August 24, 2010

Everyone's getting antsy. Things take so long. The relocators, who find and pay for the alternative housing, called today. Are we ready to give 30 days notice? No. We're not. The builders are waiting for us to get back to them on changes we want made. Even so it seems to be moving slowly.

Our basement is white. Seal coated to prevent the smell of smoke from ever returning. No new windows yet. My work has heated up and I have less time to fool with fretting over the house which might be a good thing, except now is the time to make choices.

If I'd been born rich, I might well have walked away from the house and let someone take on the rebuilding problems. Does it work that way, if you can afford to take a loss on the home? I doubt it.

Like most people we are still recovering from the "dip" in our 401K and, I used these next words lightly "stock portfolio." We can't afford another hit. So I am plunging ahead trying to make time for all the things I want to do plus all the things I need to do.

Being raised on fairy tales is hard on us. I want the fairy godmother with the magic wand. I want the prince on the white horse. I even want the troll who can spin the straw into gold. And before I whine way too much, I know others are going through worse times than I am. But I believe in the Secret. I believe that God's in His heaven and all's right with the world. I believe nothing bad will ever happen to me.

Except that it did.

8/15/10

The contractors appear to be finally through with demolition. The basement is one big room - no furnace, no hot water heater, no washer and dryer, no walls except the outside ones, and no insulation. For the first time, the windows, which have been boarded up, are uncovered and set for replacement.

Everything is white from the smoke sealant. Four months and twenty days since the fire, we are finally ready to rebuild.

We met with the plumber last week and tweaked our changes. We're adding a steam shower downstairs and a doggie wash in the basement. The basement windows and the lead paint on the windows are subject to be replaced this week, except for one.

We have honey bees. Wild ones that my husband is in the process of trying to domesticate. Yes, somewhat it is like teaching pigs to sing. Anyway, the bees chose us, we didn't choose the bees. They moved in one day when we weren't looking.

You're probably thinking, moved in? What? You had a bee hive just waiting with a vacancy sign out?

No. We had a in-ground box that previous housed plumbing for the sprinkler system that the last owners dismantled. Once the bees had put up a do-not-distrub sign, we realized getting rid of the bees or relocating them was going to take more effort than we were prepared to give it. So my husband added a bee hive over the top.

We've tried the honey and it was wonderful. The contractors, however, are not as thrilled as my husband to discover that all the windows that need replacing are within five to seven feet of the bees. They really don't care how good the honey is.

There is good news. Honey bees become inactive when the temperature drops to 50 degrees. So some of the windows are scheduled for replacement in late September.

If one was to look on the plus side of home fires, you do get to gain a whole lot more knowledge about stuff you never, ever gave a rip about, prior to this.

7/30/10

So much has happened. The insurance company sent a check for $21,000.00 to pay for the abatement. I have been thrilled with not only my insurance company willingness to work with us to make things right but also the contractors who listen to what we want.

I spent the week in Idaho and came back to a lot of work underway. The weak subfloor where the fire took place was replaced with sheets of plywood. Charred pillars in the basement were replaced. Support beams were shored up with sister beams.

The basement previous (BF - before fire) had consisted of one room sheetrocked, wallpapered (wasn't everything?) and carpeted that stored the camping equipment, a desk, etc. Those walls and the walls that make the laundry room a separate room had been taken down making the basement seem quite spacious.

Our house attracted do-it-yourselfer's. Previous owners have made many additions including phones in every room - the basement, the bathrooms and so on. Not all of us feel the same. If you call me, I'm not desperate for company to want to answer the phone in the bathroom.

The cable people groan every time they see their cable equipment in the basement because it's such a jumbled mess.

The entire house had been wired for a sound system that was put in and taken out before we owned it. Same with a sprinkler system.

Like so many other people we've gotten rid of our land line. The box used for the non-existent sprinkler system was taken over by honeybees, so my husband added a bee house on top. Several weeks ago he donned his bee suit and got great honey from it.

So the basement ceiling is a mass of electrical wiring, telephone wiring, pipes for additional plumbing. It amuses us the contractors are appalled.

Plumbing and electrical are scheduled for next week. No doubt they'll feel better when they know what every single wire attaches to. No doubt we'll sleep better at night ourselves.

