Lutz and I talking--the important thing is the cluster of torches in the lower left corner. This were of the pitch variety-burning, presumably, sticky tar-and when carried by a 5-year-old, well, scary.

Our first New Year’s Eve was in Berlin, ringing in 2002 in a jam packed crowd at the Brandenburg Gate.  In 2010-11, it was still cold and though there were no guns this time , the danger was much scarier because we all had kids, now, but still fun and cool.

John, showing his nostrils, Oskar on the left, his sister Karoline on the right, a fearless girl.

During my first visit to Germany to woo my babe I stayed at her best friend’s house. Bettina and Aksl were already together, way back then in—1998 – and started having kids a few years before Alexandra and I did, halting at three, Mimi, 9; Oskar, 8; and Karoline, 2. We always visit with these guys when we were in town, this year we were in town on New Year’s Eve—Silvestri. Other partiers that night were Lutz and his wife Alexandra. I had last seen them in Sienna when they were camping, my wife and I were freshly affianced and rounding our out Tuscan adventure.  They have a boy, Paul, just our John’s age, 5,bring the kid tally to six, Mimi, 9; Oskar, 8; John and Paul, 6; Nina and Karoline, 2.    

Me, making some point to Lutz. Nina getting tired-- darn kids dragging the party down. Why can't she be more like her brother who was upstairs eatiing chips off the floor where they had spilled.

Early in the evening, the kids were off on their own adventures playing and fighting, and I was in the kitchen with five adults all of whom speak English with a cup of Gluhwein. Then, we toasted the coming year with Prosecco, a dry, bubbly wine that lifted right off the palette. With three moms in the house, the kitchen was a-cooking. There were three pots on the stove, two of the famous German Christmas beverage, Gluhwein, one non-alcoholic for the kids, and the other was my wife’s squash curry soup. Bettina had a lasagna in the oven she was protecting from Aksl’s attempts to improve and at one end a strong table laden with cheeses, wurst, bread, wine and chocolate. As so often happens, the men were gently excluded from the cooking and ended up at the table, Aksl and I pandering to our little daughters’ wishes as they found us in the course of business.  Pink Floyd was on the stereo and the gals all came by to sit and chat while things finished cooking.

After the first drink or so in this civilized setting, to my surprise everyone started getting on outdoor gear. I let them go until I heard they were lighting fireworks. By the time I got out to the street, which was about 8 inches deep in churned up snow, Aksl had shot off the first salvos and now Mimi and Oscar each lit two which was pretty scary, but when there were a couple of bad misfires I got watchful. I’m just going to come right out and say it, Czech fireworks suck. I’ve been shooting off fireworks my whole life in a small way, and when three out of five liftoffs go south, well, that speaks to shoddy manufacture.  One of the kids lit something that popped up, threw a half dozen fistfuls of fire off, two or three of which dropped at our feet and went out. Unpleasant.

 Aksl lit off a bottle rocket, it shot about 20 feet up and blew into three sections, one of which landed one foot from my son.  He just stared, of course, never having been badly burned, he has no fear of fire except as instructed. It goes out in the snow at his feet. I move up a bit and prepare to flip his hood up or pull him back; I kinda wanted to go in.  Then Aksl lit off a great pin wheel, it shot straight up spinning along perfectly. Next, another bottle rocket misfire. The main charge detonated prematurely and threw a head-sized fireball into a neighbor’s garden and another into the road. There were three feet of snow on the ground so both went right out.  When that was over (it was 20 degrees Fahrenheit), we went back in.  No one had been hurt.

We all shed boots, jackets and gloves and go for our chairs. We ignore the ruckus at the kids table; plates are emptied and refilled. The kids rush off, we all tuck in to a homemade tiramisu and refills from the adult Gluhwein pot. Just when I’m feeling comfortable, everyone is suiting up again. Now, I spent the first 20 years of my life in Minnesota and freezing weather has few charms for me, but Aksl picked up the torches and John was out there, so I laced up my new Doc Martin’s, twisted my bandana back around and pulled my watch cap over my ears. Alexandra begged off, as Nina was getting tired but everyone else came along.

