Window Warriors
Project turns into a real pane
By Mary Mendoza
As I sit here, surrounded by five thousand board feet of wood trim and enough cement spackle and butyl flashing tape to seal up King Tut's tomb, I remember fondly those happy, carefree days B.W. (before windows).
We foolishly thought that window-shopping would be the toughest part of this home improvement project. In reality, the madness was just beginning
The day our Pella windows were scheduled to arrive a trio of neighborhood busybodies stationed themselves near the back fence, on alert for breaking news.
Our side alley, which was constructed around the dawn of time, has a pockmarked telephone pole that was installed by a crew of not-very-bright chimpanzees. The pole sticks out into the alley a half-foot and everyone knows to steer around it.
I was inside painting my toenails when I heard a sound like an iceberg scraping the bow of the Titanic. The delivery truck driver, not expecting to find a telephone pole in the middle of the road, had clipped its wobbly top.
By the time I hobbled outside, the three busybodies had lit into the poor man, accusing him of purposely hitting the pole and yelling, "Someone will pay dearly for this!" One rushed to call the police.
My experience dealing with lunatics (I worked in television) immediately kicked into gear. The more hysterical people become, the calmer you remain. It drives them nuts. So I gave the "Pole Patrol" my Mona Lisa smile and went to comfort the driver and make sure our Pellas were unharmed.
When the cop arrived I was delighted to see a friendly face. I had written a feature story about the officer for the local newspaper a few years ago. He calmly accessed the situation, said the pole was a menace and he'd never understood why the city hadn't fixed it long ago. Then he admired our new windows, talked about what he'd been up, and asked for my recipe for banana bread. Ok, I made that last one up.
The busybodies realized the policeman was not going to bring the driver up before a firing squad so they went back to their chicken coop.
After this dramatic entrance, the Pellas were placed under sedation in the garage until my husband had time to install them.
One crisp fall morning, armed with the finest power tools money can buy and the cocky self-assurance of amateurs, we began the project. My husband had taken the week off work. I'd dreamed of this moment for years.
The first old window took hours to remove. When my husband dug into the frame, instead of excavating priceless T-Rex bones, he found antique ropes attached to heavy weights that looked like they could anchor a steamship. These are called sash weights, by the way, and are harmless. You can paint them and use as doorstops.
The next seven hours were some of the most challenging of our remodeling career. One major problem was our inability to speak Windowese-the language of windows.
Impervious shims, jamb extensions, perimeter openings, flashing and fascia were foreign to us. After reading the instructions several times ("Verify the opening is plumb and level," "Do not over shim!" "It's critical to get this right!"), we became quite intimidated. The potential for us to screw up was huge.
Window installation is nothing like floor installation, which we have mastered. Floors are flat. They go in only one way-down. Windows have sides and bottoms, sashes and sills, fins and flashing, and must be plumb and level and square. They have to be measured and mitered, sealed and foamed and fricasseed.
It was a chaotic week. The electrical grid, maxed out by too many power tools going at warp speed, blew twice. My husband made dozens of trips to the hardware store; I lost track of the debit card receipts and most of the house was in shambles.
Here, in the heart of vinyl country, word quickly spread that the Mendozas were up to mischief again. Neighbors, family members and curiosity seekers came to gawk. A group from the senior center set up chairs on the front lawn and sold coffee and doughnuts. The county tourism office called to ask if they could send over a busload of tourists who had never seen wood windows.
At the end of each 14-hour day, we ate our meal al fresco in what was left of the living room. Fortunately, the animosity generated during the day was dispelled by bedtime because we were too exhausted to argue any more.
By day six we were in a state of full discombobulation. Although my husband had installed five of the windows, they all still needed interior seals, taping, patching, insulation, and paint and stain. And then there were the muntins and moulding to deal with.
On the last night of his "vacation," as a cold wind blew in through the hole in the bedroom wall, I turned to my husband. His eyes were glazed over with fatigue and he was mumbling something about shimmying shims.
"Honey, I don't want you to worry one iota about finishing the windows," I said in my cute Renee Zellweger voice. "If Norm Abram can build a piano out of packing crates you'll have no trouble installing moulding and muntins. How hard can it be?"
That was eight months ago. The muntins remain in their boxes underneath our bed; the mouldings are propped up against the wall and stands like guards at Buckingham Palace and I am no closer to becoming Queen of the Pellas than I was last fall. The project bears an uncanny resemblance to my Woman without a Ceiling incident and we all remember how that turned out.
I don't know if the rest of our Pellas and their merry little muntins will be installed during my lifetime. I do know one thing -- this explains why there are no windows in King Tut's tomb.
Next on Madcap Mary: Of Muntins and Moulding
Biographical Sketch - Mary Mendoza
Madcap Mary Mendoza, formerly known as Hurricane Mary, lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, son, three cats and 200,000 Sunset magazines.
Madcap's humor columns and feature stories have appeared in publications around the Northwest as well as online. She is the author of The Adventures of Madcap Mary, a collection of humorous stories. Madcap can be reached at mcmendoza@ispiral.com. Visit Madcap's site! http://www.madcapmary.com.