7/11/10

Finally! Something is happening.

Construction plans have been approved by the city or county or whomever waves the magic wand over plans and says, "Okey dokey."

The contractor and the insurance company still haven't agreed on who is paying for asbestos removal. But the adjuster and his boss have recommended that the insurance company pay. Like everything else in the world it gets kicked upstairs to the powers that be and someone with a rubber stamp makes a decision.

But the asbestos has been removed and the basement has been sandblasted. For the first time a subcontractor worked on a Saturday. So the charred pillars look better. Next they seal the basement to contain the odor of the fire.

Summer has come to Portland. As usual it came with a bang. Cold, damp weather lingered until last week. Then it was 95 degrees. For those of you who live in weather than is normally this hot, let me point out that Portland isn't air conditioned. We have about two weeks a years (usually not together) of over 90 degree weather. Hardly worth the cost of A/C.

Today, it is only supposed to get to about 85 degrees. In a move that was unusually clever for us, my husband and I managed to spend most of the hot week at the coast where it was overcast and 65 degrees. PB & J had their first road trip.

The Oregon coast is different from any other coast. The trees march down to the water. To travel through a state park like Ecola (near Canyon Beach, OR) you drive through a primeval forest practically chanting 'lions and tigers and bears, oh, my'. Then there is a clearing and suddenly the ocean is front of you.

There are no private beaches, but getting to many of them requires scaling a precarious rocky descent. The deserted sand makes the climb both up and down worth while. Don't bother with a swim suit. The gray water is always too cold to swim.

My favorite time at the beach is winter. Before we had so much family in town, we would spend Christmas at the coast, bundled up, walking on the sand and drinking hot chocolate.

The day you marry you believe you could never be happier, yet after twenty years or so, you can't imagine life without your spouse and what you remember are cold Christmas mornings drinking hot chocolate and thinking the world is just about perfect.

June 30

Finally some news. We met with the contractor yesterday to discuss what changes we'd like to see made. The plans are now waiting for city approval. We may still be weeks away from doing anything new, but it feels like we're moving ahead.

We no longer need a light for the basement since we can see through the ceiling. Sandblasting will be the next step for the basement and then some sort of sealer.

The steam shower looks like it won't work, but we decided to move rooms around. the second bedroom changed roles with the TV room. And the fact I want a poured concrete floor in the kitchen is a possibility.

Yard work has gotten away from us. The front yard, as well as the back, is a jungle.

You can't believe how overwhelming it all feels. Once the rebuilding starts I'm sure it will be rewarding to see improvements every day. That is if we can still get from the street to the house without a machete.

June 19, 2010

For two weeks nothing has happened. At least it seems to us like nothing is happening.

The contractors have removed the hardwood floors in the hallway, living and dining room, so we are walking on subfloor. Keeping in mind that the ceiling below the subfloor is the truly damaged area, not every plank feels firm under your feet.

It's not as bad as an Indiana Jones movie where we are forced to cross a rickety bridge high above a canyon with a trickle of water in the bottom. Plunging through would equate to certain death. But when a board groans and bends under your weight you can visualize a broken leg without any problem.

As I have mentioned before, we have asbestos. Not just asbestoes-taped ducts like everyone predicts. No...0. Whoever installed the ductwork loved the tape. Really loved the tape. Our contractors have never seen anything like it. From top to bottom we have asbestos tape over every square inch of ductwork.

And because it is a house that has had a lot of 'helping hands at home' remodeling work done to it. We have found lights in walls with light fixtures still attached - including bulbs.

Two owners back, as near as I can figure, the guy must have had a serious audio fixation. He wired the house for speakers so we also have a variety of wiring that run to dead boxes. But in the original walls when you see the wiring that has been there forever, it sort of amazing that the fire only started in the basement.

Needless to say we have not been burdened with insulation either. At least not in the outside walls. The second floor was an attic remodel, so insulation was added upstairs whenever that happened.

When you take a house down to the studs, you learn more than you ever wanted to know. Particularly in a house, you bought for the character. I guess houses are more like people than I thought. The sterling exterior some times masks a rotten core.

6/2/10

Good news.

The first floor is in better shape than we imagined. Despite all the smoke on the plaster walls, there is very little damage behind it.

