Weekend edition: Looking for a fix in two seperate places
Over the past decade we have assembled a group of men and women who construct, repair, maintain, paint, power wash and perform all the other crafts, like plumbing and electrical, that most Shelter Islander homeowners find the need to call on over the years.
And then there are the tree and lawn guys. My wife and I are deeply divided over the amount of attention the lawn needs. My standard line is that she is reaching for an Augusta National Golf Club level of verdancy, while I would be content with a presentable if a little, scruffy Island lawn. I never win this battle but I get to use the Augusta National line on a yearly basis. Our team of craftsmen is a great bunch of people and it’s always a pleasure to see them show up to chat about whatever comes up — world affairs, local affairs, Island gossip (I’m useless there), home prices (usually a very short conversation). And they do all the work for free! Threw that in there to see if you were paying attention. In fact this entire paragraph could be interpreted by a coldly cynical person as a brazen ploy to encourage quick call-backs from team members by publicly praising them. That level of cynicism has no place on this Island. But come to think of it, if that’s how the relationship works, so be it.
Our carpenter helped me win a major victory when we remodeled the kitchen years ago. I was adamant about keeping the existing stained cabinets with those old timey hinges and repainting them a lighter hue to make the black hinges pop. I also was pretty much locked in to installing a wood countertop. The carpenter joined with me and we carried the day. It turned out great, maybe not the ideal countertop for families with small children but for seniors, it works well. We managed to gouge it on its second day of service when a heavy glass took a suicide leap from an open cabinet door, but it’s held up well since then.
He also helped solve what I feared was the unsolvable: the leak that dripped into the kitchen sink during blustery rain. There were several possible culprits, prime among them some dodgy flashing around a vent pipe poking up from the attic roof. I trained the hose on the flashing while the brave carpenter stood watch in the attic underneath the vent. We had a gusher. With a new vent and proper installation, no leak — knock wood — so far.
In Manhattan, we have a similar group of fixers and maintainers, but not as folksy as the Island crew. There is the friendly dishwasher who was summoned three times in the past 15 years to replace some mangled part. On the third visit, last year, he delivered the grim news: not fixable. So, with the new one operating perfectly, presumably, I’ll not be seeing this guy anytime soon.
We have a Sub-Zero refrigerator, sort of a hoity-toity brand for us. But the kitchen remodel designer called for it because Sub-Zeros locate their working parts underneath the freezer cabinets, making for shallower depth. When you are dealing with a 7-foot galley kitchen space, every inch counts. I bring this up because we twice needed a repairman and it was the same guy and because he seems to be the only Sub-Zero repairman in Manhattan. He also gave me a very high compliment. With Sub-Zeros you’re supposed to vacuum the mossy crud that accumulates on the compressor’s front side twice a year. It’s not that big a deal to do: You have to remove the bottom freezer compartment, drop to the floor, unscrew the plate in front of the compressor, vacuum the crud and then backtrack. Takes about 10 to 15 minutes. The compliment was this: To his knowledge, I was one of just a few Sub-Zero owners in all of New York City who performed this maintenance. I’ll take ‘em when I can get ‘em.
These Manhattan kitchen remodels are something of a rite of passage in the city. They are nerve-wracking, disrupting, dirty and behind schedule. During ours, I was working during the week in Philadelphia so I would return to find a wife who had been driven wild by the demo and construction. (There is a scene in Jane Eyre that comes to mind.) But the project turned out splendidly. Until the lovely floor tiles began cracking into hundreds of fissures. What I tell you next is an urban miracle. The good news is that I hounded the contractor to put in new tile, free of charge; the very bad news is that a crabby young Eastern European man arrived with a jack hammer and busted up the entire kitchen floor. I wanted to flee but felt I had a duty to stay and witness this incomprehensible and savage attack. The crabby young man instantaneously diagnosed the problem. Wrong material for the sub-flooring. That too needed to be jack-hammered out. Here is the essence of the miracle: The free jack-hammering and reinstallation of our lovely tiles took him about six hours. The experience probably shortened my life, but the tiles remain lovely to this day
