Rosings Park

There are 109 posts filed in Rosings Park (this is page 9 of 11).

Ladybugs

Here at Rosings Park we’ve endured bad contractors, leaky roofs, flooded basements, (sort of) stolen camera equipment, and a hostile neighbor cat. Now we’re suffering an insect infestation: our home is being overrun by ladybugs.

The first documented ladybug in the house was the one I ate at the end of October:

I’m sitting at my desk, composing this weblog entry. I’m listening to Neutral Milk Hotel and munching on hickory smoke flavored soy nuts. As I’m mousing around, I bump into a soy bean that I must have dropped. Without looking, I snatch it and pop it into my mouth.

Crunch crunch crunch.

“Hm,” I think. “That doesn’t taste very much like hickory smoke. It tastes rather like grass. In fact, it tastes gross.” And so I spit it out into my hand only to see that I have not been gnashing a stray soy bean but a stray lady bug.

Gross!

Since then, the ladybug presence has grown from a couple a week to a couple a day. We’ll be sitting watching Upstairs, Downstairs or playing World of Warcraft and a ladybug will alight on us. Or we’ll hear one tik tik tikking against the light fixture.

Kris and I disagree over the source of the ladybug infestation. “I think they’re coming in from outside,” she says. “They’re coming in the window in the entertainment room.”

“What makes you think that?” I say. “There’s no evidence that this is the case. And why would they choose only that window? Plus, look at it: it’s sealed tight. I think there’s a ladybug nest someplace in the room. Maybe in the Christmas cactus. I think they’re reproducing.”

“Right. What evidence do you have for that?” asks Kris. “Where are the ladybug eggs? The ladybug larvae? Why aren’t we seeing even more of them?”

So, we really don’t have any idea where the ladybugs are coming from. Meanwhile, they’ve started making their way from upstairs to downstairs. There were a couple in the kitchen last night. We don’t really mind. It’s kind of fun to have a ladybug infestation. “If they were any other bug, we’d be grossed out,” Kris observed last night. “But ladybugs are like friendly visitors from the insect world.”

I don’t recall that I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s an interesting follow-up. Last February, some camera equipment was stolen from the trunk of my car. Only it wasn’t. The thief took the bag from the car, and then dumped the camera and lenses in the bushes at the edge of the property. (He kept the cell phone. He didn’t take several hundred dollars in checks that were on the back seat.) Joel found the camera equipment when he was here in March.

Later in the year, somebody broke into Kris’s car. They didn’t take anything from the front, but they opened her trunk and stole the first aid kit and miscellaneous roadside emergency supplies.

What sort of thief is this? He leaves compact discs and checks (and a checkbook!) and thousands of dollars in camera equipment, but he takes a cell phone (easily deactivated in minutes), flares, and a first aid kit? I don’t get it.

Wet New Year

Our New Year’s Day was a wet one.

As you’ll recall, when we moved into the house, we had Gale Contractor Services install some insulation. They messed up the job in four ways, three of which were apparent immediately: they drilled holes in the wainscoting despite explicit instructions not to do so; as one of the workers was crawling around the attic, he fell through the ceiling; and while working in the mud room, they knocked a bunch of stuff off the shelves. We were not happy with the experience.

Then last September, when the rains began, it became clear that Gale Contractor Services had made a fourth, more serious, error: the roof vent they installed was not properly sealed. We had a leak.

The company sent somebody out to fix the leak, and the repair lasted all winter. However, apparently the heat of the summer caused the plastic (!?!) roof vent to curl again, and gaps developed in the seams. With the recent heavy rains, we’ve had lots of brown wet spots developing on the ceiling.

Would I hire Gale Contractor Services to do work for us again? Hell no.

I took Thursday off from work to attempt a repair on the roof. I spent an hour at the hardware store, reading labels on cans and tubes and buckets of roofing sealants. I brought home a couple of options. After a bit of time on the roof, I think our leaks are repaired. I think they are. I’m not sure. I have no real way to tell. I drilled a couple of holes in the ceiling, and no water came through, but the sheetrock still feels damp. Time will tell, I suppose.

Meanwhile, we learned why the house came with a sump pump in the cellar.

The other day I noticed that the cellar’s concrete floor was beginning to look damp. There were radiating lines of wetness extending from certain points. Yesterday I went downstairs to fetch some clam juice (to make the Best Clam Chowder Ever for today’s Ham Feast) only to discover that the basement had begun to flood. There was a small pool of water at the bottom of the steps, and it was draining in a small but flowing stream to the sump pump hole. (You’ll notice that the sump pump hole is now covered with a milk crate. We don’t want Kris to step in the hole again, do we?)

