In preparation for my upcoming tax protest (doesn’t it seem like I just protested?), I took pictures of the wretched bathroom to bolster my case. And what is my case? That a fixer-upper that hasn’t been fully fixed didn’t go up $20,000 in value during a recession. Unless the Travis Central Appraisal District got excited by the un-sexy updates (like the radiant barrier, R-52 insulation, solar screens and electrical panel), it just isn’t possible.

Unlike last year, though, I’m not handling the protest in person. Doing it myself made sense last year because I had a recent sales agreement that warranted an appraisal reduction. But now it would be like trying to push a Peep through a pinhole. So I signed up with a company that does the protesting for you and only gets paid if your taxes get reduced; then it gets a percentage of the savings.

So to make the company’s job easier, I spent part of my lone day off taking pictures of the bathroom. Exciting. Without further ado, I give you … the bathroom.

You step into a somewhat unimposing entrance hall. And the door can be a little hard to open from the inside if your hands aren’t fully dry.

The other side of the entrance hall houses a linen closet and a lower cabinet that would be a great place for a hamper if one could find one narrow enough. Overall, the functionality of the linen closet makes it the best part of the bathroom. (It would be great if I were tall enough to reach the top shelf, but that’s a personal problem.) I don’t even use the rusty medicine cabinet, which the tour will cover in a moment. But first, stop and drop your gaze to the flooring.

The sheet vinyl (with chocolate-milk-colored squares on a white field) works well for containing doggie accidents. And that’s about all the praise I can spare for it. It’s uneven and covers a spongy sub-floor so it’s gotta go.

The wall heater still works, though I fear lighting it. Those aren’t allowed anymore, by city code, but mine has been grandfathered. When the power went out in the winter, I could’ve used it as the house’s sole heat source, but instead I just didn’t get out of bed. I’d like to take it out and maybe use the space for an inset wall shelf for toilet paper or something. And the wall around the heater needs help, too. The intense temperatures made the plastic tile sheets crackle and bubble, which (note to whoever did it!) was not improved by a coat of paint. And the wall bears a few scars from where I removed the 1970s oak-and-brass toilet paper holder. The toilet still looks and works well — it will be nice to bring up the level of its surroundings.

That brings us to the vanity and contractor-grade corroded faucet. According to the home inspector and the plumber, old leaks left those too damaged to keep. (And of course its ugly factor did it no favors.) The trim and possibly the wall behind it will also need replacing. I’m planning to use a wall sink (since storage isn’t an issue) so I have a spot to stick the trashcan where it can’t be seen from the doorway.

Above that is the medicine cabinet with an etched design. It shrieks in protest when you open it, which would be a plus if I had weird medications to hide from people. The bathroom’s sole source of lighting could stand to be upgraded. There’s nothing wrong with the fixture, but it houses the bathroom’s only outlet (a non-GFCI) that’s hard to reach and needs to be updated for safety reasons. And because the sink lacks surface space, someone mounted a glass wall shelf, which I’ll probably take down as I don’t find it all that functional.

As for future colors, I taped up some paint chips similar to the color of the painted-over wallpaper. The striped shower curtain (from Target) pulled together my towel palette, but that could change in the future.

The last stop on the tour brings us to the tub and shower. The tub, original to the house, remains in great shape so it’s staying. The enclosure … well, if I could rip it out with my bare hands, I would. The current plan calls for white subway tile in a grid pattern unless I find something fun that I like more (and that’s also cheap). The shower hardware will be replaced with a complete Kohler Purist set from eBay (a steal at $140).

The 1970s remodel (re-muddle?) wasn’t kind to the bathroom, though there are a couple of original details left, like a vintage glass towel bar. Unfortunately, you have to reach over the toilet to use the hand towel so it likely will get relocated.

Well, that concludes the tour. The before shots should provide context to the upcoming remodel, for which I’m getting bids. So close.

Though I haven’t made any huge changes to my house, there’s been at least one big change in the immediate area.

Remember the hoarder house? Well, the owner finally tore it down. OK, he himself didn’t do it. He hired some guys. But still. It’s gone now. And even better — soon a new house will sit on the site. The city just approved the plans (which I know because I’m nosy and I went poking around on its permits database to make sure a McMansion wouldn’t be going up beyond my back fence).

