An Encounter with Black Paint

Everyone ought to bear patiently
the results of his own conduct.
- Shakespeare

This weekend I had the opportunity and good fortune to paint the metal frame of our big awning on the back porch. The awning canvas is away at the shop being adjusted, so the frame--a collection of steel pipes with black paint that has been peeling away for years--is bare.

First step was to sand the pipe to remove the loose paint. But before that I put some plastic tarp on the patio, just in case I might spill some paint on the stone. Of course the flecks of loose paint went everywhere, especially on the top of my head.

I had planned ahead. At Home Depot I bought spray paint and a can of paint, just in case. But the spray paint was messed up--the spray cap didn't fit, and when I tried to make it fit the paint went in all directions. I tried again and again, thinking that maybe it was a test of wills, but now my hands were covered in paint. Then it occurred to me that I might be able to discharge the contents of the can into a plastic container and then use a brush. Seemed like a good idea at the time. In the process, the plastic tarp became saturated, and some of the paint leaked onto the patio.

About an hour later, after scrubbing the stone with paint thinner and putting down a new tarp, I was back on track. No problem, I thought calmly, I'll just use the paint from the can, but when I opened it I discovered that it was sparkling white instead of the black that I needed. I stared at the white paint for quite a while just to be sure it was not black. It was not at all black.

I could just quit, but the frame would rust without paint, and I won't be able to paint it after the canvas is stretched on.

Wow. I realized that this was one of those very important moments when I have the opportunity to test the limits of my character instead of screaming and hitting things. More later...

Dealing with the Details

Now that the tile is up, I'm faced with the nit-picky tasks of finishing the trim work on both sides. Given just a quick thought, a person (or a project manager) might see this as a trivial single task, just a quick swipe of paint and be done with it. But no, if things are to be done correctly, many steps and many types of work are required.

To start, I spent time yesterday cutting out little triangles of trim and gluing them into place so that the molding would be square under the corner of the step. No one would ever know about this if not for my plan to tell it to every single person who steps into the house.

Next I put on strips of joint tape and then joined the edges of tile to the wood trim. This will need another application or two, just to even it out. And then I'll tape everything and paint.

To our project managers this all looks like busy work. They are impatient now because the tile went up so quickly, and now they are certain that I'm dragging my feet. They don't realize that the worst is yet to come--I still need to grout and apply the silicone, and in this regard I admit that I am especially hesitant to go forward quickly.

The grout will be too white, I fear, and will look funny against the tile. And depending on my mood at the time, I may not care. I have a mood, a personality, a person inside me that is not allowed to work on projects. He does not give a damn if the grout color does not match. He tends to fix things with a hammer. For the most part, he is allowed only to watch TV and walk the dogs. Oh, and mow the lawn and pull weeds. Anything that is not permanent...

A New Geometry

Somehow, I've lost the ability to manage time and put away a few minutes to document this project or even to work on it. The details are never far from my mind, though. I see the rows of tiles, the little gaps above, below and between them. In my mind I see feet walking up and down, I see the steps creaking and giving, moving with a geometric give and take, wood moving in space or pulsing like under water, while the tiles are perfectly still at the concrete center.

And somehow I finished the tiling in one day this weekend.

The effect is pretty understated, not the colorful splash that you see on some stairs. I like it more and more, and I think Cheryl does, too.

The next step is to do the grouting between the tiles, and then do silicone putty above and below the tiles, where the world is on the move and a flexible relationship is essential.

More later.

A More Elastic Religion

After being lost for over a week, the tiles finally arrived, and my suspicions were quickly confirmed; most of the tiles are a little bigger than 6 x 6 inches. And on closer inspection I've discovered that the stair risers also are of various dimensions, some taller than others. Any random tile might fit on one riser but not on another. But this size problem is not my immediate concern. I have some philosophical issues to contend with.