By the time I’m outside, Aksl is handing the 18-inch torches to the kids. John has one. Mimi, Oscar and Paul have them. I’m looking at the other faces to see if anyone else thinks this is a bad idea, but it seems to be a normal sight. I take my torch and light it off the boy’s. It was an elemental night, fire and ice, a dark wooded path a trickling fountain and adults and children singing (bloodthirsty?, Christmas? Pagan?) songs deep in a woods lit red by the torchlight. Freaky.

Just when I thought it was safe, more fire. Melting tin at the dining room table, and not just a little, but a big freakin' hunk. Aksl, the guy on the left, was the leader in all of the infernal activities. I just tried to stay liquored up so as to not be over-protective.

Aksl loads Karoline into a sled with handles sticking up, like a dog sled, except the driver is the pusher. Maybe it works with a dog, too, but Aksl pushed. We head down the road. Mimi and Oskar are holding the torches away from their bodies, John and Paul, both 5, not so much.  They didn’t really get that hair would catch fire in an instant, so I was on the hop keeping one from running up too close to the other. We left the road and started through a fairly dense wood at least a couple hundred yards wide. Lutz told me later Aksl said it was owned by a retired appliance magnate.  We were on a well travelled path, that went along, then up, then down, every step all I can picture is the boy slipping and falling on the torch and wondering if it will stick to him and continue to burn, or has it been engineered to go out, somehow?

Pitch torches and alchohol. Yes!

We end up at a fountain– the kind that wells up from the ground– surrounded by an ancient-appearing stone basin. The water itself was trickling from an incongruous 4-inch PVC pipe, but Mimi and Oscar knelt in the basin for a drink. John went after, but later said he didn’t drink it—I think it was hard for him to get close to the trickle in his winter clothes. Anyway, I have no idea if we dodged a bullet on that one—Aksl said it was pure—but was glad to hear he didn’t drink it.  Our little group of five adults and four kids continued on the path until we came to a wide spot where we all gathered in a circle and sang songs, one of which was “Oh Tannenbaum,” which I learned as “Oh Christmas” Tree as a lad. This is where I mentally stitched all the pieces together, from the pop of fireworks, the trek in the dark woods lit only by raw fire, the drink from a free-running fountain and finally the glow of these very German faces  all torchlit, singing songs they all knew—that I knew. Frickin’ freaky, but one of the most memorable New Year’s I’ve had: elemental, pagan, as it should be, I felt lucky to be there and was immensely happy the children were there. We turned, again, to the snowy path.

Paul had given up his torch. John was slipping a bit, showing fatigue, and readily gave up his torch. With the five-year-olds disarmed, the chances of someone going to the hospital were back in the basement where they belonged.

We pushed back to the house and stomped our boots once more on the doorstep. Once back around the table, a bottle of scotch—a clear, golden liquid and I never caught the name—came out and the glow of the first sip chased away the remnants of the fire hazard. But I couldn’t quite relax, as another tradition was being carried out involving fire and molten metal.  In this tradition, the celebrant holds a spoon with a wooden handle over a candle. The spoon is a crucible and it holds a hunk of tin the size of a robin’s egg.

The deal is, you melt your tin—which used to be lead, but for obvious reasons has been replaced with a less poisonous metal—and fling it into a bowl of water. The molten metal freezes into some shape and the shape is used to forecast your fortunes for the coming year according to a chart that comes with the tin and crucibles. Again, I’ve been burned by small drops of solder, maybe as big as a push-pin head and it hurt like the dickens. These youngsters were melting a tablespoon of melted lead. At this point, Nina saved us and I had a ready excuse to drag the boy away from the table to head home. He’ll be back in a few years and can try it when his motor skills are ramped up.

 http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/11/18/MTKTTD7UI.DTL

Alexandra and I at the 70s Party for Christel's Birthday at Velocity Circus in Oakland

Here are a few more photos from the party. It was too crazy! I’m sipping my first margarita and all of the sudden a gal in a skin tight suit, white with colorful designs on it, drops down from a ring above my head, and prances off. She is replaced by another gal, similarly attired, who went on for an hour, almost, doing acrobatics with the hoop.