We do not have balloon construction. Balloon construction is an open shell from the basement to the ceiling.

So the second floor will be repaired, but not gutted.

The lack of smoke may mean we are able to save more of the first floor that we originally believed possible. Our first floor bathroom has a lot of wood. (see photo). This wood surrounds the tub, encases a piece of stain glass up above and provides wainscoating for the rest of the room.

There is also a possibility that some of the hardwood floors (everywhere on the first floor) may not required replacement. If that's the case, we could save a bunch of money, but what we don't want to end up with is a hot summer day where the smell of smoke leaches out of the floors. This will be a tricky decision.

With the removal of the kitchen cabinets and all the walls, a lot of the smoke smell is diminished. But I noticed yesterday when the house had been closed up for the rain, it wasn't completely gone.

For the first time in a week or so, the house and our circumstances don't depress me. Fellow workers have laughed off last week's melt down, so I'm good there.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel and if it is an oncoming train, it has me fooled.

5/31/10

Quiet three day weekend. The house will take another week to finish demolishing. Then we have the Engineers. Everybody gets to write a report. Things like the furnace gets tested.

Next we figure out what we can do and how much above the Insurance money this will cost. Because we want to make changes. Like the garage and the down stairs shower.

We have been impressed by how the demo guys sort for the dumpster. I don't know if the dumpster people care, but I bet they do based upon how carefully it's being sorted. The trim and woodwork that contained lead paint were hauled off separately.

Here's the order of things as I understand them. 1) reports 2) discussions with insurance adjuster 3) draw up repairs, changes, schedule 4) figure out money 5) get permits.

When all of that is done, the contractors can tell us how long the project will take. Right now we are just over 2 months into it. We're hoping to be back in the house before Christmas. Don't bet against us. Not because we're so determined, but because it will break my heart. I need the hope of illusion.

5/28/10

No matter how you slice this week, it was depressing. So depressing in fact I had a major meltdown at work. Amazingly enough no one has asked for my resignation - yet. But the worse news is that right now I am on the receiving end of hugs, pats on the back and sorrowful looks.

Who do I have to blame for this? Myself. When all I want is my life back. I want to be living at home, not in a apartment. I want to be able to focus on work. I want to quit worrying about money, colors, flooring, french doors, balloon framing, lead paint and new abatement laws.

Every day I visit our once-cute little house and want to weep. Our house is being demolished. Okay, so I knew it was coming. I just didn't expect it to hit me so hard.

A house is just a thing. It is not a person. It is not irreplaceable. Losing a house is not a major catastrophe. But for some reason I am reacting like it is. Normally I like me. Just not this week.

We've got pills for everything else. Why don't we have 'act like an adult' medication? I'm sure some of you know someone else besides just me, who could use it.

5/21/10

The contractors started on the basement yesterday. Since the house has no electricity, they brought their own lights, but I couldn't figure out how to operate when I arrived late yesterday evening. All I could see was sheetrock had been pulled off two walls and studs were left standing.

My husband was impressed. The contractors asked to leave the back gate open and my husband had to explain that if our dogs got out, they weren't smart enough to come back home since they prefer to operate with the free-at-last, free-at-last game plan. There is some debate about whether or not they are bright enough to not play in traffic.

The contractors evaluated the problem, purchased a 4' x 8' piece of pressed board and created a barrier. The nice thing was we didn't even have to explain about their leaping tendencies. Child gates aren't high enough to hold them in. It's like their back legs are made of coiled springs and because their hair is long, it dances when they fly through the air, giving the impression that they are living life to the fullest. Kind of like when you were a kid and running just for the sake of running was fun.

PB and J have had control of the back yard since they were puppies. They know every inch of it. We've blocked holes under fences when they dug their way to freedom. We've got neighbors with dogs, chickens and llamas. All the animals know each other.

Our neighbor has daycare in her house and reported to us that one of her little charges assured her mother that we said it was okay for her to take one of the dogs home.

We've got plenty of chickens. She can have a chicken (or two), but I prefer to the keep the dogs as a matched set. After all, what is peanut butter without jelly?

5/18/10

For the first time the Insurance company isn't ahead of us. Either we've caught up or they're lagging behind. But things have slowed while we wait for them to act.

