Reading an update last week about ongoing efforts to save Zelienople's Strand Theater and the possibility of a similar project at Ross' old Beverly Hills Hotel, I had just one thought, which I'm sure all you other would-be home renovators share: Run for your lives! Or -- stop while you're ahead! Or -- give up now and go lie down till the urge to improve the world around you passes!

It's true that I jumped on the Strand Theater bandwagon very early in the historic preservation process. I loved the idea of the community rescuing a good old building, devoting it to the performing arts and restoring life to a historic Main Street.

But I don't remind you of this with any pride. No, I wrote that pro-preservation column with the confidence born of complete ignorance. Sorry, but I didn't know what the heck I was talking about. Now that I do -- now that I'm a grizzled veteran of several attempts at property improvement -- I can passionately lead that chorus of "Run for your lives."

Those words, however, imply there's something or someone to run from, which in turn implies that the contractors actually showed up. This is unlikely.

About a year ago, a friend I see only occasionally asked me how work was going on my North Side home. I told him I'd arranged in November of 2002 to have a crew start a big project in February, but three months later, work had yet to begin. "Ah," he said, wagging a finger at me, "you nailed down February, but you neglected to specify which year."

He's a prophet: In February of this year, the work had barely started, and of this writing, it is not even halfway done.

The Strand Theater and my house have a lot in common -- besides the heroic efforts needed to save them.

The theater was built in 1914 and has been closed since the 1980s. My home was built as a shoe polish factory in 1903 and had many reincarnations -- mechanic's garage, carpet warehouse, sign manufacturer, photo studio, real estate office -- before sitting vacant and for sale through much of the '90s.

The big difference is that the people trying to save the Strand Theater aren't living in it through the process. This proves they're much smarter than I am.

In case you've forgotten -- and I had, since writing about it two years ago -- Ron Carter, the visionary behind the Strand Theater Initiative, has already survived many false starts, including an initial community presentation scheduled for Sept. 11, 2001. He has persuaded banks to extend deadlines. He has even gotten a federal bureaucracy to complete a six-month grant process in two weeks! So he may be strong enough to survive contractors.

No one knows if the same is true of the Beverly Hills Hotel in Ross. Our long coverage of this dilapidated landmark reads like a soap opera -- a soap opera that's all dialogue and no action. Township officials, lawyers and the property's owner have been talking and talking about the eyesore for years, without any progress to report.

In an article published two years ago, hotel owner Constance Costa Schaefer "said work on the building is expected to begin soon, but she did not specify a starting date."

Last week's story, reporting that the building's for sale and may interest Ross leaders, also said that Schaefer had been "working with a local contractor to fix up the hotel ... but the plans never came to fruition."

Of course there was no fruition -- a contractor was involved!

That's a cheap shot, I know, though acquiring the experience to take that cheap shot has proven to be very expensive. I may get mail from construction professionals who claim to do their work when they say they'll do it, for the price they said they'd charge. In theory, such people exist. And if they write, I'll have a whole new set of tradespeople who can plunder my bank account and break my heart.

I'd share the list with Ron Carter, but I don't want to jinx the Strand.

Ever since first getting burned three years ago, I've wondered if the would-be renovator and the building professional should get joint counseling before they embark on a long-term relationship. Expectations, emotional baggage, recurring issues -- it should all be put on the table now, so it won't be hashed out in small-claims court later.

It might clarify for people like me why we keep going back to these same destructive arrangements, why we keep telling ourselves, "If I just hang in there, someday he'll change!" It might even make a good self-help column in a home improvement magazine: "Can This Renovation Be Saved?"

If I do hear from any honest contractors, I'll share their names with the Ross officials who are thinking about buying and renovating the Beverly Hills Hotel. After all, it was working with a contractor that finally nudged the hotel's owner into giving up her dream and selling the old wreck. Perhaps such a fellow could make township officials come to their senses before they start wasting taxpayers' money.

I, however, like the Strand's Ron Carter, will keep dreaming the impossible dream. I'll let you know how it's going, say, next February.