It turns out that stairs are the least stable structure in a home. Tiles need stability. They are rigid conformists who believe in the ideals of geometry, not in some relativistic, wishy-washy abstract morality of physical law. If the tile looses the stability of its moral foundation, it will have a breakdown, and it will crack.

Tile professionals love this fact above anything else--no matter what environment they work in, the tile pro will seek to make it more stable, more waterproof, more solid, before the tiles go down. They are like over-protective parents seeing danger around every corner and well into the future.

I communicate with one such professional on the web, the Floor Elf, and he recommended that I put concrete backer board on the risers before tiling. Backer board is rigid, giving the tiles a nice safe foundation, because the stairs are a wild place, creaking and vibrating and moving as we stomp on them.

But here's my problem. Steps have a nose that sticks out over the riser. Why? They are a psychological tool to trick the brain into thinking that your foot has less room to land than it actually has. And so, the heel of your foot is less likely to come down on the riser, and you are less likely to take a fall. Stair noses are good.

Unfortunately my tiles are pretty thick (about 1/2 inch), so my stair nose will be shrinking. And if I put backer board on the riser first, I would loose even more of my nose. So what to do? An alternative (said the Floor Elf) is to use stuff called Ditra, an orange plastic material that's only about 1/8 inch thick. Whereas concrete backer board is rigid (like some old-school religions), Ditra allows for some flexibility while still providing a stable environment for the tile. Vibrations and movement (evil, immorality) on the the riser will be absorbed by the plastic so the the tile can remain rigid.

In an imperfect tile world, Ditra provides for a more elastic religion.

Here I am, applying the Ditra. When it dries, I can move on to the tile size problem. Yes, I will need to cut some of the tiles so that they will fit. In a perfect world, this would not be necessary...

More Than a Little Late

I've often wondered how it is that annoyance turns into relief and then into joy, like when a package of tile that I've paid for has gone missing, and when all hope of finding it is lost, after an entire week and the denial phase has passed, and now, like a miracle, the tile has mysteriously been found, and I find myself so happy and grateful. What a wonderful world.

Had the shipping company been only one day late, I would have been only annoyed. Two days late and I would have been rude to them when they arrived. But now it is eight days later and I'm as happy as a little girl with a new pony--I'm sure I will be laughing and shaking hands when the truck driver arrives. Instead of eight-times angry I am eight times happy, happy because the tile has turned up and I don't have to wait another three weeks for new tile to be made in Mexico.

What happened between Sept.17 and Sept. 24? No one knows. The tile apparently arrived in Tampa on the 17th--this according to the tracking log--but the tracking log contains a lie. The shipping company people are happy as well; they do not know how this happened, or why the log contains a lie, and they do not seem at all curious about it. And who cares because I'm not mad about it anymore.

11:25 and still no truck. They were supposed to be here before 11 am...

To Yell or Not To

Apparently the trucking company lost our tile. It was due to be delivered two days ago, but according to the customer service department, the tile was not on the truck that pulled into Tampa, so it could be just about anywhere by now. They said they put out an "all points bulletin" on the tile--I suppose they use the phrase to convey a sense of urgency and calm--it's like a small child has been kidnapped and I, the grieving parent, should just be patient.

But I have no emotional attachment to this shipment of tile. It may be lost and scared and hungry and alone in some dark warehouse. It may be stolen, sitting now in someone's garage in Chicago, waiting to be sold on Ebay. But it is not my tile. I have no tile.

After communicating with the shipping company, I turned next to the tile company. I've paid them for tile and for the task of shipping the tile. And yet I have no tile. They've assured me that a new shipment of tile will be coming to me soon if the existing shipment is not found. How soon? Very, the tile company says.

During the course of my conversation with the tile company guy, I did not yell or scream or use abusive language or even give a hint that I might be upset. It's not his fault, right? He asked when the project was scheduled to begin, and I casually said Saturday, just to imply that I will need to reschedule a contractor. Otherwise, we had a nice talk.

I wonder if my friendly approach will be effective...