But while we are waiting for them to make a decision about asbestos abatement, we have made a good discovery. Our lead paint is only on our woodwork. Apparently all that wall paper saved the walls from having to be abated. I suppose this calls for a celebration.

Demolition will begin while we wait.

My husband is frantically planting cucumbers. He has taken on a food challenge. Another chef contacted him asking for 2000 pounds of pickling cucumbers. The planting has begun. Will we have cucumbers before we move back back in?

I watched the movie 'Up' last night. Good. Fun. I had no trouble suspending my disbelief as the balloon bundle rips the house off the foundation and an 8 year old boy steers the house to exactly where he needs to be in South America with a hand-held GPS. (In remarkably short time). Real frankly my GPS can't locate my own house, so finding a water fall in South America shouldn't be a problem.

The talking dogs were totally believable as they flew dogfighter aircraft, cooked gourmet meals and yet were easily distracted by a ball or the word 'squirrel'.

But I couldn't imagine an elderly man taking a child not just across state lines but across continents without parental consent. Where was Amber Alert? So the old man and the kid have an adventure, return home in a blimp, the kid gets his merit badge. Where are the kid's parents? The mother, a divorced single parent, is sitting in the audience while her child is alone on stage. The old man arrives late but in time to save the day.

Here's the shocker. No one arrests the old man.

And this was a movie I liked. No wonder I have trouble plotting a novel.

5/17/10

Biggest disappointment of the weekend. Those shoes that made me so happy last Thursday and Friday I've discovered aren't wearable. They don't smell like smoke or look like it, but when you take them off at night, you're feet are black from smoke residue being ground into your skin. Can this be healthy?

I took photos of the house this weekend, so when the construction is complete I will have before and after pictures. The contractors had the kitchen appliances removed and sent to testing. (smoke corrodes wiring). I'm sure other people move their appliances to clean behind (like the refrigerator, the dishwasher, the trash compactor), but I don't. The floor shows it.

Like many of the repairs done to the house, the floor smacks of do-it-yourself. The kitchen floor was laid after the cabinets were in. In one corner of the kitchen a cabinet was removed before we moved in and you can see the previous flooring. Under the dishwasher is sub floor.

I'm ready for the demolition. I'm tired of the voice in my head that makes me feel guilty because I am not cleaning the walls and floors. People will see. What will they think? Intellectually I know they will think there was a fire, but my unconscious reminds me every time I'm there, people will think you're a bad housekeeper.

Once the demolition begins, the true story of how much work will be required to right the house will emerge. Will the 2nd floor be destroyed or just cleaned, re-carpeted and repainted?

And when we are back in the house, will we ever feel safe again? Or will the threat of an uncontrollable disaster keep us awake nights?

I've been in two serious tornadoes, one fire and a couple of minor earthquakes. Some days I marvel that I'm able to get out of bed at all.

5/14/10

In The Beginning God Created...

Porta-potties? Probably not. But this is the first sign the work on our house is about to start. Like the red-breasted robin signifying spring, the blue honey bucket signifies workers are about to begin demolition. And what a delightful thing to have in the front yard.

Yesterday, shoes arrived from the dry cleaners. Shoes. Who knew I'd miss shoes so much?

I made them take back almost as much stuff as they brought. Tablecloths, linens, bedding and winter clothes, but I kept all the shoes. Based upon estimates I'm getting, it looks like we could be in this apartment about six or seven months. This feels like camping out. We have nothing on the walls and the furniture is rented. Everything is close together and kind of cramped.

I'm getting old. This wouldn't have bothered me several years ago.

When we traveled in Asia, stories were everywhere about how entire families lived in small apartments of no more than 500 square feet. They slept in shifts. Laundry hung on every balcony. It was a very common way of life.

My husband did a demo a few years ago where his class represented the world at the dinner table. Only 8% sat got a steak dinner, 92% of the class got vegetarian usually a combination of beans and rice. Some got oatmeal, some only got a piece of fruit. We forget how lucky we are.

And some (mentioning no names, please) like to be drama queens.

5/13/10

The restoration dry cleaners called and they would like to return our clothes. Sounds good, doesn't it? So for they've returned bedding, some tablecloths, some drapes, 8 boxes of clothes they couldn't clean, a butt-load of t-shirts and of course some personal items.

