Old House My House

April 4, 2013 -- Mantoloking, NJ

Just one of thousands of homes destroyed by the storm. More pictures here.

It’s worse than I expected. I saw all the news reports about Super Storm Sandy on TV, of course, and talked with friends and family about their experiences. But that didn’t prepare me for what I'm seeing. Actually standing amid the ruin is an entirely different experience than seeing it on the news.

One of my first stops today is Mantoloking, N.J. a place considered by many to be “ground zero” for the storm. I walk along the coastline, with its pristine white Jersey sand and fresh tracks from the heavy equipment used to groom the beach. But right next to the perfect beaches of my childhood are huge piles of debris. No, wait -- that’s wrong. The debris isn't next to the beach, it is on top of it. There is no “land” here; it’s all beach. It’s all sand, broken up in places by asphalt or stones or wooden decks, but under that, it’s just more sand. And the piles aren’t debris – they are entire houses, or what’s left of them. You know it’s a house because, well, what else could it be? You can see the roof, the doors, the wires, and the furniture. But it’s all mixed up and tangled. It’s deeply unsettling.

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(Picture: Another summer for the O'Connors on the Jersey Shore.  That's me - bottom left - with four of my six siblings at our rented beach house.)

April 2, 2013 -- Mass Turnpike

The crew headed to New Jersey yesterday to do some scouting and get some b-roll, so this morning I'm driving alone. I have six hours to make it to the Jersey shore for a 1:00 p.m. call time. I know the route by heart but I still plug in the GPS just to count down the miles and see if I can beat the little machine’s estimated time of arrival.

It’s not hard to pass the time. An hour of silence is nice then the morning news on the radio and by 9 a.m. I’m on the phone with my dad. I want to get the history straight. Our family has been vacationing on the Jersey shore and in particular Long Beach Island since long before I was born. LBI, as everyone calls it, is a barrier island about 18 miles long connected to the mainland by a single bridge. To the east of the island is the Atlantic Ocean while Barnegat Bay is just a few blocks to the west. For many people, the O’Connors included, LBI is paradise.

My dad’s been coming to the Jersey shore since he was a kid in the '50s. He has great stories of being a teenager and piling into a borrowed car with his high school buddies to drive to the beach in Lavallette. They would rent a room from a friend’s aunt who charged them “two bucks a bed – per guy, per night.” The room was in a basement and because full moon high tides would sometimes flood the cellar the boys knew to put their shoes up on a chair before falling asleep.

But my family started coming to LBI long before my dad's teenage adventures. As a little girl my grandmother would take a train from Pittsburgh to LBI so the clean, salt air could help her asthma. Back in those days the island was mostly uninhabited, a hunting preserve I think, with just a few hotels and a train that ran down the middle of the island. My grandmother is now 98 years old and doesn’t make the trip anymore. But the tradition she started almost a hundred years ago carries on, and we’re all grateful for it.

My current drive will take me to about 30 miles north of LBI to Point Pleasant, the location of our first rebuilding location. I’ve only shaved off three minutes from the GPS’s ETA so it’s time to hit the gas.

April 1, 2013 -- Boston

Tomorrow I'm going back to New Jersey. It’s a trip I’ve made a hundred times since I left the Garden State more than 20 years ago to attend college in Worcester, Mass. And even though I settled in Massachusetts and have called it home ever since, Jersey has never left my system. It’s where I was born and where most of my family still lives; my parents, siblings, nieces and nephews. It’s where I grew up, went to grade school and high school and played Little League. And it’s where I still go every Thanksgiving and every summer, to spend a week's vacation on the Jersey Shore.

But my upcoming trip and the ones that will follow won't revolve around fun or family—they'll be all about work. This season on This Old House we decided to take on the destruction wrought by Super Storm Sandy, arguably one of the most devastating housing catastrophes in U.S. history. Cast and crew will head to the Jersey Shore as many times as necessary to make eight episodes of our program and to share the story both of Sandy’s devastation and the recovery that is now underway. Instead of our usual format—helping to renovate a single house—we will chronicle the rebuilding of three homes. We’ll serve more as correspondents than contractors and try to answer the important questions: How and where should people along the coast rebuild? And should they rebuild at all?

(Picture: Our project houses on the Jersey Shore.  We'll follow the recovery and rebuilding of all three.)

Along the way we’ll meet the three homeowners and their families, we’ll hear about how Sandy affected their lives and we'll learn about the many challenges they face as they try to rebuild. It will be a story about loss and devastation, yes. But it will also be a story about perseverance and ingenuity. These people will rebuild; there’s no stopping them. And we're proud to be telling their stories. So for me it's another trip back to Jersey, this time with a whole new story to tell.