The demolition went so fast I couldn’t even get pictures of the whole process. One day the house was there, the next day … a bare slab and a full trash bin.

As if that development wasn’t enough, the house beyond it, which you can see in the background, got totally rehabbed. It used to be home to a herd of very barky Dachshunds and a couple of humans, who moved out and were replaced with a building crew that worked literally around the clock for several weeks. Sometimes when I’d let the dogs out in the middle of the night, I’d see people painting and rewiring and who knows what else through the uncovered windows.

So I’m taking it as a positive sign that the neighborhood is doing well in a slow real estate market if people are still building and renovating.

I’m back! Well, I mean, I didn’t go anywhere, I just put house projects on hold while I figured out a plan. I’m a big planner. I could plan an invasion if that were my assignment. Everyone would just have to bear with me and my lists, though. “Did you remember to pack the missile launchers? … What do you mean you left them on the aircraft carrier? You had a copy of List #578, didn’t you? They were right after MREs and before Band-Aids!”

Fortunately, I’m not planning a military action, just enough progress to placate my mother, who’s coming for a visit. (Hi, Mom!)

My mother was hoping I’d have a new bathroom by now, but since I’d have to be out of the house for (at least) a week for the work to be done, I haven’t coordinated the timing. So what will she see instead? New ceiling fans!

So the squeaky living room fan and the den fan with the non-functional light will be replaced with Energy Star-rated aluminum Ball fans from the Modern Fan Co. I bought the only ones Lights Fantastic had during a big sale last year. (And even with the big sale, they weren’t cheap. They’re fancy, these fans.)

Of course, since the house only has 8 foot ceilings, the fans won’t use that rod.

And the guest room/office will get a simple white ceiling-hugger from Lowe’s (also on sale — less than $20). It will replace a 1970s model that’s just … there are no words.

See? No words.

Normally, that fan could be rehabilitated by swapping the brown-and-yellow globe with a plain one for a few dollars. Except …

The fan hangs down about 22 inches from the ceiling. I measured. A tall individual (not me, obviously) would walk right into it (or at least fear walking into it). And it creaks and buzzes.

Since I’m sending 3 things to the landfill, I thought, “How can I re-purpose something I already have so I can cut down on the things that I have to buy for the bathroom?”

While putting away dishes, I realized I could move the kitchen towel bar (which prevents one upper cabinet from opening completely) into the lavatory to use for hand towels.

Money saved: however much a small chrome towel bar costs. Which probably isn’t that much in the scheme of things, but you can’t beat free.

Who doesn’t like lovely multicolored flowers growing alongside their house?

Me, when said flowers are attached to a bush that’s the size of Audrey II from “Little Shop of Horrors.” Am I supposed to wait until it’s cold to trim that? Or will it be too traumatic (for the plant, not me)?

Can’t nature be a little neater? Is that Chia Pet-like exuberance really necessary?

Ever so helpfully, my homeowner’s insurance company sent me a mini-magazine that included a feature on fall maintenance. At least half of the items (#3 Fix roof leaks, #6 Clean gutters and downspouts and #7 Inspect your chimney) don’t apply. But I got cracking on the rest.

I vacuumed under and behind the refrigerator to clean the coils (#5 on the list), traumatizing Owen, whose bowls sit next to it. (He’s not traumatized enough not to eat, but he still looks at the refrigerator with suspicion.)

Then I used the vacuum to clean the dryer vent, where the lint level was negligible. That’s when I discovered something curious. Light!

The vent isn’t screened at all. It’s just a hole to the outside, where there’s an angled cover. I hope critters don’t crawl in there. Ugh. Then lint will be the least of my troubles.

The top item on the list — trim dead tree limbs — will have to assessed by a professional since the lines that run power to my house and the one next door appear to intertwine with some branches. The lone tree in the front yard grows like a Dr. Seuss creation, thanks to the city’s aggressive trimming program, so it definitely needs some work to resemble a tree again rather than a leafy question mark.

The last item on the list — make outdoor structural repairs — isn’t pressing. I’d like to make the front steps non-slip, for the times Sam uses them, but he prefers the back yard so that project isn’t urgent.

