I’m having flashbacks. Flashbacks to a previous house during a previous summer when I was in the middle of a previous renovation project in my previous attic in previously ridiculous heat and humidity.
Before we bought our current place, Ms. Bungalow and I lived across town on St. Paul’s east side in a little 1951 cape cod cottage. In the six years we lived in that first house we took on several improvement projects, the most significant of which was a complete gut-and-remodel of the half-story walk-up attic.
That was then: attic remodel in our 1951 cape cod cottage
I spent many scorching summer days demolishing and renovating that attic. When it was all done, I told myself I would never suffer through another attic renovation again. But apparently all it took for me to forget about that pledge was three years and a change of venue.
So here I am again, sweating through 90+ degree weekends under the uninsulated roof; draining my respirator of perspiration like it was a leaky scuba mask taking on water.
I’m essentially finished with the worst of the insulation removal, having finished the flat part of the ceiling. There is still a good bit of sloped ceiling to do in the bedroom area itself and in the closet, but at least that won’t be so directly overhead and the cellulose also won’t be as thick.
This is now: current attic project in our 1923 bungalow
Even though this nursery project is far from over, I’ve already wondered how long it will take for the cycle to repeat itself. Will I be renovating the upstairs hallway three summers from now? I’d say the odds are very slim but I’ve already demonstrated a gift for repressing these experiences, so you just never know.