There was also a head table. I get my margi and spot the delacies a few yards away. I belly up grab a handfull of baguette chips and survey the spreads when a fuckin’ head, a gal, all made up like a jester, sticking out of the center of the table looks up at me and says, “that’s Brie, I don’t know what the other cheese is but it is a hard cheese. On this side (the head nods to my right) is a pate and the other thing is something like a pate called a (unintelligible).” By then I had recovered my aplomb and we chatted like old friends while I had dinner.

Got pretty lucky with our backsplash surfaces, here. They could have been crumbling or grease soaked, but weren't. They were nice and smooth and I only had to repair the hole around the electrical fitting on this side and a giant uneven hole around the sockets and switches on the long counter. Messy to reinforce the drywall segment I added, but it is now quite solid. I ran Hardiback over the whole backsplash on the sink side so that was nice and even.

The visit from BR Electric Monday lasted all day. They hooked up all the wires, put 4 LED lights in the celing and 2 halogens over the sink, and updated all the connections. You can see the giant hole in the backsplash by the mudroom door. Beautiful work on that elecrical fixture with an adjustable box that screwed in and out to match the tile depth. Two issues though: the socket in the corner right of the sink was crappily mounted and I had to remount. It is not perfect yet, but is safe and the cover plate is in place. The other thing was the next night, I shoved the oven back into its hole and it hit the overhead light switch guts and blew a fuse. Brian came out the next day and healed that up, no problem since. Over all, great job, good price.

You can see the repair job around the outlet, here. It wasn't perfect, but came out fine--nice and flat-- and the outlet was in one of those adjustable boxes so I just screwed it out for the tiling, the backed it in to lay flush when done.

Chris the tile guy. Liked to look around at our stuff when he came in. Worked like an SOB, though, and had a good payday. I paid him $400 for 4-5 hours work, including his Home Depot run for needed supplies, so he came out around $75-$80 and hour, after deducting maybe $30 for supplies. There was a ton of thinset still left in the bucket.

The very last tile. A watershed moment, as that ended external participation and marked the finish of the final major piece. Nothing left but the trim and clean up.

Ignoring the washing machine, which was essentially a work bench throughout the job, this shows a bit of both counters with tile in.

First real look at what it would look finished. No grout, yet, but pretty dang blue!

After grouting. Missing only the switchplate cover.Beautiful.

Here you see the window frame. Nice big hunk of redwood. Took the screws well. Alexandra did a superlative job cleaning the aluminum windows. We were so close to having the whole window exposed, thus easy (er) to replace, we considered putting in a new window -- for about 4 seconds, then got back to plan.

Last big piece, I had to make the sill. More high school woodshop skills at work. But 30 years experience with drilling blind holes seems to have paid off, all the screws went right into the middle of the valance and those that fastened it to the window frame all bit, too, so success.

Fun making this! Alexandra has gently requested a mantelpiece as there is none above our fireplace--just a layer of smooth cement on the top layer of bricks. This is a nice prototype as construction of the mantel piece will be similar.

Fitting the unpainted sill. This part went pretty well. Two pieces of poplar, I think I used 6 #8 woodscrews to fasten the two pieces together. I ran a dcorative groove along the valence piece that I kinda wanted to do in white, but I decided enough was enough.

The sill, under-cabinet and hood trim pieces. Seemed to go pretty well. One tool I lack, though, is a good miter box. Mine is one of those yellow plastic ones and the 45s rarely fit. Note the kiddies in the background.

The sill, installed and in use just the way I

The final product. So nice. It's really warm at night. I just love cutting a little slab of cheese, grabbing the Triscuit box, a fresh stein of Diet Pepsi (using the icemaker--a revolution in my ice-heavy life) and standing there, admiring the glow of the tile, the dark of the slate-colored counters and between them the transition of the stainless steel appliances, those portals to delicious food. Great job, Alexandra!

The cooking corner. Look so nice with all the fresh fruit. Got a fancy new paper towel holder, too. Really puttin' on the Ritz, here.

Alexandra's kitchen collection from Germany and California flea markets. The thing on the bottom (see enlarged photo) is a German shopping list fixture. So cool. The dark green thing on the right is a match box holder--perfectly made to fit a Diamond stick match box such that the matches deploy into the little tray. Ingenious. We never use it, of course as we don

Useful. We don't use it.

