the accompanying “logistical challenges” it presents.


DT-after-comp3.jpgSofa So Good… Sort Of

You may recall how difficult it was to order our beloved couch. Yet ordering was just the beginning of the long and sordid tale of The Couch from New York. The original plan was to ship it from California (factory) to North Carolina (manufacturer) to NYC (retail outlet) to Dallas (my house). This process would take about six weeks and land my couch in my home in August — a month after our party. After some serious begging, my New York contact arranges for the factory to ship it direct to me — in fewer days and for fewer dollars. I am pleased as punch. Until my couch arrives without the mandatory pillows. A frantic call to New York yields an overnight delivery of… the wrong pillows. To make a long story short, the wrong pillows still sit on my couch.

In the meantime, we are in a race against time to get our drapes and accent pillows made. We have a final meeting with Rob and his assistant, Jim. We had chosen an expensive fabric for the drapes in the living room, and I was still debating with myself about whether it was worth it. Jim walks in the room, holds the fabric up to the wall, and says what I’ve been thinking, “It’s just beautiful.” And he’s right. It’s the perfect fabric to finish off the room. Then we turn to the dining room — the sometimes-lavender-sometimes-slate dining room. Rob has convinced me that the silk dupioni fabric is a bad idea for drapes anywhere in my house. In fact, the chocolate dupioni against the somewhat lavender walls makes my dining room look like a dessert. The genius suggestion is a light cream-colored wool fabric which has a similar questionable shade of purplish-gray running through it.


Devilish Details

A week or so later I talk to Jim to get an update on the seemingly hundreds of details that need to be completed between now and the party. He’s a little sketchy on the information, and I leave the call a little flustered. I arrive home that night, ready to unload on Paul. I walk in the front door, and he just points to the living room in silence. I turn my head and gasp. DT-after-comp2.jpgThe drapes are hung flawlessly from the delicate silver hardware… and it’s just beautiful. The curtains are a perfect frame for the room and truly bring it to life. I turn to look in the dining room, and the effect is no less dramatic. Suddenly it looks like a home, and I’m ready for the party.

The next week is filled with an emergency shopping expedition with Jim, a frantic order for new guest bathroom hardware, and multiple trips to Great Indoors for who knows what. No time like the present for last minute details. This culminates the day of the party when my loveseat finally hits the local warehouse. The company has no delivery trucks, so Paul has to fetch it. It won’t fit in his truck, so Paul calls to let me know he has roped Jim into throwing the unwrapped couch into his pickup. Ten minutes later, as I stand inside Central Market with a basket overflowing with food and flowers, the rain starts. A few drops at first, then a torrential downpour. My heart skips a few beats as I envision my chocolate mohair couch being ruined in the back of Jim’s pickup. I frantically read Cooking Light to distract myself.


The Payoff

After a panicky ride home, I arrive to see Paul sitting on my very dry and very beautiful chocolate mohair couch, complete with apricot accent pillows. Ooh-la-la. Rob, Jim, and my wonderfully talented friend Leah spend the next three hours “fluffing” my house. They arrange knick-knacks, hang art, repot plants, configure a collection of silver in my bookshelves, and generally make my house look a whole lot better than I can.

That night, I put on my party clothes, slip in the mood music, open the wine, and greet my first guest. I hear, “Your house is beautiful! I love it!” I hear that a lot throughout the night. Truth be told, I love every minute of it. But I redesigned the house for Paul and me — to make it more functional, more comfortable, more us. So I smile at my guest, look around my house, and respond, “Thanks. I’d do it all over again.”
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