Fortunately, the sump pump works well. We plugged it in and flipped a switch and the hole drained completely in seconds. We’ve made a point of going downstairs every few hours to drain the hole.

I have a couple of concerns, though: if the water table is this high already, how high will it get if the rains continue? (Last year was very dry, so we didn’t encounter the flooding issue.) Will we get an inch of water in the basement? Two? A foot? And what happens when we drain the water to the outside? Isn’t it just settling back to the water table, ultimately re-flooding the cellar?

Most of all: what about the smell? When we bought the house, the cellar had a faintly musty odor. The smell faded with time. Actually, I had credited the bathroom remodel with eliminating most of the odor. After just a couple of days of dampness, the cellar already smells musty. What will it be like in April?

Stay tuned, faithful reader. We’ll all find out together.

Bluefoot

Warning: This entry contains graphic images that may not be safe for children. (Or for you.)

Our house has a cellar. The cellar does not have an earthen floor (as you might expect from the house’s age), but one of concrete. At the far end of the cellar there is hole in the ground. In the hole in the ground is a sump pump.

There isn’t much light in the cellar. There’s a small window above the sump pump, and the previous owners installed a light fixture without a switch. Meaning: to turn the light on, you screw in a 100-watt light bulb; to turn the light off, you unscrew it. If you forget to unscrew the bulb, the parlor floor gets warm and you can smell an odor like warm oak.

Last Spring I was down in the cellar, rooting around for something or other. I didn’t have the light on. I turned around and began to walk away when suddenly I plummeted thigh-deep into the sump-pump hole. I was stunned, more out of embarrassment than anything. I sat on the floor, twisted and tangled, for nearly a minute. I was angry. Finally I pulled myself from the hole and hobbled upstairs.

When the bathroom was being remodeled this summer, our contractor pulled me aside one afternoon. “Did you know there’s a hole in your basement?” he said. I nodded. “Well,” he continued, “I’ve put a milk crate over the top of it.” He didn’t say it, but it seemed clear that somebody had stepped in the hole. The milk crate was a great idea. After construction was finished, I left it there to protect against further accidents.

Apparently Kris, however, was unaware of the milk crate’s noble purpose.

On Christmas Eve she went downstairs to futz with wrapping paper and ribbons and suchlike. A few minutes later she came limping upstairs in pain. “I stepped in the hole,” she said.

“Didn’t you notice the milk crate?” I asked, perhaps not as sympathetic as a husband ought to be.

Fortunately, Kris isn’t severely injured. She is in pain, it’s true, and her foot has turned blue, but she’ll live. I think. Meanwhile, she’s completely fascinated by the various bruises on her feet and toes.

Two facts about Kris Gates: she bruises easily, and her feet are her worst feature. (Kris has many wonderful qualities; her feet are not one of them.) Her already hideous hoofs have mutated into something even more grotesque.

“Take some pictures!” she commanded last night. “You could put them on your weblog.” As repulsed as I was by her hideous feet, I obeyed. Aren’t you glad I did? Here is closeup of Kris’ toes.

sigh I was going to eat lunch after posting this entry, but now I am no longer hungry…

Enough Food to Feed an Army

When Kris and I moved from our house in Canby, we swore we’d stop hoarding food. In Canby we were both notorious hoarders. My pantry shelf was filled with dozens of cans of beans: chili beans, baked beans, bean with bacon soup. Kris’ pantry shelf was filled with various tomato products: tomato soup, ravioli, corn beef hash. Our chest freezer was full of breads and berries, some of which we’d frozen a decade ago. (No joke.)

We didn’t move most of the food, and we vowed that at the new house we wouldn’t hoard as much. Ha! Maybe it’s a disease.

I’m not sure where Kris got her hoarding habits (though I did once have some twenty-year-old cocoa at her grandmother’s house), but I know where I got mine. I grew up Mormon. As Mormons, we obeyed the dictum to lay by a one-year supply of food in case of emergency. We were big on emergency preparedness. Out in the shop we had an entire storage room devoted to emergency rations: freeze-dried fruits, large drums filled with wheat, vast quantities of powdered milk. We had what seemed like hundreds of bags and cans from Deseret Industries.