Read the whole story in order, if you want:
1. The whole story started with the hood installation in mid-June

2. Things really got cooking before we left for vacation

3. Sanding and Send-Offs, a Busy Summer approaching

4. More Pre-Work Work, John Proves a Stand Up Guy

5. Kitchen Mission Day One: Bye Bye Home-Cooked Meals

6. Tile goes in: a preview

7. Kitchen Mission Day Three: Airless Sprayer, an Epic Struggle

8. Kitchen Mission: I Bond with the Journeymen and the Resurrection goes on

9. Day 6 Saturday July 16 In Which I Take the Appendix out of the Cooktop

We filled in the cracks by hoisting the sink up a bit and packing them with silicone until the seal looked complete. I bolted the SOB in place for the second time. Next, the disposal. Yes, it is a classic In-Sink-Erator. I took the drain piece out to the garage and buffed it on the wire wheel. I followed the YouTube instructions for installing the drain portion with its retaining collar underneath, using plumbers putty to seal the drain in place. The next part was easy. The disposal is mounted to the sink assembly by holding it in place and turning it a quarter turn. It just slides up these slanted tabs and locks right into place. I had this in the forefront of my mind this from almost squishing my face (for the umpteenth time in this life) when it dropped free missing my face by inches during the dismantling process. The disposal locked right into place. Now, it was maybe 11 a.m.. Alles in ordenung. On to the cook top and the now legendary balancing act I did with John’s help to retrieve the retaining bracket.

I was sure glad to get that bastard where it belongs, gripped by the neck with garbage pouring down its throat. Try to crush my face will it? You can see the set up wth the plastic t-joint here, before I got the metal one at Pagaanos, triggering a whole new set of pipes.

John was giving me a hand with the job; Alexandra was probably holding the household together, as she did all through the remodel, getting groceries. Cook tops are simple things, when you take off the grills and flame spreaders (not the official name). It a big sealed aluminum thing you don’t want to dent or scratch while installing so you don’t have to look at a dent for the next 10 years knowing you did it in a moment of carelessness. Now, I’m already out of code as the cook top instructions distinctly say to use a connecting hose no longer than three feet. Ours is four, so I don’t need to pile up another felony by leaving out a fiber gasket or some damn thing.

I check the manual. No gasket required. Whew. Unlike the old cook top, which was held in place by only its own weight, this one comes with two clips (see photo) with little hooks that slip into slots on the cook top and then are screwed tight to the countertop bottom. John and I get the cook top in place, lift out the inside edge and get the first clip into its slot and, as I hold the clip in place, wiggle the cook top into its hole and I get a screw into the clip but leave it loose. All good.

So, this monster was standing straight up on my chest while I fished around in the tiny hole for the required mounting clip. All I have to say is Kenmore, WTF were you thinking when you this thing? Put a frickin' flange on the clip on the ventral side. FM. Getting that thing out of there was nearly on a par with getting the drive wheel hub off the 140, but that story is for a different blog.

I hoist the outside edge up and get the clip into place somehow, then start to lower it down. I asked John to hold the clip in place so it doesn’t slip inside the cook top. Just as I watch his fingers disappear behind the lip where the clip was, I hear the clip slide inside the cook top. Clink. Sliding noise. It is a tragedy. Even supposing Pagano’s or HD could supply a clip, and letting go of the time lost, I’d still have that clip sitting inside my brand new cook top waiting to jump into the works and break it. Logic was no good here. I knew there was a million to one chance the clip would do anything except sit on the bottom of the shell until the unit was chucked out as unceremoniously as I had disposed of its predecessor, but I was not leaving that clip in there. Not without a fight.

I mounted my attack quickly with the precision of a guy who was going to be late for work if he didn’t adjust his valves in 15 minutes flat. I’ve done a lot of awkward jobs and many times I tried to do them without facing the facts: The starter had to come out to get the gearbox out; you have to drain the waterbed mattress entirely to replace the heater; you have to stick your hand all the way in a turkey to get all the giblets. I knew instantly what had to be done and what I needed to do it.