No, this post isn’t about filming This Old House—it’s about an amazing find that came to us through our fabulous interior designers, Dee and Andrew of Terrat Elms Interior Design. Dee told us that her friend Carrie Gustafson, a glass artist who designs beautiful bowls and light fixtures, was interested in designing a light to go over our dining room table.

My father and I went with Dee and Andrew to meet Carrie in her Cambridge studio and learn more about her work. Carrie usually works with colorful glass that she buys in foot-long bars. Two or three layers of glass in different colors are blown into the shape of the light. Through a painstaking process, Carrie cuts out and applies a sandblast-resistant material in a decorative pattern on the glass. The pieces of this material are tiny—it requires a great deal of planning and time to achieve the pattern that she has developed. Next, she uses a tool to etch away the top layer of glass in the areas that are not covered by resistant material. When the top layer is etched away, the layers beneath are revealed, leaving a beautiful, colorful design. When the fixture is lit, it reveals even more subtleties and color. 

I highly recommend checking out Carrie’s awesome website which has an excellent, pictorial explanation of her process. We look forward to working with her, Dee, and Andrew to design a one-of-a-kind light fixture for our dining room. 

I spent a couple hours at Roma Tile with our interior designers, Andrew and Dee, of Terrat Elms Interior Design.  I went in with a general idea of what I wanted to do with the master bath...I was thinking about using small “penny tiles” in white, with splashes of colorful blue mosaic tile as highlights.

I’ve never worked with an interior designer before, and I’ll admit I was a bit skeptical since I went into this project with a clear vision of how I want our home to look. I was unsure what the designers could add to the vision that our architect and I have had for the space. 

But while we were at the tile store, I got to see a glimmer of what working with an interior designer could offer. Dee and Andrew took my ideas and came up with suggestions of ways to make the tile choices pack more punch. For example, in the kids’ bathroom, Andrew suggested that we use a traditional subway field tile on the walls and then use the small white penny rounds on the back of the tub wall for an added dramatic punch, to let those tiles stand out as a focal point. 

Dee and Andrew also pushed me a bit out of my comfort zone in considering some very striking square white tiles with black “X”s on them for the master bath floor. In the end, I decided not to go with that choice, but I don’t think I would have seriously entertained the idea without their nudging me, and I'm glad that they expanded my horizons a bit.  

On days when This Old House is filming, it’s a whole different story from a regular construction day. The house is teeming with people—a couple of producers and guys who move heavy equipment and lighting; Dino, the cameraman; and Thom Draught, the director. Those people are all in addition to host Kevin O'Connor and the other folks who star on the show. We are grateful that they're all incredibly accommodating of our family.

On one filming day, I brought my kids to the house to watch the show film a scene where Tom and Kevin cut a hole in the roof to put the skylight in the master bedroom.  My girls love being around the crew and all the excitement of filming! They were hanging around with Deb Hood, the show's producer, and Thom, the director, peeking over their shoulders at the monitors they watch to see what was happening up on the roof.

My kids are too young to realize what “being famous” means. They talk about Tom, Norm, Kevin, Roger, and Richard like they are old friends. And I think part of that is because the guys are such genuine, real people that John and I feel like they are old friends too.  

We still can’t believe that Tom Silva is renovating our house! Often when I have unrealistically high expectations about someone, the person falls short. But in this case, Tom has more than lived up to our admittedly high expectations. In keeping with our project that is a mix of old (exterior) and new (interior), Tom brings the best of both worlds. He has a deep knowledge of old houses and what makes them work, and a willingness to make use of new technologies to improve on the old when and where it makes sense. 

Another thing that surprised us about our project is how small the work crew is. Most of the time thus far, it has been Tom and one other helper, Dan. You can see how Tom produces such impeccable results—he only has people whose work he trusts working on the project. At first I was surprised when I would arrive at the house only to find Dan there by himself. I kept waiting for the big crew to arrive! This may change down the line as the project starts coming together, but for now it's been 

On some days there are more people working, like when the roofers and house framers did their jobs. But the sense of ownership and continuity by always having Dan and Tom there gives us so much confidence in the quality of the work that’s being done.

I know our house will be not only infinitely prettier and more livable when they're done, but that it will also be more structurally sound, well insulated, and all around well-built than it was originally. I think that’s pretty rare in renovations of old houses.  

Last week, I was at my friend Amy’s house for bookgroup. She introduced me to her husband, John, because he’s a big fan of "This Old House." While we were chatting, he mentioned that his father grew up on the same street where our house is. When I asked which street number, John wasn’t sure, so he called his father. Turns out that his father, Web, grew up in “our” house!

At that point, John put me on the phone with his father. Web was amazed to hear that the house was going to be renovated by "This Old House," because he is a long-time fan, and we were both stunned at the improbability of us making this connection.  

