Looking out my Backdoor: The rules

If you ever for one minute think you are different from other Americans in this foreign country, who seem to live by the motto of “I want it; I want it all; I want it now,” just endeavor to undertake a major construction project. You will discover your Gringo sense of entitlement. Guaranteed.

My project isn’t major and it is only quasi construction. In a little-used space adjacent to my bodega guest bedroom, I’m installing a bathroom. Rendering my guest bedroom to en-suite status makes sense.

Ideas always make good sense when they are in my head. Putting an idea into action brings out all the hidden bugaboos. Every idea has some. It’s a rule.

Might as well accept up front two more rules: Any project of this nature will take longer than estimated. And it will cost more than estimated, guaranteed. Just factor the rules into the equation before you give the go-ahead. Acceptance prior saves a lot of stomach aches later.

The hardware stores in our little town carry a small selection of tiles. My criteria was that the wall tile be light because the bathroom is being built into a space the size of a narrow hallway. A touch of blue and yellow would be nice.

Josue went shopping for me, returned with photos for both floor and wall. Easy-peasy. Perfect, I said. Order them.

The tiles were delivered, no, part of the order was delivered from stock-on-hand. We opened a box of wall tile and it was rough, a floor tile, not the shiny wall tile, easy to clean, like the sample shown Josue. Josue canceled the rest of the order.

I went to Ahualulco to the first hardware store, picked a tile from the top of a stack. This will work. I like it. Do you have 10 boxes? Yes. I paid for the tile and the boxes were stacked in the truck.

Got them home and opened a box to discover the box had the tile I had chosen plus a dozen different patterns, none matching. I had bought a conglomeration of every known traditional Mexican tile with white background, blue designs with bits of ocher. When purchasing tile, check the entire box. Make it a rule.

Now what? Belatedly I discover that the stores do not accept returns on boxes of tile. I glared at the four boxes of my first choice, which I had liked better. What will I do with those? Shrug. OK. We will go with this tile for the walls. This decision was not instantaneous. Or easy. Lemonade from lemons with not enough sugar.

My friend Michelle offered me leftover indigo blue tiles from her own building projects. She had just enough to make an accent line. The lemonade just got sweeter.

When it came time to put in the floor tile, Abel suggested we use the first tiles I’d chosen for the walls. He said in the small space, they would work better, and they were after all, floor tiles. The effect is “interesting.” It all comes down to acceptance.

Another rule of construction/remodel work is that if it can go wrong it will. See above. And see below.

One of the bathroom windows, an outsourced job because of time constraints, opens the wrong direction. Send it back? No, it’s not a big deal. Acceptance again.

The bodega bedroom had to be repainted. Brick dust doesn’t lend itself to a simple scrub with soap and water. The paint I chose is darker than shown on the chip. Oh, well. It will give the room a warmth it previously lacked.

And so it goes. Periodically I remind myself that this space was formerly a junk room. This project will not be featured on the cover of Architectural Digest.

That was last week. Then my computer crashed.

Amazingly, the men finished the project a day ahead of Ben’s arrival. And it is beautiful.

Ben came, walked into his quarters and said, “This is better than yours, Mom. Why don’t you move out here?” I’ve thought about it.

My Son the Geek fixed my computer, set up the new laptop he brought me, stole the affections of Lola The Dog, and settled in for a good visit.

Rules are, well, rules, but sometimes I don’t care. I bend them. Break them. Twirl them around. And, maybe, just maybe, my project will turn out even better. Like my crazy new bathroom.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].