Now that I am older, I have an innate drive to hoard food. Even in the new house, my pantry shelf is again filled with all manner of beans. We have more space, though, so I’ve begun to hoard other things, such as breakfast cereals. For some reason, whenever I find a breakfast cereal I like, especially if it can be purchased cheaply, I stock up. I have several boxes of Trader Joe’s Essentials, of Kellogg’s raisin bran, of generic spoon-sized shredded wheat. I also have large stockpiles of premium chocolate and of scotch whiskey. (These last two probably oughtn’t be considered food.)

Kris has moved my cache of Asian food down to the basement. During my Asian phase about five years ago, I bought all manner of sauce and powder and condiment. I made maybe two meals from all of this stuff and then forgot about it.

A couple weeks ago, I decided it was time to use some of my Asian food. I dug out two cans of curry sauce and started to prepare a deluxe curry feast. I bought some chicken. I chopped some vegetables. However, when I opened the curry sauce, I discovered it had turned into curry bricks. With much coaxing, I managed to convert the solid to a liquid once more, but I was shocked — shocked! — at the oil slick that floated on the surface of the stuff. I checked the nutrition information. Each can of the curry sauce contained over 2000 calories. My saucepan contained about 4500 calories of curry sauce, and I hadn’t even added the meat and vegetables yet. I’m willing to indulge in a lot of high-calorie meals, but this was too much even for me. And, as you might have guessed, ultimately the sauce had spoiled anyway; I’m sure it wasn’t poisoned yet, but it had begun to turn. I threw it all away and prepared my chicken and vegetables in a more traditional fashion.

Now it seems that Kris and I may be beginning to hoard in mass quantities. We recently joined some of her co-workers to purchase a cow. She brought home about seventy-five pounds of beef the other night, and I spent ten minutes loading ground beef and steaks and ground beef and roasts and ground beef into the chest freezer. (To make room, I had to throw away three bags of rotten bananas that Kris was hoarding — they were making the freezer smell like bananas. “I was going to use those for muffins,” she said, “but I guess I can just buy new bananas.”)

We keep more food than many families of four. When will we eat it all?

When I got home from work yesterday, John Little was outside in his yard. “Hey!” he said. “Do you like salmon?”

“Hell yes!” I said. We’d just had a fantastic salmon dinner at Jeremy and Jennifer‘s house the night before. John scurried into his house and returned with a bag filled with frozen filets.

“This is from my last Alaska trip,” he said. “I haven’t gotten around to eating it and I don’t want it to go to waste.” John is a retired schoolteacher. He spends his winters in New Zealand, and he spends his summers in Alaska on his fishing boat.

I thanked him for the fish, then took it to the garage where I crammed it into the freezer with the cow. Later, I called Jenn for her salmon recipe. Kris and I are going to eat well in 2006, and we won’t even have to buy groceries. We can live off our hoarded reserves.

Hot Cocoa and Toast

Ah, what a lovely Sunday morning. What a fine thing it is to have slept late, lingering in bed with my wife by my side and the cats at our feet.

We slide out of bed and tumble downstairs. Kris feeds the birds, and we watch through the windows as the finches and jays and chickadees compete for the various seeds. Kris brews a mug of tea, then a second. We sit at the dining room table, looking at Walnut, the fat squirrel in the tree, as he forages for nuts and seeds in the feeder. The jays wait impatiently for him to leave.

“Isn’t it funny how he hides his peanuts,” I say. “Look at him climb down the tree and hide them in the lawn. He’s lucky there aren’t any cats around.” While he’s on the ground, the jays fight a peanut battle, squabbling over the tastiest treats.

“Look at that!” exclaims Kris. “It’s a bird of prey. It looks like a falcon.” She runs to grab the bird book, from which we learn that the bird is, indeed, a peregrine falcon.

Uncommon in open areas, especially near water. Nests on cliff ledges or (recently) on buildings or bridges in cities. Solitary. Hunts from perch or from high in the air, stooping on prey at very high speed…Feeds mainly on small or medium-size birds. Sleek and powerful, with very pointed wings and relatively short tail. Prominent dark “moustache” unique; also note uniformly patterned underwing. Voice a series of harsh notes rehk rehk rehk…

Why is a peregrine falcon sitting in our walnut tree? The squirrel doesn’t like it and, in a startling display of bravado, makes a sort of lunge at the bird, which is easily twice its size. The falcon is cowed, or willing to humor the squirrel. It sloughs from the tree and curves away on the strength of three or four wingbeats. A marvelous sight.


Not our falcon.

“We have a great house for birds,” Kris says, and I murmur agreement.

“What shall we do today?” she asks, finishing her tea.

