What it means to be "obsessed"

I'm not just a senior editor at This Old House—I'm also a big fan of the entire brand, which is how I came to work at this crazy place 8 years ago—first as a writer, and then a year and a half later, as an editor. I wish I could pinpoint exactly when I started watching the show, but it must have been about 20 years ago, when a friend got me into fixing things—and fixing up things—myself.

Back then I was a college history major, so the way people lived in the past really fascinated me. That interest has never gone away. Combine that with an interest in watching people create art (I used to stare for hours as my art-major roommate painted), and you have an avid fan of a show like This Old House, where you literally watch craftsmen create while learning about the history of houses.

I never fancied myself a painter or an illustrator, but I can work with my hands on everything from building a bookcase to decorating a cake. In the past 3 years, my art has become taking a run-down apartment in New York City and making it a welcoming home. Unfortunately, because of circumstances beyond my control, I'm now on my third apartment in as many years. So this process is ongoing. Ask anyone who knows me about my endless "projects".

This window is my latest obsession.

It's in my kitchen, and it faces the side of the building rather than the back (where I have a garden). Luckily, though, it overlooks the neighbors' garden, and not the more common New York view: a brick wall. When I moved in, it was sealed shut with putty, then painted over with 5 layers of paint. I discovered this on the hottest day in June, when I was trying to open it to get a cross breeze going.

[What is it about New Yorkers that they don't understand what a cross breeze is? In my last two homes, I found the windows painted shut. It's a simple concept: open a window at one side of the room, open a door or window at the other, and voila -- you have a cool summer breeze blowing across the room.]

So I started cutting with a utility knife and peeling away paint in order to get the window open.
Long story short: I got the sash free but paint on the chains kept them from staying open. I worked intermittently during the winter to strip the paint (underneath is galvanized metal) but I had to wait until the weather to warm up to try changing the chains.

Last weekend I finally did it—took the whole window apart, replaced the chains, took as much paint as I could off the sash, and even bought a temporary screen so I could open the window without the flies getting in. Of course, it's been too cold to do that since then, but I know it won't be long.

Friends tell me I should leave the whole thing unfinished—they think it looks cool/rustic—but I want the satisfaction of replastering around the frame and painting it. Once I get that whole thing back to a good state, I can paint the rest of the kitchen.

And then I'll be done. Well, once I get the pot rack up, I'll be done. Except for the new dishwasher. Oh, and the doors for the cabinets I built in the living room. And the replacements for the closet bifold doors. Then I'll be done. Really. Once I have the chairs recovered. And get a new rug. That's when I'll be done.

I swear. Really.