The Pink Tilled Bathroom

         Into the office she came with a smile, tightly clutching a folder. She looked as if she were carrying the last copy of the Declaration of Independence. Not far from her immediate reach, the folder was placed onto the conference table where she was led starting the first introductions. The shear weight and size cast a wind across the table, blowing sketch paper off to the side and scattering drawing pens out of the way. The architect sat down to begin the meeting as Mrs. Mary Davis came to rest in her selected office chair. It was at that moment, when the folder Mary was carrying into the meeting was cautiously handed over to the architect that the he suddenly realized, Mary was going to be a bit difficult. His first thought, when does someone have the time to compile a memoir of instructions?

         The architect had been contacted to provide work for Mary’s home. She and her husband, an attorney, had a historical home in central Alabama. With her due diligence in contacting the Historical Commission, she had to see if the architect would qualify per her prudence. The architect was however highly recommended for his experience in historical restoration. She felt comfort knowing he would have a deep respect for her treasured southern temple.

         They wanted to make additions, alterations, and capture the space found in the attic. The home had already had some renovations around 1955 showcasing that pink with black trim tiles in one bathroom. Mary’s mother just loved pink and was eager to step into high fashion of her day as well. That bathroom would ultimately be removed and remodeled with complete new finishes. Mary wanted a new master suite with ample bathroom for her husband and that tub for soaking away the day’s chores and children’s screams. She wanted a kitchen, a real kitchen with all of the most modern appliances and storage space for miles. A pantry was just not enough; she wanted cabinets and most at eye level. The attic presented the opportunity to gain space for her children to also have a grand bedroom to entertain their guests as they became older. The rear of the house needed a new porch with a portion covered and screened. That would give them the outdoor living space without all of those mosquitoes. The gardens were important, the walkways, the lighting. The finishes were all to be the best. Mary’s memoir listed all of what she wanted to have to make her family house complete. A list that came to the architect in the form of a single line spaced BOOK, owner’s manual. Mary had done her homework, lots of it, for months; compiling her future home’s bibliography.

         So there it was, the how-to instructions for assembly staring the architect in the face as he smiled consciously at Mary. It wasn’t every day one would encounter a client to be so, thorough. The architect had already been warned by another architect as to Mary’s previous incarnation with his firm. Leaving the design unfinished, with too many alternative directions or ideas for her to take, the warning was she thinks she knows what she wants with her formidable approach. But with all that was before the architect that day, he knew down deep she still had a great deal to learn about design and would become an unwilling student.

         The architect enjoyed historical related work and was fond of the discoveries that would ensue. It was what would hold the project together for him and Mary would have no assumed authority. An agreement for services was forwarded to Mary’s husband and then returned, signed. The architect was surprised it had come back so quickly. Probably her husband expressed what the architect had anticipated; Mary was anxious; Mary was in control. She had her contractor already lined up. One that had worked on her sister’s home had shown good work and she knew him well. Later, the architect had found out the contractor was also anxious to get Mary’s work going and soon; to give her something to do than to call him every day with questions.

         The architect had copied off some drawings from the previous architect to see where the designs had left off with Mary. He knew he needed to see all that he could before starting with his assessment. There was no telling where the design should go. The previous three design schemes did however have one that made more since than the other two. It also happened to be the one Mary had shown the most resistance towards considering how radically it would change from the house from its present layout. It just so happen to be directly related to the way the entrance drive and old landscaping was originally configured. It was all still there, even with a later fountain that came at some date during the 50’s.

         The architect set a date to meet with Mary at the house. He knew it would be an all day event based on his past experience in measuring a house top to bottom. Mary would have to help with pulling the tape measure (only later to find out that was a mistake). He made sure he had his camera ready. Back then he used film and made prints, not these digital cameras of today. He got drawings printed off. These would help with recording and verifying all the dimensions of everything. His clip board had his graph paper ready and he had his scale to measure while drawing.

         So on that day, he arrives at the Alabama town temple, just on the edge of the outer neighborhoods. The house obviously was in a location, which indicated by its lack of resemblance to other homes around, that its legacy once owned all that land. The large track of land behind the home to the northeast was spacious with every indication there were once horses that graced those fields. Pecan trees for sure were still producing out there. It was a bright and glorious spring day. The sun was out with the air still crisp, a coolness that brings one out to the front porch to sun and bask in warmth. And you guest it, there were rockers out there too.

         The architect first wanted to walk the grounds taking pictures of every last detail he could. Side views to count the boards of the lap siding. The shutter hardware, the doors, the overhangs, windows, the brackets; he wanted to document this treasure. It was a home dating to late 1800’s. It had been built at a time when Italianate had become high fashion in the world of architecture. No more six white column Parthenon for that house. However, it did have the front porch overlooking the busy street facing the southwest. The windows were large, almost touching the porch. The rear of the house had shown where another addition had been built. It had to have been from the previous 50’s incarnation along with the pink tile and front fountain.