My tools were a butter knife and a pair of hemostats-those locking plier-clips doctors use. I have several pair I use for clipping towels full of ice on my knees. Now for the hard part. I had to get the clip close enough to the tiny hole (see photo), then somehow extract it. There was only one way and I happened to be in just good enough training to manage it. Holding the 45-lb 3×2-foot cook top, I dropped on one knee then sat then leaned backwards levering the cook top so it was on edge, resting on my sternum, pointing at the ceiling. John helped steady it while I rocked it back and forth on my chest to find the clip. It was near the hole, I could tell from the sliding noise. It slid past the hole—excellent! There were no protruding welds or reinforcing walls between the clip and the hole.

WTF were they thinking? Once it is inside the whole thing is hollow. I still can't believe I got it out on the first try. I knew I couldn't keep holding it upright and it would get John, me or the newly painted cabinets sooner or later, so was pretty motivated to extract it asap.

So, with the cook top balanced on my chest, I jiggled and tilted it until I could see the clip, then applying a skill born extracting hundreds of coins from piggy banks, I used the knife to bring the clip almost upright. Then, most precariously, I held the knife on the clip with my left hand, only my left elbow and knee (remember I’m flat on my back) and John keeping the cook top from slipping off and crushing my arm or head. With care born of the knowledge I would just have to repeat the process if I failed, with my right hand, I got the hemos and ever so gently locked them onto the edge of the clip. A moment or two later and the clip I had never really expected to see again lay in my hand (see photo).

With little ado, we finished the mounting. Hooking up the gas was almost anti-climactic after the clip recovery mission. I slowly, with a deal of force, opened the gas valve. It was almost disappointing to smell no gas. The good people at Kenmore had supplied two tubes, one of thread seal and one for checking gas leaks (basically liquid soap which will bubble up over a leak not unlike how a tire technician checks for leaks). No leaks. Lunch time. Next up, plumbing the sink.

Finally.

Here we are with a limp electrical outlet with exposed wiring below a gas fitting. The electricity was not live.

You have seen pipe cutting rigs on the back bumpers of service trucks and probably not recognized them. I've done some hydraulic line making, and I've done some halff-assed plumbing in rentals I've lived in, so when push comes to shove-that is to say we own the place--I can do a pretty tight job. Anyway, I used thise hold-down sucessfully and didn't warp the pipes, made a lot of cuts.

This was an interesting job. I bought all the stuff at Home Depot, as described, but the T-joint was plastic—they were out– everything else was high quality chromed metal. I had actually cut the pipes Friday night and was ready to go Saturday morning, but went to Pagaono’s to get the final drain pipe fitting adaptor.

So Pagano’s has the t-piece in metal, I buy it, get the damn pipe complex half assembled and realize the pipes all need to be re-cut by ¼ inch due to the t-joint being a different size. If you’re not laughing, you should be. I bought new pipes at Pagano’s (thereby creating some sort of balance in the Universe for A)having to redo the job but for the best of reasons and B) getting a bunch of the pieces in the second round from the local hardware, while having purchased the original pieces from the big box retailer), headed back to the bench, sawed through a bunch more chrome-plated brass and finally, finally, fitted the pieces all together.

I tightened everything up. Stood up, and, with John watching, ran the water. I stuck my head under the sink. One tiny leak in the tail pipe where it met the strainer (drain). I tightened it up with my trusty pipe wrench and that job was done. It has been six weeks and nary a drop from the sink. Take that stereotyping cartoonists!
With all appliances working we could start putting shelves in and doors on.

Let me be perfectly honest here. There are are over one trillion cartoons depicting husbands screwing up plumbing repairs and that is by and large an accurate picture. If you haven't thought long and hard and had a bit of practice on things that really counted, you probably should not get under your sink with a wrench. I was largely motivated to avoid being the doltish husband with a puddle forming under him while his wife hovered nearby holding the phone and biting her nails.

Okay, so I’m pretty tired of cataloging my every move, so am cutting off this blog after one more post, which will be almost all photos. The whole shebang is basically done. I messed up about four holes in the drawers and cupboards and patched them, then, all the cupboard doors went on—didn’t strip a single hole. I did have to sand some paint off the inner jambs where cupboard doors met, but now everything closes nicely.

