Jetson, Not Flintstone
As you all know, I have been going up to Hudson for the last couple of weeks and then reporting on my house’s progress, or lack there of. I went again this weekend, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hang up my coat and toss my keys onto the entry console, but I was expecting more forward movement.
Contractor Mitch was so excited to show us the steel work that he’s personally been working on for the skylights on the front of the house. Joan was excited too, marveling at the scale, the profile of the mullions, the rigidity of the structure. One has to admire architects. Nobody gets as excited about details as they do. They look for and find God in them.
The steel frames look fantastic and will make a distinctive design statement. I expected to see a crane and a team of men hoisting the frames into place. Instead I found three men and two ladders. I did offer to help, but they seemed to be okay without me. How much easier and faster (and not to mention cheaper) would storefront windows have been? Patience and deep pockets are hardly virtues I possess, and yet I chose the slower and exponentially more expensive option.
No I did not buy a Keith Haring to cover my floors. This is what radiant heat looks like before the concrete floor is poured. This view is from my living room looking into my bedroom.
Reading the Sunday NY Times, I ran across a picture of a room with a wall of glass and a “floating” fireplace. It does look great, and of course it’s the kind of thing an architect would love, but to do something like this would mean I would have to use a gas fireplace with faux logs—very today, very green. But so much for the image of me loading logs into the firebox, standing by the hearth acting as keeper of the flame. Do you think I can get the same satisfaction loading my dryer? No need for fire tools, a simple switch, or even better, a thermostatically controlled fire that would self-ignite as soon as the temperature dropped. An mp3 of a crackling fire and a burning cedar-scented atomizer would complete the ambiance. Think George Jetson, not Fred Flintstone. All this to save a few trees.