The downstairs bathroom has always been the lesser bathroom. It was old, dated, and never really felt clean, even when it was mopped and swished and sprayed. The upstairs bathroom has been the “good”one, though it isn’t much to talk about either. It is dated and impossible to clean, too;  it has bathtub with a pitted, grimy finish and a squat vanity with a cracked sink. In spite of its flaws, it’s got old-house charm, with a light green tiled floor and wainscoting trimmed with dark green tile.

There was no charm downstairs. The 70’s vinyl flooring with the  gold and orange geometric pattern was peeling, and the shower was missing tiles in the ceiling. The floor of the shower came off in chunks, leaving the concrete pan exposed. When we first moved in 10 years ago, we took out the old broken-down vanity after it proved impossible to clean and replaced it with new Ikea sink, vanity and shelf. It helped a little.

A couple of years ago, we decided to spruce it up by putting new flooring down. The old stuff was glued to the concrete and could not be removed easily, so we put plywood  over it, installed the new flooring on top of that, sealed it all up and painted. It was a huge improvement.

Things have always been a little green and mossy around the outside of the shower, so we knew there was a moisture problem. We assumed it was splashing and leaking under the shower door onto the bathroom floor. We hoped that sealing it carefully would keep things dry. 

A couple of months ago, that bathroom started smelling strange. It reminded me of rhubarb, a sweet and sour smell; it wasn’t exactly bad, it was just wrong–something was happening in there that should not be. The odor was a strong and heavy. When I sprayed the shower with cleaner it lessened for a bit, but was back full force within a day or so. I was embarrassed to have guests stay down there. 

We decided it was time to remodel that bathroom.

When they pulled out the old tile, they found water and wet rot in all the wood around the shower, and cracks in the shower pan. Water had been pushing behind the tile through unsealed nail holes, cracks and other ways too mysterious to understand.

Water is a slippery character. Tumbling over rocks or washing up on sand, it looks so innocent and straightforward, but given the chance, it slithers into smaller and smaller spaces, dissolving, disintegrating, destroying. It is incessant, probing and prodding  for weak places to break down and invade. It’s the universal solvent. With enough time, it can carve out the Grand Canyon.

It had made it’s way under the new plywood subfloor and made it a harbor for mold and rot. Water was splashing on the floor, but it was also traveling down the wall and trickling through the shower floor.

Instead of making it cleaner and dryer, we had inadvertently sealed in the moisture we were trying to keep out. We made it worse. Rhubarb-stinky worse. 

Water itself is not the problem. The qualities that make it destructive also make it useful. Water is not often neutral. It is not going to flow in somewhere and just sit; it makes itself known, highlighting the breach by hosting some rot or mold.  As long as it keeps moving and doesn’t linger too long, it’s helpful, flushing and cleansing.

Showers are a good example of the good and damaging attributes of water: we get clean in them, but if the flow isn’t positive, they harbor mildew and worse.

The downstairs bathroom will be beautiful when it’s done–we picked tile and fixtures that fit in with the character of our old home, but meet current standards for moisture control and plumbing. For awhile at least, water will be our friend in that bathroom. 

Now that the upstairs bathroom has become the ugly one, we will eventually have to re-do that one too. There’s no telling what we’ll find behind those shower walls.