Well, aside from some cabinet knobs and shower doors, the house that we’re having built is largely done, so a couple weeks ago it was deemed to be time to have an open house. Though my wife and I are not big entertainers, we like to do a good job with our open houses because we don’t have them that often. This would be our third over the last fifteen years. We do one every time we finish building or fixing up a house into a pretty sweet place to live. Previously it was for houses that we then rented out, but this time it was for the house we would be moving into ourselves (therefore much more of a big deal.)
So we moved some five gallon buckets of paint to the garage, pulled the clear protective film off the windows, and procured food and drink. A playlist of smooth jazz tunes was created just for the event. There was no refrigerator yet, but the big farmhouse sink held ice just fine. The guest list included the immediate neighbors, as well as longtime friends and readers of this column who had bothered to read last month’s Architalk all the way to the last sentence. I placed the invitation at the end of last month’s column so that only readers who “drank deeply” of the column would earn an invitation.
The weather on open house day was quite perfect. Guests did in fact show up. Melody and I moved about, greeting people, accepting gifts (mostly bottles of wine, some chocolate) and conducting little tours. People seemed to really like things like the old growth beam my buddy Phil had given us for our fireplace mantel, under which we placed two pilasters of grey High Sierra granite. Also worthy of notice was the way the doors to my office were made to completely blend in with the wall paneling when in the open position, as well as the barn door up by the skylight in the two story space above the kitchen. This barn door could either close off or open up my upstairs office to the Great Room below. But it was the Great Room itself that was the highlight of the tour. It had a gable shaped tall ceiling done in the manner of my architectural heroes Julia Morgan and Bernard Maybeck. The view towards the Carquinez bridge didn’t hurt either.
I was asked if this was my dream house? Such a label was loaded with baggage and therefore slightly cringe-worthy, but I had to admit, after so many Friday afternoons happily pouring my soul into this project, I couldn’t now pretend it was not something of a supreme effort on my part.
This was to be our last house, complete with adaptations for the days when we are less spry. The good thing about a no-curb shower is that it looks and feels good even before you have a physical need for it. And who doesn’t mind slightly wider doors?
We were spending a big part of the family nest egg on this house. The only way we could afford to build it was to sell off three of those aforementioned rental houses that we had fixed up so nice. Because we had acquired those houses two recessions ago (when prices were depressed and no one else was making offers) they had experienced 20 years of pretty good appreciation. I was inspired to make those real estate purchases by a self-improvement tape cassette I listened to in the ’90s in which Tony Robbins interviewed an unusually savvy guy who understood the human psychology that sets in during down and up markets. (Don’t think I can afford to build a fancy house because of the fees I charge. Remember me? I’m the “architect-for-the-common-man” guy.)
Designing my own place meant there was no limit to the amount time I could spend on it. It became my favorite hobby ever. When I wrote a column a while ago about how the best artists and musicians manage to stay creative by finding ways to think with the mind of a beginner (instead of with the mind of a jaded veteran who thinks he has it all figured out) I wanted to experience that myself. So I ignored the floor plan for a bit and took to designing only with cross-section views for a while. The result was that I had a totally new way of thinking about things, so when I returned to designing my floor plan, I had a much fuller picture of what was happening with the spaces.
I had the most elated design moment of my life happen one Friday evening while experimenting with changes to the house layout. I had some tracing paper overlaying a previous idea when I found a way to shift things around that instantly resolved many issues all at once. It was startling. This change would improve privacy for the bedroom wing and make the atrium better suited to hold the plants we planned for there. It would be easier to frame, improve the view from the archway by the entry, and on it went. All this, and the roof line would be sexier.  This was all came about in an instant that created in me such a thunderclap of joy that I involuntarily leapt up from my chair and backpedaled across the room while laughing giddily. I had no idea that I would ever react like that to anything, but it just broke out and I went with it. I finished making a few notes and then I sought out my wife to tell her I had just had the best singular moment of my professional life and that I might never have one as good as that ever again, but that was okay, because I was glad to have experienced it at least once.
So now we are nearing the very end of construction and I believe I might actually miss the sense of mission needed to select finishes and fixtures. It was like a way of life. Trips to various lighting stores and tile outlets down by Berkeley would get combined with an outing to an obscure but fantastic movie playing only there. (“Loving Vincent” was good enough that I’ll interrupt myself to recommend it here. Especially if you’ve ever painted with oils.) The house-building gear we were in will be replaced by something else. We can still go see good movies I suppose.
Next comes moving our belongings across town into the new house. I almost forgot about that little chore.

Steve McKee is a Benicia architect. He can be reached on the web at: www.smckee.com or at (707) 746-6788.
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