They have not returned shoes or the bulk of my clothes. Each day I wake up and say, "Should I wear black pants today?" And that answer is inevitably, "What a good idea. Going naked might be considered a bad idea."

Let's go back to why so many t-shirts. My husband wears t-shirts every day whether he's gardening or under his chef's uniform. Plus we grew up in the 60's and 70's. We have t-shirts from our past.

T-shirts that proclaim all-important words of wisdom, like, "I can't believe I forgot to have children." (Zero Population Growth, Paul Erlich, circa 1971 or possibly Women's Liberation Movement, I can't remember which cause I represented when I bought it).

We've set aside t-shirts that meant something to us and are going to have a quilt made. But as I sit here and think about it (while storing 13 large boxes of t-shirts), I have to ask. Where would I put a quilt like that? A 60's retro room? Would I have to get a black light and a Janis Joplin poster? A shag haircut? Going braless anymore won't work for me. Some times the past should just be the past. How is storing a box of t-shirts better than storing a box with a quilt?

5/12/10

The insurance company has agreed to pay for the tests for asbestos and lead paint. They have not agreed to pay for the abatement costs of cleaning it up. That requires studying our policy to see if we're covered. We are not covered for code upgrades. So if city/county inspectors come in and require my stairwell be widen to meet code, that will be on our dime.

Note to homeowners of older houses. Call your insurance. Ask. Do you have code coverage? Abatement coverage? I've always hated paying house insurance. You pay for years and years and years, never making a claim. Why? For the bank to be covered. Now that I am finally using the policy I wish I'd known more.

Our house sits on 1/2 acre in an unincorporated area between Portland and Beaverton. As a result, not only do we have chickens, we have a large backyard garden. My husband grows edible flowers, trick vegetables, lettuces, corn, squash, gourds, sugar snap peas, asparagus and potatoes. Just to name a few.

Our garage sits within 5 feet of the neighbor's fence. If we tear down the garage we can't rebuilt on the same slab. I serious doubt our neighbor cares, but the county would.

I can't imagine what possessed previous owners to build a flat roof detached garage and then not side it when they did the rest of the house. Tearing the garage down would improve the street value, but we will not tear it down. We will remodel. There a sentence you seldom hear - we spent last summer and a lot of money remodeling our garage. Lord knows, we want our cars to be happy. All houses have stories and many of us are grateful the walls can't talk.

5/10/10

Today we did it. We signed with a contractor. Both my husband and I feel a huge weight has been lifted from our shoulders. Now the testing begins. What problems lurk under the surface? When walls come down what will we finally see? Did smoke infiltrate the walls on the second floor? Will the second floor have to be taken down to studs?

People keep assuring me that I will love having a completely remodeled house, but will we lose the charm of an older home? The cove ceilings, the corner cabinets and/or the hard wood floors?

Okay, the good part is we will lose the chicken wallpaper in the kitchen and finally permanently fix the skylight that leaks in the upstairs bathroom. Each summer while I bite my nails, my husband and his father crawl up on the very steep roof and mend the skylight, which holds for about six months. And then one morning water is smattered on our dresser and we know once again the skylight needs work.

We want to be smart and know that we're making the best decisions, but with each choice comes both good and bad. We can't hold on to the past and adapt for the future. And nobody really likes change. Well, maybe after it's over, we do, but going through transition, whether physical or emotional, is hell.

5/9/10

Mother's Day

This is the first perfect weekend of the year. The sun is out. The weather is 70 degrees. The sky is so blue it hurts your eyes. My iris are in bloom. This is when I remember why I moved to Portland.

Here is the secret to loving Portland, OR. :

Visit in July, August or September. The weather is always perfect. The sun shines. The landscape is profuse. Wild blackberries grow everywhere. U-pick farms are abundant. Do you want Rainer cherries, apricots, peaches, blueberries? You name it and in the summer you can pick it. Or you can purchase it, and a hundred more exotic ingredients at every grocery store or at the neighborhood farmer's market.

Once you've visited in the summer you will never leave. You will endure 9 months of rain just for three months of perfection.

Becoming a Portlander means:

You will own an umbrella, maybe several umbrellas, but you will never use one.

You will never drink Maxwell House or Folger's coffee again.

You will drive a hybrid and will recycle each week.