         All around the house were signs of gardens with brick walkways injured from pecan tree root invasions. A not so old brick patio had been built with an attempt to incorporate outdoor space for parties. However, the most prevalent pecan tree, on its last leg from a lightning strike and in process of being trimmed, was dead center. The architect could only look up in amazement knowing that pecan trees would rain sap on anyone who sat below it during the summer. And then to be dead center to the patio, he knew he would create every intention as to why that pest of a tree would need to be cut down completely. The architect hated pecan trees in landscaping, maybe in a field where pecans would be gathered, and there were plenty enough in the adjacent fields.

         There was still an old small house, separate living quarters too. It bordered the pecan field and provided for past renovations creating a guest house. He knew it was the Mary’s childhood maid, housekeeper, and nanny house when she was a very young child. Long ago past now, the history still remained. Mary knew at some time in the future it would become the teenager’s entertainment and party quarters. She and her sisters had done the same thing when they were in high school. The small house was set to the end of the drive on the south side of the house, forming a wall terminating you view. An arbor stood slighted with the weight of very, very old lady bankshire rose climbing up and over and all around to almost cover the house. This really gave the house privacy from the car parking and created a very colorful cream yellow feature to admire as one came to the private rear entrance door of the main house.

         A walk took you from the parking to that dysfunctional patio and to the stairs leading up to the other end of the dog trot hallway. The pair of doors was original to the house and matched those at the front entrance. The sidelights and transom still had the old glass too indicated by its droopy surface textures and small bubbles. This was a treasure to behold as you stood on the stoop turning the darkened brass hardware. But for some odd reason, the doors were nailed shut and the next smaller 50’s door tucked back to the side was the only way in. It led you to, you guest it, the pink tiled bathroom. The architect knew those heart pine doors were going to be one of his missions in the restoration process, to open once again with the grandeur they once enjoyed.

         Passing the pink tiled bathroom in the newer hallway, the architect came to the dog trot. The center hallway plan was still very prevalent as with every home of stature. The main entrance beyond could be seen. He went outside to the front to be sure he hadn’t missed anything in his photography. The large heart pine double doors with side lights had been painted the tale-tale dark black-green color post civil war. The shutters matched in color. The doors were going to get a stripping and the shutters a new coat of paint. All he could do was shake his head as to why anyone would paint over heart pine; such a beautiful and now rare wood.

         Mary and the architect would talk more that day as he measured the house; every inch. Mary was surprised at his thoroughness, he checked every last detail. He drew sketches of all the doors, the number of panels varied, showing the house’s multiple transitions. Sketches to recreate of the intricate trims around doors, the bases around the rooms, all done with measured accuracy. He measured all the wall thicknesses, room dimensions, window sizes, their trims; sill and head heights just about wore Mary out. Their conversation slowed. But the architect knew before he left that day, he was going to know everything there was about Mary’s personality in addition to the house. It was essential so as to know what he was up against. She was going to be in control, all right, of whatever it was regardless if she knew what.

         The architect discovered that Mary was living in her childhood home and she wanted to preserve all that she could that was representative of her mother. It was almost as if she wanted to avoid any changes to the museum. Mary wanted changes, but also didn’t like change. The instruction manual presented in their first meeting had played well to expose the true Mary. So many directions with so many conflicting, all letting the architect know she really needed someone to guide her. To create the best home she could have and make those selections, those directions that would be in her best interest. She just had to be the one who thought she was making the decisions. Yes there were challenges. To manipulate an old house so the additions looked as if they were original to the house and to manipulate Mary. It would be like running from a angry bull to get it to follow or chase you. Unfortunately, sometimes the coral would get trampled in the process and he would keep running so as to explain what made for a better design.

         The architect returned to his office the next day to begin his work. What a wealth of information he had gathered, he began his drawings. By then he did have the facility of computers to do the work. It did come in handy when the many plan alternates were to be produced. He stated by laying out the basic master bedroom and bath. Since this made up the majority of additions to the house, he wanted to get a feel of  just how big this was going to get based on the instruction manual. He also knew this would be the most personal of spaces he would have to walk Mary through in his design process, revealed some much concealed characteristics of her marriage. It is when an architect starts the bathroom design that always opens doors he wished he hadn’t in any home; too much information. Many couples are pretty cute about what they want and are not shy by any means to open up about who they are in their relationship. It is funny how a two man shower or separate bathrooms can tell so much in the design process.

         The design progressed that day quite well. The architect had first created a scheme he knew would be the best overall. It solved all the problems of making the additions, giving Mary her BIG ass kitchen, and establishing functional hierarchies in how you moved through the house to protect privacy. It gave them the new open and enclosed screen porch in one on the back of the house facing the east. The windows of the living room, 50’s remake, would allow for you to remove them and provide French doors to open and flow out to the deck. More light would come in and the rooms would become one during receptions. The dog trot rear doors were shown opened and the other door removed. The children had their part of the house and the adult theirs. The only problem was it wasn’t where Mary thought the kitchen should be located; based on preservation of the museum.