“I have no motivation,” I say. “All I want to do today is to lay around the house.”

“That’s fine,” she says, “but promise me you’ll finish raking the leaves.”

“I’ll finish raking the leaves, but not until this afternoon. I want to move slowly. I want a hot bath. But first I want some hot cocoa and toast.”

Nothing is finer on a cold November Sunday than hot cocoa and toast, the preparation of which is almost a religious ritual: retrieve the blender and the toaster, plug them in, heat the milk on the stove, toast the bread ’til it’s golden brown and then slather it with honey, cut the cocoa tablet into chunks and dump these into the blender, pour in the steaming milk, turn the blender on.

Nothing is finer on a cold November Sunday than hot cocoa and toast.

While I wait for the cocoa to froth in the blender, I fetch The New York Times from the end of the sidewalk. “Hello, Nemo. Are you hunting birds?” The air is brisk, the grass is damp; I do not want to rake the leaves. The paper has a fine heft. I peel the two plastic bags that protect it and, as I walk back up to the house, I scan the headlines.

Nothing is finer on a cold November Sunday than hot cocoa and toast and The New York Times. Nothing is —

Holy shit!

On the counter, the blender has become a fountain of hot cocoa. I drop the paper and punch wildly at the buttons. The cocoa-spout continues. Why? There’s the problem: the blender is not gushing from the top, but from around the base. The pitcher on top of the blender has started to come unscrewed, and the hot cocoa is spewing from the bottom, all over the counter, all over the toaster (plugged in and toasting!), all over the floor. Screw the top back to the base! Unplug the toaster! Quick! Where’s a towel? The bathroom!

“I’m not messy!” I call to Kris. I’m not messy is one of my common refrains (others of which include I’m not clumsy and Kris Gates is always right). “I’m not messy” actually translates into “Oops, I made a mess again” because, in reality, I am messy.

Here’s Kris. She’s taking stock of the situation. “Why are you using a nice bathroom towel to mop this up?” she asks. “There’s a whole stack of kitchen towels on top of the fridge.”

“Well,” I explain. “I lost a lot of cocoa. There are probably two cups on the counter.” I direct her attention to the black cocoa-fall trickling down the cabinets.

“Oh my god,” she says. “I’m going upstairs.” And she does.

Why do we have so many things on the counter? I have to move them all, wipe them all with hot water. When I’ve moved everything, I’ve revealed a small pool of hot cocoa.


When I was nearly done with cleanup, I remembered to snap a photo.

Five minutes later, I sit down at the table and spread open The New York Times. I read about Elia Kazan while drinking tepid cocoa with toast.

End-of-the-Year House Update

It has come to my attention that a certain mother-in-law would like to see some photographs of the changes we’ve made at Rosings Park over the past six months. I am happy to oblige.

Our big project this year was, of course, the bathroom remodel. I documented that never-ending task in this weblog (before, beginning, middle, end), but I never shared photos of the finished product.

  

Kris and I each got something we wanted in the room. I got a long clawfoot tub in which I spend a lot of my spare time. It’s fantastic, except on cold winter mornings in which case it is like a sheet of ice. Kris designed her dream vanity and had it built to order. She loves the granite-like surface (the name of the material escapes me).

We recently made another large expense when we purchased a new range. The range that came with the house was old and unreliable. It took half an hour to preheat the oven to 425, and even then it might not hold that temperature. Baking was a crapshoot, and cooking on the stovetop wasn’t much better. We like to entertain, so we figured it was worth splurging for a nice range. After Paul and Amy Jo raved about their double-oven, we opted for something similar.

Our new range has two ovens. The upper oven is small, as you can see, but it preheats quickly and is perfect for cookies and pizzas and everyday use. The bottom oven is more traditional. Both can be used at the same time. The stovetop features a continuous grate, which is quite nice. We don’t like the placement of the knobs, but that’s really the only drawback of this range.

Our final expense was a light for the study. As I’ve mentioned many times over the past year, I’ve coveted this art deco light from Rejuvenation:

Kris thinks it’s frou-frou, though, and the slippershades (and the fixture itself) are quite expensive. Also, it’s a custom-order item. When I discovered another light fixture upstairs in the seconds department, I surrendered to practicality.

  

Actually, I like this compromise fixture for several reasons: the antique gilt finish is nice, similar to that on the slippershade fixture; the styling of this fixture matches that of the other two we installed in the house, and is more period appropriate than the slippershade fixture; this fixture — which normally would cost much more than the art deco fixture — cost less than my first choice because it (and the shades) were half-off in the seconds department; and this fixture puts out a lot of light, which is redirected from the ceiling &mdash: it makes the room feel cozy.