So over the weekend, my friend Jody and I made our annual trek to the giant roadside flea market in and around Round Top.

Unfortunately, I forgot my camera so I don’t have original photos to give you an idea of the scene, but a simple Flickr search turned up a ton of images. A lot of the pictures make it look very artsy, but it’s not really like that. (If you’ve ever been to the Fresno swap meet, it’s more like that — hot, dusty, piles of junk to dig through.)

As usual, Jody and I went with no real plan. Despite that, we acted like people with a plan and set out bright and early from Austin (after a stop at a gas station on the edge of town for energy bars and bananas). Eventually, Jody decided to try to find a set of dishes since her husband feels that they’re too old to not have matching dishware. All I decided was that I would not leave empty-handed.

We drove past Round Top to Warrenton and found a field with free parking. We wandered through rows and rows of booths all the way past the town center before pausing for a much-needed snow cone break. Jody had no luck finding the dishes, but I did find something to use as a backsplash.

On the way back to the car, we stumbled on a patch of ground staked out by an Englishman with tons of leaded glass windows from Nottinghamshire. I’d seen people use glass (back-painted or clear) behind their stoves and reasoned that a window would work pretty well, too. Being cheap, we started going through the least expensive ones first. “How much are you willing to pay?” she asked while flipping through the $40 section. “It depends. If we find something über-fabulous, I’d be willing to pay more.” “Uh, I have no idea what über-fabulous means to you, but I guess we’ll know when we find it.”

I pulled a possibility from the $60 pile because it had a lot of colors in it and therefore would be pretty versatile. It wasn’t that exciting a design, though, so it remained a maybe. Then, in the $80 pile, there sat an über-fabulous specimen. Unlike many other windows, its design was asymmetrical yet colorful. See? Fabulous.

And now I just have to figure out how to hang it.

After a few months of thinking, rethinking and overthinking the future bathroom remodel, I started looking at hard numbers and narrowing down options.

I’m hoping that I can keep the cost of the new and improved bathroom under $5,000. That might be wildly optimistic, but hey, everyone needs goals.

Luckily, the water-saving toilet is covered. And the tub is staying. I have an estimate for the plumbing work in hand. But I need to settle on the design plan and make it conform to the budget. And part of that involves talking myself out of the tile I want and talking myself into tile I can afford. That particular process isn’t going well.

The tile I really, really want is the Little Diamonds Mix in Tropics Blue by Heath Ceramics in conjunction with Dwell Patterns. (Did you get all of that?)

Unfortunately, that particular pattern costs $24 a square foot. Eek. Even though the bathroom isn’t very big, getting enough to cover the 45 square feet and allowing for a 10% overage would ring in at $1,200. Um, no. I’m crazy, but not that crazy.

The look of small tiles would work well in the space, so I turned to penny rounds next. Luckily, those fall in the $5- to $7-a-square-foot price range. And they’re not bad. They’re just not the tile I’m trying not to buy. The colors I’m considering are (clockwise from top left): aqua, cobalt, gray and sky blue.

Hexagonal tiles — in sky blue, left, or varying shades of powder blue — could work. Maybe.

Then there’s also the possibility of triangles reminiscent of the Dwell tile, but at about $16 a square foot, it’s not really a bargain.

The search continues. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find some money in the street. Like, say, $1,200. That was dropped by Bill Gates, who will never even notice it’s gone.

Updated to add: OK, yes, I know Bill Gates spends a lot of his money on eliminating malaria and weird worms in Africa and that’s admirable. But if I find cash lying in the street, then I’m going to think one of two things.

1. Drug cartels left the money for a pickup and will cut off one of my hands if I take it. (And maybe that’s a conclusion not everyone would draw, but I grew up on the border, and in my experience, unexplainable things can often be laid at the feet of the narco traffickers.) That’s where some risk assessment comes in.
   
2. Fate/God/magical unicorns really want me to have the money to buy tile.

Besides it being my sister’s birthday and my parents’ anniversary, it’s also when I took in Sam as a foster dog two years ago.