You will get used to not pumping your own gas or paying sales tax.

You will get used to really good food - even the food carts can dazzle and surprise.

You will fight a losing a battle with slugs

You will fill each weekend with crawfish festivals, garlic festivals, microbrew festivals

You will live between the coast and the mountains

You will think it's heaven and that euphoria will carry you until March or April when you realize you're tired of the rain.

The day of the fire it rained. Rain saved our house. My husband went home early to let the dogs in. Fifteen minutes later, everything would have gone up in flames. It also rained the next day and the next and the next.

But today we celebrate because summer is only eight weeks away and while I am picking succulent fruits and vegetables and canning to replenish our cabinets, what will you be doing?

5/2/10

I'm on vacation. Where? My apartment. Today was the first day I didn't go by the house. I didn't smell the lingering smoke and I didn't look at the filthy floors and the smoke streaked walls and I didn't have to think about how my life had changed in slightly over a month.

We ate dim sum at a new restaurant and didn't discuss bamboo floors or on-demand water heaters or contractors. We talked about gardens and high school plays and the cool ceiling the restaurant had installed.

In my world, my job wasn't a problem, my house was fixed and my novel was published. Tomorrow reality will set in. But for today I'm living in a little pink bubble of illusion. If you want to visit me here, fine. Just don't bring a pin.

4/30/10

Crunch time. We have all the info from the contractors and have to make a decision. We are down to two contractors. Two companies, both with good reputations. Both we liked the individuals who represented the company. Who to choose?

My husband and I are not handy. There are times when being handy would be nice.

"Honey, build me a deck." I could say, but I guarantee you the answer would not be "red wood or cedar?" but rather "huh?"

I don't miss the skill set when I'm upset or depressed and he makes me laugh. But there are times when I'm sure others wonder if we need help dressing ourselves.

When the firemen wanted to know where was our water cut off for the house, we didn't know. We've lived there for 11 years. At one point we might have known but I'd let a hedge grow over it.

One of consistent themes we've heard from all the contractors is had my husband arrived home only a few minutes later than he did, the house would have been completely lost. Already it was out of oxygen in the basement. And it did burn long enough that a solid oak desk in the basement was charred completely through. The smoke was so thick that the firemen couldn't find the basement stairs and had to come back outside to ask for directions a second time.

Now, that we've have had time to contemplate both the good and bad things about a fire, the one question we really had, is why couldn't the garage have burned? It needed to be replaced anyway.

4/29/10

How do remember what you lose in a fire? We've had a month of waking up in the middle of the night and saying things like... "What about the camera tripods? Where were they?" You are supposed to take photos and keep a record to be reimbursed. But that is hard to do. And life isn't that tidy.

Our fire was in the basement. Our laundry room is in the basement. How many clothes were waiting for their turn in the washing machine?

One of the things we lost due to smoke damage were fur and leather coats. Fur coats are no longer PC. But there was a time prior to PETA when furs were quite accepted. If you are an animal rights activist you need to stop reading right now. Because not only did I have one fur, I had two and so did all my friends.

I wanted a fur coat, but not any fur. Furs are bulky. I wanted a coat that didn't make me look like a refrigerator with legs. And I found one. It had a white mink collar and cuffs and beautiful herringbone brown and white panels between white mink columns. It was fabulous and it was expensive. I've owned cars that cost less.

But I was single. My money was my own, so I bought it.

The salesman was a tall, slender, elegant man who had perfected condescension. When I asked, "what fur is this?" He replied in a snooty tone, "It's fitch. It's a very rare European fur."

I took the coat home and modeled it for my father. When he asked, "what fur is this?" I replied mimicking the snooty tone, "It's fitch. It's a very rare European fur."

My father is not a man who's willing to let things pass. He looked it up. Fitch is not quite as rare a European animal as I'd thought. It's polecat. That's right. I owned a European skunk coat.

Later when fur coats were deemed to be cruel, I would tell people. "It's okay. It's skunk. They deserved to die." No one ever threw paint on me.

4/29/10

Have you ever noticed the domino effect in your life?

One thing goes bad. Everything goes bad. BTW, I've never noticed it worked in reverse. You just don't hear about people winning the lottery on Tuesday, getting the book of their heart published on Thursday and marrying the man of their dreams on Saturday. No, that would not ever be my week.