We have spent a hell of a lot of money on the house this year. In fact, despite my newfound frugality, I’ve been struggling to stay above water financially. Kris and I have agreed that we will make no major (planned) expenses of any sort next year. That ought to give me a chance to build up some savings and to mentally begin to feel like things are under control.

Meanwhile, the wildlife outside our house continues to entertain.

You may not be able to tell it, but this little guy is quite pleased because the cats are all inside. (The cats, however, are unhappy.)

Autumn at Rosings Park

You’d think that autumn would see a decrease in wildlife activity in our yard, but sometimes it seems the opposite is true.

Filbert, the world’s fattest squirrel, is convinced that he should be able to snatch seeds from the feeder on the dogwoods. Filbert leaps onto the screen and scrambles around, looking for a hole that might be slightly larger than the others. Then he r-e-a-c-h-e-s inside with his little squirrely arm, trying to grab the goodies.


Filbert the Squirrel is certain that these seeds would be mighty tasty.

He is not successful.

The jays scold Filbert. “We can’t even get to that food,” they seem to say. “It’s for the little birds.” The little birds are none to happy with their rodent friend, either. While he’s dangling from the feeder, they’re unable to eat.

Meanwhile, there’s trouble at one of the birdbaths. The male flicker has been fluffing and flopping for several minutes, and a certain robin thinks that it’s about time she got a turn. “Get out. Get out,” she calls, and she makes several attempts to share the basin with him.


Though it’s difficult to make out in this photo, the robin is flying up to share the bath with the male flicker.
The female flicker is waiting patiently on the ground.

Unbeknownst to the robins and flickers and squirrels, there’s another wild creature about. Oreo, the cat from next door, is lurking under the hydrangea. While the robin and flicker are arguing over rights to the birdbath, Oreo makes a charge at them. He doesn’t even come close.

Poor Simon would love to be outside, too — he longs to taste the blood of a squirrel again — but his parents are just too mean. He can do nothing but sit on the kitchen counter and stare at the action.


Simon thinks that we are unfair to cats.

Don’t worry, Simon: spring will be here soon.

Moved In

It’s fortunate that Kris and I don’t ever intend to move again. Based on how long it took us to unpack and feel “moved in” at this place, we might never make that adjustment anywhere else. However, after fifteen months of s-l-o-w progress, we do at last feel moved in.

It helps that the bathroom remodel is finally nearing completion. (Yes, it has been nearly eight weeks, and yes it’s only “nearing” completion.) The job is 97% finished, which means the place is perfectly usable, but that there are little details (dimmer switch, power to the garage/workshop, and final inspections) that need to be completed.

It also helps that over the past week, we’ve finally tackled some of the move-in chores that we delayed for the past year. Last weekend, Tiffany came over to help us. While the Gates girls organized the garage, I tackled the garden shed and the spare shed. (You know you have too many outbuildings if you refer to one of them as the “spare shed”.)

(As we were cleaning, I found a dead bird on the lawn. It was probably killed by a cat, but its carcass had been taken over by yellowjackets. There were a dozen of the bastards politely taking turns to eat the bird’s innards. Despite a fear of bees, I managed to snap some handheld macro shots.

The bees were unhappy when I took the bird from them. They swarmed about the spot in the lawn for several minutes, longing for bird flesh.)

When we’d finished, the garage was neat and tidy (and empty); all the stuff in the garden shed had been shifted to the spare shed; and the garden shed had been converted to a playhouse of sorts (for visiting children).

When I was growing up, my grandparents had lots of outbuildings, too. One of them (the one filled with dynamite — no joke) was used as a playhouse. There were cups and saucers and chairs and tables (and the aforementioned dynamite) and all sorts of other things to play with. To make our playhouse, I hung the old bathroom cabinets from the wall, and dragged the old bathroom vanity into place. The space was completed by a small table and the two old chairs from Mac and Pam (chairs that are now destined to go to Craig and Lisa, whenever they want to pick them up).

All this cleaning was great, but the final step that allowed me to feel “moved in” was this: I hauled all of my old computer stuff to Free Geek, a Portland-based nonprofit. How much computer stuff?

  • Thirteen monitors
  • Eighteen computers
  • Four printers
  • One scanner
  • Dozens of memory modules, about eight hard drives, scads of modems and sound cards and video cards

Most of that equipment was still usable; some of it was even good. I ought to have taken the time to sort the wheat from the chaff, but in the end I just switched my brain off, grabbed everything, and hauled it away. That computer stuff was a boil that needed lancing; it was a sore on my mental life, and I’m relieved to have it gone.