Making the sill was the one piece of artistry I had into this kitchen, and you’ll see that in the final almost-all-photos installment, ready in just a few days. That and the tile job, which was of great interest to me. As I thought, simple actions, but details like corners have to be thought out. My Google Analytics count is at 192, and if I can get it to pass 200 for a split second, I can call it a goal and move on. Maybe I’ll do the next one on the three-month run up to a national fencing tournament. Thanks for reading—this has been the biggest single writing project I’ve taken on and dammit I haven’t earned a nickel, violating the writer’s credo, well, my credo: never write for free. I’m calling this market research—interesting to watch the google graph rise and fall.

Danged if it doesn't look like a kitchen, again. One of the most rewarding parts of this whole effort has been surprising my dear wife with the extent I'll go to to get a quality job. Surprised myself, too. Pulled nails I could have hammered to the side, trimmed the undersides of the cupboards, all kinds of weird little things. Worth every freakin' minute of it.

The remainder of the doors setting up inthe garage. Got 'em all handled and hinged and slapped them on over the next week as we had time to work together--Alexandra would hold the door in place and I'd run the screws in.

Read the whole story in order, if you want:
1. The whole story started with the hood installation in mid-June

2. Things really got cooking before we left for vacation

3. Sanding and Send-Offs, a Busy Summer approaching

4. More Pre-Work Work, John Proves a Stand Up Guy

5. Kitchen Mission Day One: Bye Bye Home-Cooked Meals

6. Tile goes in: a preview

7. Kitchen Mission Day Three: Airless Sprayer, an Epic Struggle

8. Kitchen Mission: I Bond with the Journeymen and the Resurrection goes on

Friday Morning, ready for the bustle that would bring us strides closer to our dreamy little kitchen

As noted, the paint shop charged me for two days, which was fair, as it had been less than 48 hours. I offered to write them an instruction manual for $200 with illustrations—a very good price– but the guy just stared at me, not knowing how serious I was. Or maybe he didn’t hear me. I have that effect on people sometimes when I surprise them. Anyway, I dropped the subject, paid my tab, got my deposit check back and got the hell out of there. Before I left, I asked if they could put our color paint in a spray can. No luck. Overall, the experience at Kelly Moore wasn’t bad. The paint was consistent, quickly mixed and the sprayer, in the end, worked once you knew about the damn offset primer-to-spray knob. See my previous effort for that tale of frustration.

I returned home and set to work prepping for hardware installation. Alexandra was out running errands and watching John’s musical performance at the end of his camp. About 10, the counter guy showed up. Busy guy. 50-ish, rangy, positive. Put the counter in at high speed. The job is generally pretty good. I’ll know to prep the back wall better next time; this time, I barely had time to get the cabinets painted.

The upshot is the counter guy had to trim away part of the back lip to keep it straight making it a bit tricky to get the wall flat for tiling. I do regret not getting the pieces he cut out for the cook top and sink. Those make great work surfaces and can be cut up to get small pieces for repairs and missing trim. Error.
So there I am, Friday, two, then, later, three electricians, plus the counter guy all hustling around doing their jobs with me occasionally getting in the way. I was outside drilling holes for the drawer handles, one of the little steps that makes you feel like you’re almost done. But you’re not. Not by a long shot.

Now we're talking! This is a set up I can put my mark on. It starting to look a lot like a kitchen. We didn't even go crazy. Pretty good.

This was the first day Chris the tile guy came by to look at the place. He made two more fly-bys before he got started two weeks later. Another hyperactive journeyman, he comes in looking at everything, eyeballs the backsplash, we yammer about it for a few minutes and he says $350, it’ll take him about a day.

T’other tile guy wanted $1200, so this is definitely a better sounding deal. Chris had been recommended by our neighbors, Brad and Tiffany, who had known him for some years. I caught them over the fence a few days before and after giving me Chris’ number as we parted, Tiff yells, “he’s really good!” On the sole basis of that, I figure the job will come out okay, and it came out pretty damn good, I think. Looks great. But the tile is still a question mark at this stage and, right now, I just want to get the kitchen back on line.

It is at this point I realize we are, in the vernacular, acting as our own general contractor. Of the seven jobs, cabinetry, plumbing, gas fitting, countertop installation, electrical, tile, we’re having three done and doing four ourselves. So Friday ran along, with the counter guy doing his thing, the electricians doing theirs and me in the back yard mounting hardware. Manly.