I wish I had a before picture for comparison purposes. He was in bad shape — heartworms, half bald because stress made his hair fall out, super itchy from allergies, infected ears, wobbly hind legs from being kicked in the back by a charming individual who was part of his old owner’s family. Add all of that to the depression over his owner’s death from cancer and Sam was a hot mess.

His old owner’s neighbor Gail kept him from being dropped at Town Lake Animal Center, where he faced almost certain euthanasia because of his advanced age (11 in people years) and condition. She covered his vet bills and found another neighbor willing to keep Sam at his house until she found a foster home. That’s where Owen and I came in.

Austin Pets Alive posted a referral ad for Sam, asking for a quiet home where he could recover from heartworm treatment, preferably with a small dog to keep him company. I’d been looking for a foster dog to keep Owen from thinking he was going to be an only dog forever and thought Sam would fit in perfectly. Owen had no idea what was coming.

Gail drove Sam over, along with his bed and some food, in case he and Owen got along and his temporary placement looked like it would work out. I brought Owen out on a leash and Gail opened her back window so they could get a whiff of each other. Sam perked up immediately and tried to climb out for a better look while Owen went nuts with joy at another dog coming for a visit (or so he thought). They played in the front yard for a little while before we brought them in. The only sticky situation came when Sam decided it would be a good idea to pick up Owen’s stuffed dog Buddy and play with him, too. Sam soon learned that only humans can touch Buddy. Otherwise, he’s all Owen’s.

Sam took a stroll around the back yard and poked his nose into every room in the house before circling back to the living room where Gail and I were talking. As he plopped down on Owen’s dog bed, I caught a glimpse of an expression that said “I like it — I’ll take it.”

He quickly got comfortable, but remained on his best behavior at all times. It was like he knew he had to earn the right to stay. I would never have turned him out, but I figured once he was healthy, someone might want to adopt a calm, friendly senior dog. Sam clearly had other ideas — and absolutely no intention of giving up his new home.

He found a champion in my friend Michael, who wouldn’t hear of me allowing Sam to go live with someone else. “He already has a home,” Michael insisted anytime I brought up Sam’s adoption prospects, which admittedly were not huge. I honestly thought I was giving Sam a nice place to live out his last few months. But he surprised everyone.

Sam cemented his position as my official dog when he scared away a mentally ill man who tried to get in the house as well as a home-invasion suspect who tried to worm his way inside. He’s old and not that big for a Lab mix, but he possesses a disproportionately loud bark and he’s not afraid to look mean in a threatening situation. Normally, though, he’s very sweet and happy and loves to nap. He’s the best.

One of my favorite things about my neighborhood is the Wall of Welcome that runs along the Crestview business district.

Though the mosaic mural isn’t all that old, it definitely has a mid-20th century feel.

The squares that run along the top represent each street in the neighborhood, and at one end sits a reference to the developer, A.B. Beddow, who transformed the old Richcreek dairy farm into suburbia after the city annexed the area.

The only thing resembling an art wall in my old neighborhood was the frequent appearance of graffiti on my neighbor Miss Ruby’s back fence.

Up until very recently, one of the projects that sat high on the to-do list was screening the hoarder house behind mine from view. But then … someone decided to clean it out. Well, most of it.

I never actually knew the woman who ostensibly lived in the house, primarily because she didn’t really live there. According to my old neighbor, the woman’s father owned the house and she lived there for a long time. She had a fiancé and then went to live with him. He died (of what I don’t know), and she inherited his house and kept on living there.

The only thing I know firsthand is that she would come back to her house and sit in her car in the driveway for hours. Hours. Generally, she didn’t even go inside. I didn’t find out why until the day a couple of laborers positioned a large trailer alongside the house, went in, opened the windows and started flinging stuff out. All manner of stained and broken junk filled that trailer and the one that replaced it after it got full. At one point, a pristine turquoise stove sat outside the back door, a strange counterpoint to all of the debris you wouldn’t want to touch without industrial gloves on.

It took a couple of weeks to empty the house, which is only about 700 square feet. The windows were left open, though I’ve never gotten close enough to get a whiff of whatever smells are airing out. And I believe I spoke too soon when I said the house was empty: There’s actually still a pile of trash in the laundry room. Eew.