         The kitchen was right where their master bedroom presently sat, with the pink tiled bathroom. It was on the side of the house where the turn-around driveway approached the southeast end of the front porch. I made good since to enter the kitchen from here so as to make it easy to bring in groceries. And in reverse, get to the cars quickly early in the morning as everyone leaves the kitchen with a cup of coffee or a lunch bag in hand. It would be right next the formal dining room which presently was the quest room. The biggest change, the existing kitchen would be gutted and turned into the laundry, sewing room, and office Mary so wanted in this house. And down the hall from the laundry, her new master suite and grand bathroom, all of which would overlook her rose garden.

         What a prize garden it was and Mary did like that particular garden space. Flanked by tall holly hedge blocked the view of the small side street. It was enclosed with a secure feeling and with a bench. Protected from intruders, it was evident it provided Mary a tranquil private space. The rose garden was going to be the architect’s bargaining chip to maneuver this scheme.

         The architect did however produce three schemes. The other two were just to be sure Mary didn’t think she was be railroaded into only one idea and she had a choice in the matter. In the following week the architect presented his schemes to Mary and faced opposition on every scheme. However it just kept coming back to the first and best scheme that presented Mary with the path of least resistance. That scheme too had the small private porch and her windows overlooking her rose garden. That scheme was the one that made the addition look as if it had been an original part of the house as it transitioned into the existing roof line. More than ever, Mary moved. Then that day of the final presentation, she told the architect she and her family were going to live in the house during construction. The architect at that moment that single expression by Homer Simpson, “Doh!” came to mind. She had lost her mind. The shear amount of dust alone would eventually drive her from her abode, but he was going to just let her find out that one on her own.

         A couple of weeks later as the architect was really proceeding well in the development the drawings, an invitation came to join his family over lunch. The architect’s Aunt was a sweet little thing, quaffed silver-white hair, close to 90 and still getting around better than most of much younger age. She needed company and they set off to the country club for the lunch buffet. It was pretty good food for a buffet. She liked the desserts best always springing on her toes as she eyed which one was going to be her selected jewel. When they returned to the buffet after their salads for their entrée, who do you think was standing there serving himself up but none other than Mary’s husband Clayton. The architect and Clayton exchanged pleasantries with fine how-are-you-doing-good-to-see-you greetings. Where upon the next statement that came from Claytons mouth was, “I understand Mary’s has you pretty busy” with the biggest shit eating grin you have ever seen. It was at that moment the architect knew he had become Clayton’s hero for keeping Mary busy and out of his hair.

         Clayton worked out of the architect’s nearby town for a prominent firm, which was about a thirty minute drive. He was maybe 50, but looked younger. He was dressed always in a suit for work, so professional. But with his gentle, friendly nature, his smile and blue eyes would bring you at ease in a hand shake. That day in the buffet line, he wanted so much to thank the architect for all he was doing, but to pay the design fee invoices each month said enough. The architect, though, always thanked him with every meeting. Everyone knew what was most important; Mary was happy and busy with her project she had been worked so hard for years to begin.

         The drawings were completed. The design was one the architect was proud to have achieved.  The kitchen had been redesigned (based on his best scheme) at least ten different ways. It concluded with an island to separate work areas and the children as Mary would cook. There were more cabinets than she ever had before, but to her, not much more than what she had had before. The new bay window for the breakfast table would fill the kitchen with east light. A new mud room would lead you to the old porte cashere off the end of the front porch. Once again people would be encouraged to use what once was the fashionable way to enter from a rain storm.

         The master bath and Mary’s closets could never be big enough. The bedroom would be filled with east light to awaken them for their early rises. The rose garden had its own private access entrance off the end of the house. The master suite addition concluded that pecan tree and initiated a complete redesign of the garden patio with landscaping. The architect was pleased by his work and construction began soon to dig and set the foundations.

         These were unfortunate times however. It was at a time the architect knew he would be soon closing his business due to an economic testing of 9/11 for which had been too great to overcome. He was to move to another city to start again and work for another architect in the design of a courthouse. The construction on Mary’s house would progress without him. As much as the architect wanted to supervise the work, Mary was insisting he wasn’t really needed in the process to oversee the work her contractor would provide anyway. The contractor did, nevertheless, call the architect on a regular basis for advice or for a clarification to directions from Mary. It was like he and the architect had a secret relationship at times talking over the phone. Regardless, the worked progressed without the architect ever having a chance of seeing his handiwork in person, he had already moved.

         To the architect, though, what was more important was that he had had another chance to incorporate his years of experience and understanding of human natures’ patterns of living. The design process, beyond the struggles and running with the bull, did eventually embody these influences. He knew that regardless of how confused and contradictive that instruction manual had been, he had still engaged Mary’s sensibilities. To bring a joy to this family, to enrich their lives, was central, regardless of the yoke he had to carry or the scars from the whip. He lost count of the times he had to explain to Mary as to why she hired an architect. She knew his guidance had been needed regardless of her control.

         Eventually he did go back many years later. The architect had decided to visit on his way to the coast. And with Mary’s welcome, her long lost friend and confidant had come home. The pride in that house that day was as thick, dripping down the walls like honey from a comb. The architect could truly feel the delight he had brought into their lives and encouraged to have preserved and created a historical jewel for the next generation of children. The only loss was the pink and black tiled bathroom.