Yep, What's his name. the counter guy. Had a few hacks in the job, but it was dead level and whether by chance or plan, I was able to flex the counter up enough to just squeeze the dishwasher back in.

By about 2 p.m. the counter was in. To my unpracticed eye, it looked great. The counter guy was a nice dude, lived up near Dixon or somewhere. Asked me what I did, and when I said a writer—now more of an editor, he says, “ I took ye for a doctor, what with that fine lookin’ wife and all,” and points at an unused but loose surgical mask on the table. It ws left over from Nina’s birth and intended for use as a sanding mask. There were some trim issues, as I noted, but over all, the counter transformed the kitchen. We had a workspace, again.

Not much of a wound, but all I had. I never even named it, it was so small.

The electricians split shortly after that. They had run all the Romex from the junction box—which they had put in two years before–to the outlets but not changed the hookups, so all the outlets still worked. We could move back into the kitchen over the weekend—if I could get the sink and cook top in. The electricians wanted to get out early because they were racing motorcycles at the track with one of the guy’s son that night.

BR Electric. These guys kicked some pretty good butt. Ran into a couple odd problems after the work was done, but more about that later.

They glanced at each other when I asked if they were coming in Saturday or Monday in such a way that said that was the last thing they’d be in shape for Saturday morning. No, they would be back Monday for the final wrap up, including installing the LED cans in the kitchen ceiling and the Halogens over the sink. Man, I am a guy who loves light in my work areas and knew I was gonna love having a dazzling bright kitchen. Still, I was glad to have a clear field for the appliance installation I had scheduled for the morrow.

Ya wonder what he'll remember from this summer. He's played a substantial role in the remodel, and here, he plays a role of another kind. He was rehersing at home all week to CDs on his CD/Amp he got from his grandparents for Christmas.

Singing his little heart out! What a guy.

Thus, though the counters were a step forward, the electrical stuff was hanging out of the wall. Under the cook top, where it would plug in, the new outlet stalk was in place, but lying on its side. The new sockets were in place under the sink for the disposal (assuming I could re-install it) and the dishwasher, both of which needed to be converted from hard wire to plug-in. I figured I’d have to do those jobs.

Alexandra brought John home about 3 and he and I fired right up and headed for Home Depot where we shopped for all the components needed to install the new two-basin Kohler sink and for a new gas connection hose for the range, as well as the replacement wire with a plug for the disposal. I had set the sink into place and measured the under-the-sink dimensions as best I could.

To figure the whole plumbing thing out, I turned to my trusty helper, the internet. I found a great YouTube video showing exactly what to do, including installing the strainers, and another showing how to re-install the disposal.

John and I found the plumbing section at HD and bought all the pieces needed, plus one or two that I might need, and headed for home. I forget where we ate that night, might have been La Mediterranee, might have been Chinese at Mama’s Soup Shop or what ever that new place on the corner of Webster and something or other is.

That's what I'm talking about! Hot damn! When I saw this, I got fired up to bolt in the appliances and get the hardware on the cabinetry.

When we went to bed that night it was with the potential for a 90 percent-completed kitchen to appear the next day. All I had to do was install the sink into the countertop, re-install and hook up the faucet, connect the dishwasher in- and out lines and the fridge’s icemaker waterline; re-install the disposal, plumb the sink—something I had never done before; and install the cook top without damaging it or blowing up the house when I connect to the gas. The big fear is the valve handle breaking off right after you discover there’s a serious gas leak. If you can avoid that scenario, you’re pretty much home free. I sacked out as usual at 1, determined to take back the kitchen the next day.

This is what it looked like just sitting there, Thursday night. Gonna look great when we get done!

Read the whole story in order, if you want:
1. The whole story started with the hood installation in mid-June

2. Things really got cooking before we left for vacation

3. Sanding and Send-Offs, a Busy Summer approaching

4. More Pre-Work Work, John Proves a Stand Up Guy

5. Kitchen Mission Day One: Bye Bye Home-Cooked Meals

6. Tile goes in: a preview

7. Kitchen Mission Day Three: Airless Sprayer, an Epic Struggle