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.