Tool Time

There's nothing like the right tool for the right job. I learned this quickly while installing an Ikea sink in the second-floor apartment. After we had our helper, Luis, put in a 12-inch tile floor, diagonally set, I took on the task of building and connecting the Värde sink and Värde cabinet.

First of all, my first mistake was using a non-variable speed drill made by Skil. When a screw became stuck, the drill nearly wrenched off my arm. Being too lazy to go and find my DeWalt drill, I made do for the duration of this job but was never comfortable. My suggestion: Avoid power tools by Skil. I've yet to go wrong with DeWalt purchases. (My latest purchase: A DeWalt D26441K Heavy-Duty 2.4 Amp Orbital 1/4 Sheet Sander with Cloth Dust Bag; so far, so good. It even came with a carrying case.)

The next piece of information I discovered about the house was that the supply and drain pipes ran sideways into the pantry instead of toward the back wall. Either it was due to a poorly done renovation, different building codes when the townhouse was built in 1901 or some combination of the two. Not having the wherewithal to reroute water lines at that moment, I drilled holes into the side of the cabinet. (Besides, I had already paid a plumber to vent the pipes pointed out in my pre-purchase building inspection.) Not an ideal solution, I admit, but it would allow the job to get done.

More than a year after having installed the sink, I'd have to say it has held up relatively well in the rental unit, which has been inhabited by at least three tenants most of that time. There are scratches across the stainless steel sink surface, but that's to be expected. But surprisingly, the doors and hinges still work flawlessly, a testament to some fine Swedish design and engineering. I selected the single-lever Bågvik faucet for its looks and its convenience — although the sink required drilling in order to mount it — yet it has proved to be durable, as well. Go figure!

Looking Up

Upon taking possession of the house in September, I was so excited I hardly knew where to start or how to go about it all. Among the first orders of business I planned on tackling were redoing the electrical and the floors. My building inspection flagged some plumbing work that was needed; it didn't seem like much, despite the fact that I didn't even know what it meant to "vent" plumbing.

My mom said her friend's nephew was an electrician and would likely save me a bundle. When his estimate came in at one-third of what one of the top shops said they'd charge me, I didn't hesitate. A week or two of work to rewire the entire two floors seemed reasonable.

As my on-the-cheap electricians routed through the walls to install new Romex Electrical Wire — you know, that yellow, plastic-shielded cable — I poked a hole through the drywall above to see what I'd have to contend with.

There was nothing wrong with the ceilings, as far as I could tell. Except that they had been dropped about a foot with drywall. Perfectly respectable at a 9 feet high, they weren't original and I thought there was more potential in restoring the entire place as it was built back in 1901.

My heart soared when I saw the original 10-foot ceilings largely intact. Sure, there were a few holes and the entire surface had been covered in a horrid, faux stucco texture. This was a good start, I thought!

A First Look

I've often described my first encounter with the Cornelia Street house as being like one of the opening scenes of "Titanic," where the remote-controlled submersible camera first enters the wreckage of the mighty ship. Deteriorated and corroded when it first appears on screen, the once-luxurious interiors soon dissolve back into their original splendor.

Similarly, when I stepped into the house, I could almost see through the drop ceilings, the linoleum tile, the cinder-block "patio," the crumbly, unvented bathrooms and the awfully partitioned basement.

The view from the upstairs kitchen window held so much promise as to what could be.

Home, Sweet Home

More than a year ago, while looking at buildings — and apartments — for sale all over Manhattan, Queens and Brooklyn, I drove up this street and was immediately hopeful.

The light, the foliage, the gorgeous day and the stateliness of these turn-of-the-century limestone brick townhouses in Bushwick created a great sense of excitement for what might lie ahead.

Driving up Cornelia Street for the first time, I was ecstatic to see the building for sale was a two-family, corner unit with three sides exposed and a full "finished" basement. (More on that later.)

It would be the second place on which I would make an offer that was accepted. The first one, a six-unit building at 289 Harman Street off the Knickerbocker M train with one vacancy, five rent-stabilized apartments and numerous code violations that turned up during our inspection, was sold out from under the Prudential Douglas Elliman Real Estate broker contracted to represent the seller. (I imagine that ended up in a lawsuit.)

While friends and family offered their condolences, I thought it would likely be better in the long run. The right place would show up, I kept saying.

If it's meant to be, it's meant to be.