Lately (and to the point of ad nauseum in my less-than-humble opinion) there’s been a trend fadding or a fad trending called the ALS Bucket Challenge, nobly started to raise money for research into Lou Gehrig’s Disease, but now everybody’s seemingly dumping buckets of iced water over their heads and challenging everybody else to do the same.
My particular bucket challenge isn’t something I’d demand anyone else do nor does it waste a drop of water. As alluded to in my previous post I got busy yesterday afternoon transferring the above-pictured big ol’ pallet of brick slices from my parking space in the garage up 17 steps and around to the side yard using two of the pictured buckets.
To be specific, a bucket holds 20 pieces weighing 44.6 pounds (yes, I weighed one). On Facebook yesterday I submitted the above picture and opened up the guessing as to how many buckets it might take. Here’s the comment thread that resulted:
Roughly three hours later, the transfer was completed involving a total of 52.5 buckets (kudos to Steven Frein for his guess of 50 buckets).
Here’s where they ended up neatly stacked in the sideyard:
And whilst enjoying a cold beer afterward, I did the math and can now use the term “ton o’ bricks” quite literally: 52.5 buckets at 44.6 pounds per bucket equals a total weight of 2,341.5 pounds, that I loaded, carried up 17 steps, and unloaded. The total number of half-bricks was 1,050.
If my back and the rest of me weren’t so totally freakin’ exhausted I’d be feeling pretty badass right about now.
Demo of all cabinetry, lathe and plaster and flooring commenced Monday and was fast and furiously done, giving way to the entirely unsexy but essential plumbing and electrical work that continues on the underguts of the kitchen and future pantry and laundry room (out of view behind the cam). Removal of the laminate wood flooring and subflooring (concrete! and linoleum) revealed a tangled web of pipes and wiring that an inspector would have said “Oh hail nah!” to and so were ripped out and are now in the slightly protracted process of being replaced.
In other news that left wall of the kitchen will need reframing. The 2x4s were installed wide side out, which is how they were allowed to build things in the early 1900s, but the opposite orientation is how walls must be built nowadays.
And also, we’ll be adding first-time insulation to all the exterior walls.
Lastly, if I’m feeling like a particular glutton for punishment, I may give myself a workout today hauling up the pallet of cut Simons bricks that will be our future kitchen floor up to the side yard from the garage where they’ve been all week.
Why Simons bricks specifically? Good of you to ask. The Simons Brick Company (roughly 1900-1952), located first in Pasadena and then in what is now the City of Commerce, was a major supplier of bricks for the southern California region, including our 1906 house’s original foundation (replaced in 1999). Susan and I originally considered saltillo tile for the kitchen and pantry, but that just didn’t seem to fit in to the Craftsman style. So we thought about brick as having a stronger connection and then we wondered how awesome would it be if we could find enough Simons bricks, have them cut to paver depth and install them.
When that initially proved a pipe dream, we considered reclaimed-look brick tiles from an array of manufacturers but the color and consistency wasn’t quite right. Rather than settle, Susan undertook an epic expedition and in what was something of a miracle finally found a salvage yard in the South Bay that not only had plenty of Simons bricks onhand, but bonus: could cut them as well. In doing so we went from spending about $12 per square foot for the flooring of our kitchen and pantry to $4.
And now a pallet of them sits in my parking space in the garage. We’ll see if they’re up in the sideyard and I’m exhausted by the end of the day.
The saga began more than two years ago when Ranger, while barking at a worker outside lunged toward the guy from behind the closed window in the study and cracked a lower pane. For what was supposed to be a very short-term solution, I plugged up the hole with a piece of cardboard, and just for fun took an image I had of a wolf and blew it up to same size as the the cardboard and attached it so its menacing gaze faced the street. Then I taped it all into place.
About a year later I fiiiiiinally went about getting the stuff needed to make the repair, but when I undertook the job I found I’d measured the piece of glass wrong… it was juuust a scosh too big for the space. Of course I then tried to force the pane to fit and broke it, so up went the cardboard-backed wolf picture again.
Where it stayed until yesterday when with triple-checked dimensions I returned to a local glass place, ordered up two panes (in case I broke one, or if not we have a spare), and did a passable job installing it (my window putty/glazing work leaves a bit to be desired).
This morning, I then threw open all the curtains in the study (also perhaps for the first time in a couple years), and got a good luck at what how filthy windows can get when they haven’t been cleaned in six years.
So I cleaned them. Inside and out. Screens, too (click it for the bigger picture).