On the week I win the lottery I'm going to drop dead of a heart attack before I can deposit the check. Which gets to my week....

I have a fantasy life about the gray roots in my hair which I truly believe no one can see. Kind of like the family member who is struck blind by the refrigerator light and can't find the mayo if it is right in front of him.

As I walked into work, I could see my reflection in the door and realized if the silver halo surrounding my head was visible in bad glass then it probably wasn't quite as imaginary as I'd thought. So I colored my hair last weekend. But this time, I decided on going with a warm light brown. Toasted almond. Nice, huh? Good name - good visual.

Growing up I had the BIG crayola box so I know my colors. Toasted almond on my head turns out to be burnt sienna. Or for those of you not quite so color sensitive - ORANGE.

My husband wore a pained look each time I entered the room. Having already screwed it up once, I had my hairdresser make an emergency appointment. I now have very short hair that is sort of reddish brown. Let's hope I don't have to have surgery.

4/27/10

If I wrote this in a novel, nobody would believe it.

The insurance company sent us two checks - one for almost $100,000.00. The second for about 1/2 that. This is - for us at least - a lot of money to have lying around.

Immediately, we went to Wells Fargo - who owns our home. Graciously they let us live in it and make monthly payments. Wells Fargo is about three blocks from our house. Their name is also on the checks.

Wells Fargo will not take restoration checks for over $15,000.00. We have instructed to endorse the checks and mail them in. Why? Because the mail is so safe? Because Ohio is too far to do a wire transfer? Because they're idiots?

I hoping my next post is not about how we have to get the checks replaced.

4/23/10

Out of 6 contractors, we are still seriously considering 3. All have experience. All impressed us in the home. All pointed out things to save us money and grief. All came with recommendations. Who to choose?

And then there is the redecorating. When we first moved into this house, the previous homeowner had LOVED wallpaper. If it didn't move it had wallpaper on it. And not just one pattern. In the upstairs bedroom, if you stood at a certain place you could see 5 different wallpapers.

I don't have that far to go to get to crazy. Wallpaper came down. Some in the middle of the night. None of it, I'm proud to say, before the sale closed. But it was close.

We painted the dining room cranberry which not everybody in our household loved, but mainly the comments were muffled. When my husband came home as I was completing the second bedroom in lime green (formerly papered with BIG rust-colored pussy willows). His comment was "I'm really starting to like the dining room."

The cowboy and indian room (AKA the TV room) I wanted coffee and cream. He chosen golden buckskin. Which when the sun hits it looks distinctly mustard yellow.

Replacing our windows months ago we never repainted the outside trim. We couldn't agree on a color. It's been 11 years since we moved into this house. This is the time to be on the forefront of the decorating movement, not bringing up the tail end. Why remodel, if in 2 years our home will seem dated?

When my grandfather died, my grandmother remodeled. Most people couldn't tell. She used the exact same coloring scheme. At the time I was shocked. Now I empathize.

4/22/10

While one might expect the Insurance Company to want to be involved in hiring a contractor, in fact they are, but the homeowner is the one who chooses. And one might also think it doesn't matter if the contractor is familiar with restoration or not. After all, isn't rebuilding the same?

This answer is no. For a movie reference see "Sunshine Cleaning". Oregon, in particular, is a leader in recycling and appropriate disposal of tainted materials. With an older home (built in the 1940's) and popcorn ceiling in the living and dining room every contractor who has come through the front door looks at the ceiling and mutters the word "asbestos" followed by the equally fabulous phrase "lead paint." Add lathe and plaster construction and you have a home with issues.

"Smoke gets in your eyes", but it also gets in the walls, floors, fabrics. Not only is it toxic, it has acid properties. Smoke left untouched will etch into glass and mirrors and you probably won't be seeing the the outline of the Virgin Mary when it's done.

Choosing a contractor is more than thinking the company is reputable or the man/woman in your home seems competent. This is a "relationship" that once started will continue for 4-9 months. And nothing is worse than going home with the wrong man at night and in the light of day wondering just exactly how drunk were you?

4/21/10

Fast forward one month.

