The much anticipated kitchen renovation is underway, and (as feared) the contractor has hit a snag. It turns out that my 1935 kitchen has 1935 water pipes. No surprise there, but the issue is that they're a soft, brittle brass that has started to leak here and there. The plumber was here for four hours yesterday, and every time he fixed a leak and tightened a joint, another leak would pop up. I was without water one night, but thanks to my friend, Karen, who lent me her shower, I survived. Today, my contractor comes to give me the bad news about how all of my pipes must be replaced and about how much that will cost. I'm surprisingly calm about this. Rather than seeing the situation as something gone terribly wrong, I'm seeing it as a relief. They uncovered a potential disaster before it happened. Of course, there is the money issue. Sticker shock might darken my sunny disposition today.
In the meantime, here are some photos of my disappearing 1935 kitchen. It's adorable, I know. I have pangs of guilt for demolishing what I lovingly refer to as my kitchen museum, but there's ground in grime on that old linoleum and chips in the farmhouse sink that are rusting. I've used this kitchen well for fifteen years, but I needed something new. Let's hope I can still afford this new thing after the plumbing estimate!
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