I first encountered groufitti in a bathroom stall at the main library on Berkeley campus. It consisted of dozens of bad puns involving the word grout, written on the grout in every direction. Groutesque. Alexander the Grout. The Groutful Dead. You get the idea.
First thing upon arriving this morning, Steve assured us that last evening’s bucket spill would not have damaged the drywall in the guest room ceiling. Alright then. He then negotiated Greg into working tomorrow to keep on schedule. The floor has to go in before the toilet and sink are installed; the plumber’s due back on Monday.
Last night after Greg had tidied up and departed, I noticed a minor glitch in the tile pattern. If you look at the picture featuring China Rose from yesterday, you might be able to discern, in the right corner, a sliver of dark blue tile on the third course up from the floor, and a sliver of lighter tile on the second course. Most of the pattern is random-esque, but I really wanted a dark-to-light thing going on at the borders. This morning Steve and I discussed the concept of wabi sabi. Greg reversed the colors. A small error presents a dilemma: Will it fade in your consciousness over time, or will it annoy you forever? I’m glad we fixed this while we had the opportunity.
Today Greg finished tiling, including the intricate cutting involved in lining the recessed soap-and-shampoo shelf. Grouting and polishing was the final touch. I’m glad we chose clear glass, rather than patterned, for the shower door. A: We want to see the tile. B: There’s enough pattern going on already.
So the tile guy will be back tomorrow -- yes, Saturday and, as it happens, our 28th wedding anniversary -- to lay the subfloor and then the Marmorette (tm), Armstrong’s version of Marmoleum (tm). It’s been so long since we chose the color; I hope it works with what we’ve got going now.