The house is empty. All of our possessions are at the restoration drycleaners or are in storage waiting to be cleaned. I am operating with 4 pairs of shoes, three of which are new. We live in a 2-bedroom apt only 2 blocks from our house. Our dogs, BP & J, visit their backyard every day, but they don't like to come inside any more.

We call it doggy day camp.

After a few weeks of accidents (I'm sure they were accidents - surely the dogs wouldn't punish me for making changes in their lives), they do remember they are house broken, but stressed over the lack of furniture and I suspect the smell.

Yes, it still smells and when I arrive at work after spending a couple of hours every morning interviewing contractors I also smell like smoke.

This amuses my younger co-workers because I am a witch at the office about cigarette smoking, saying things to the twenty-something men I work with like - "Did you know the biggest cause of ED is smoking?" When that doesn't get a rise, I add. "Of course, the problem with ED is you never discover it when you're alone."

Working with me can truly be a joy.

The house is still without electricity and will be until we hire a contractor, so morning are cold. There is much grumbling among the chickens. They have no lighting in their roost. Their egg laying is off. We are preparing for a strike or possibly a mutiny.

Maybe the next time you visit our home, big bird will answer the door. I suggest you bring a sign that says 'Eat more beef'.

April 14, 2010

The problem with a fire (like there is only one) is the emotional cost. You are forced to make a decision about every single item you own. For ten days my husband and I battled over what to keep and what to throw. He would keep everything and I would start completely fresh.

He is not a hoarder, but he understands the landscape. I once told him if he lived alone, he'd have so much stuff no one would be able to get through the front door. He replied in that arrogant way of men justifying their behavior. "That's not true. I'd leave a path."

Despite the fact we are not Mormon, we stored enough food in the kitchen, pantry and basement to allow us to live for at least a year should we survive the apocalypse.

The problem was inventory. How do you explain to an insurance adjuster why two people need that much stuff?

While this makes it sound like we were slogging through molasses by ourselves, let me say that was not the case. We had workers everyday doing the ugly jobs - cleaning out storage closets, bringing stuff up from the basement, filling dumpsters. All were of Mexican descent and not a one of them was fooled into thinking we were simpatico despite the 8 boxes of tortilla and taco shells, 4 cans of refried beans and 3 jars of mole sauce - in a house where tacos 4 times a year would be a rarity.

4/13/10

The good news is that we were insured. The better news was that no one, including our dogs or our 40 chickens, were hurt.

The bad news is that it was a serious fire. A florescent light fixture in the basement went supernova. As Paul Simon so aptly said, "one man's ceiling is another man's floor" when one has a fire in the ceiling, the floor above also has problems.

Not to mention smoke damage.

OMG. The carcinogens make your eyes water and the smell still takes your breath away two weeks later. Streaks run up the walls and long black cobwebs decorate each room. There is a layer of soot on everything which does not come clean easily. Mostly it smears and stinks.

In the middle of a disaster, we all have inappropriate thoughts. Here was mine. As the fireman darted in and out of the house, battling the blaze, I'm thinking. "I'm glad the cleaning woman came two days before so the firemen won't think I'm a bad housekeeper." Really.

So imagine my horror when I finally see the interior with the long black cobwebs. We may have a few cobwebs, but nothing like this. But the fire inspector tells me, "Those aren't cobwebs. Those are electrically charged partials."

Tell me again why I didn't pay more attention in Physics class.

4/12/10

Two and one-half weeks ago, my husband called me at work and jerked me from the annoyance of paperwork with these three words. "I've called 911." He had my attention. "Why?"

"The house is filled with black smoke." These are never words one wants to hear, but particularly on a day when your new home insurance company has just emailed you with a notice that you've failed to complete the necessary paperwork. No. No. No. No. No.

I tried not to kill anyone on the drive home, figuring that would just add to the irritation of what was turning out to be a terrible day. Although I will admit some drivers escaped my fury only because they turned off before I delivered the death blow from my super-sonic ray gun.

Six firetrucks, twenty-four firemen, the gas company, the electric company, the fire inspector and my husband, henceforth known as the "homeowner", stood around the yard. Aside from the smoke pouring from open windows, the house looked entirely the same.

The homeowner hugged me. "What was the problem?"

"Fire in the basement."

"Bad?"

"Yep."

"#@^$%#"

Thus it began.