My conversation with Web helped us answer some of the questions we had about the house. Web’s grandparents bought the house in 1909. They were the second owners, and lived there for more than 60 years. Web’s mother was raised in the house. Right before the Great Depression, Web’s grandfather invited Web’s parents to move in with their new baby (Web). They lived upstairs on the second floor while the grandparents lived downstairs. There were two separate apartments, with a kitchen in each unit. The house was built on a former pear orchard, and there were still two or three pear trees in the yard when Web lived there.

Shortly after we made the connection, Web, his wife Sylvia, and a total of three generations of their family came to see the house. Web told us many stories about living in the house—where people slept, and how the rooms were used. He said the house was full of good memories for his family, and he wished our family many years of happiness there. 

The Essex cottage sits on a wooded hillside lot with views to Essex Bay and beyond to the Atlantic. The property is currently 6.3 acres, but at one time it was closer to 10 acres, as three lots were sold off for development by a prior owner. We have taken steps to restrict any future land divestiture, but the larger story is the restoration of the current landscape.

Part of what makes old houses special is that great care was taken regarding their location. The range of factors that guided the decision of where to build was, of course, limitless, but homes were generally sited to take advantage of the sun (critical in the pre-AC days and to enhance natural light), and to optimize a scenic view or vista. That was certainly the case in a small town like Essex, Massachusetts, where homebuilders had their pick of open land. 

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One of our daughters asked, “Can I be there when they blow the house up?” We had to explain to her that demolition doesn’t mean “blow up,” and that our house would be taken apart piece by piece so  every usable part could be salvaged for re-use in other homes. 

We were able to stop by periodically during the week as the deconstruction crew worked. We couldn’t go in the house because of hazardous dust, but we were able to watch as materials that couldn’t be re-used were sent down the long yellow tubes into the dumpster. It was fun to be able to check in on the progress through the webcams when they went live, too. Even more interesting for our whole family was watching the piles of salvaged materials accumulate in the yard—bookshelves, light fixtures, toilets, a stove, pine floors, interior doors, and even the outlet covers.

Now that the deconstruction is complete we've finally been able to go inside. With the entire structure empty, we can better visualize what the new space will look like, since we’re going to have an open floor plan. In a way, it's actually kind of beautiful (in some places, the light shines through the cracks in the exterior siding). Finally, the process of constructing our new home begins!

It’s not every day that you get to appear on your favorite TV show—one that you've watched faithfully for years—but fate has dealt us a good hand. Our project is the restoration of a 1935 three-bedroom cottage in Essex, Massachusetts. The house has seen better days, but it sits beautifully on six-plus acres on the side of a wooded hilltop, with great views of Essex Bay and the Atlantic beyond. Well, at least we think the views are great. Right now, they're a bit obscured pending the arrival of Roger Cook and his team. No doubt I’ll be contributing some sweat equity once they get here, and I have a chain saw at the ready!

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So, why am I so obsessed with Swedish style and craftsmanship? Maybe it has something to do with my ancestry. My great grandparents immigrated to Connecticut from Sweden in the 1890s, and I grew up hearing stories about Sweden from my grandmother. I also had lots of visual reminders of our Swedish ancestry at Christmastime, when my grandmother, mother and aunt would bring out the many Swedish ornaments that decorated our home. We always had strings of tiny Swedish flags on our Christmas tree, which my father topped off with a set of painted wooden Dala horses—one to represent each family member. 

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A few days after the disappointment of realizing we had lost out on buying "The House Around the Corner (HAC)," our Realtor, Carol Kelly, emailed me with the news that there was another house listed in the same neighborhood. Within minutes, my neighbor, Bliss, had emailed me about the house, too. When John and I looked up the location, we were thrilled. But we were warned that the house needed some “upgrading” on the inside. 

We went to see the house that afternoon, and immediately saw the potential: high ceilings, a relatively large side yard, a pretty exterior, lots of light streaming through the windows, a finished attic space with cathedral ceilings, and a roof deck! Best of all, we liked the location even better than the HAC. We knew pretty much immediately that we were going to make an offer. 

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First, let me say how excited my husband, John, and I are that our house has been chosen to be remodeled on "This Old House!" We still need to pinch ourselves several times a day to believe that we are really going to have our house and yard done by Tom, Norm, Richard and Roger! We have no idea how we got so lucky. 

The Thursday in October before we bought our house on Avon Hill, in Cambridge we had seen another house on the market just around the corner (pictured above). There was a feeding frenzy at this "House Around the Corner (HAC)," with many potential buyers milling about, whispering with their realtors—including a very pregnant looking woman and her husband.

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When we were signing on to be featured on This Old House TV's next season, we were told by many who had been involved in past seasons that we would need to take a leap of faith when doing this. I think that can mean a lot of things, but for us, it's meant really learning to trust a team of experts, and let them guide us through an incredible process. This applies to all the wonderful folks who have advised us throughout this project, but, as I've discussed before, one of the things I've most enjoyed has been working with the Terrat Elms design team.

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