Now my workshop is mostly empty. (All the more so since Kris had me haul the filing cabinet into the house last week.) I have some woodworking tools (and some comic books) laying about, but mostly the workshop is now an empty space. I’ll spend a couple nights this week tidying it up, and then maybe I’ll actually start a woodworking project. (Wait — we still don’t have electricity out there. The bathroom’s still only 97% finished; part of the remaining 3% is reconnecting electricity to the workshop.)

As my obsession with photography continues to wax, I’ve developed other possible uses for the workshop and the playshed. I could convert the playshed to a darkroom, and I could create some sort of photography studio in the workshop. The spaces are great, but there’d be a lot of work converting each to its new use. Still, it’s something to consider.

Meanwhile, Kris’ sister, Tiffany, recently moved to Portland. A truck filled with her belongings arrived on Saturday. We helped her unload the stuff Saturday morning, and she’d unpacked nearly all of it by Sunday afternoon. Holy cats! It took me and Kris fifteen months to move in; Tiffany did it in a day.

Comments


On 29 August 2005 (10:53 AM),
Joel said:

As someone who has moved away, let me be the latest to welcome Tiffany to the neighborhood. Tiffany, I’ve always liked you, and since I’ve also always liked Portland, it works for me that you’re there.


On 29 August 2005 (11:01 AM),
Tiffany said:

Thanks for the welcome Joel. I hope to see you soon.

Jd, thanks for not showing the dead bird, the description was gross enough.



On 29 August 2005 (11:36 AM),
Tammy said:

We have been remodeling our master bath for two years now. The toilet has been out for all of that time. Luckily we have two other bathrooms. I’m just sayin’ I’d give anything for an eight week remodel!



On 29 August 2005 (02:33 PM),
Amy Jo said:

Three comments:

(1) Welcome to Portland Tiffany. I suspect you don’t remember me, but we met a few years back in Alexandria, VA when Kris was out east for some sort of training. We moved back to Paradise, oh, sorry, I mean Portland, a year ago after four years of braving the wilds of the DC Metro Area.

(2) JD–A post showing more photos of the bathroom is warranted. Some of us would like to see more than the tub . . .

(3) JD–I would love to see a post about the dynamite lurking in the shed/playhouse. Did you know it was there at the time? Were there any rules of behavior designed to keep your grubby little hands off the dynamite? Did you break the rules?



On 29 August 2005 (03:06 PM),
mac said:

More importantly, where is the blasted stuff now?


On 29 August 2005 (03:25 PM),
Stacy said:

I’m glad you donated your items to free geek –they are running some amazing programs.

Yes, moving is not fun, but good thing you’re done.

Stunning photo. I didn’t know bees liked blood.


On 29 August 2005 (03:41 PM),
Pam said:

I am ready to claim my garage sale picture in order to help you clear your garage of clutter. And I can’t blame you for passing on the chairs, but what changed your mind?



On 29 August 2005 (04:35 PM),
tammy said:

Jd may recall this differently but the only thing I remember about that dynamite is that we were told to not go behind that wall. It was a little half wall with no extra door or anything. I didnt know until just a couple of years ago that there was dynamite in those boxes. We played out there for years and never got into the stuff. Grandpa would stop on his way into the house from the fields or barn and we’d give him carrots or crackers. There was an old red wicker chair out there he’d sit in. I recall him reading the paper in there with us sometimes. Grandma very seldom visited. Now as a Grandparent myself I see this all so differently. What a special place they made for us there in that playhouse. And because of spending just a few minutes a day with us we now have lasting memories.



On 29 August 2005 (06:52 PM),
Lisa said:

Why was the dynamite around to begin with? It’s not a common household item these days…



On 29 August 2005 (06:52 PM),
Tiffany said:

Hi Amy Jo,

Yes I remember you, Thai food. I could not find you in a crowd, but that will change soon. Thanks for the welcome.



On 29 August 2005 (07:04 PM),
Ron said:

When Grandpa bought the place it was all woods and stumps. After he logged most of the place he had to blast the stumps to be able to farm the land. One of my favorite memories is blasting stumps with Grandpa as a kid. We would dig a hole under the stump and Grandpa would tape together as many sticks of dynamite as he thought it would take to tear it up (sometimes it took 2 attempts to get all the stump and big roots) and then he would insert the blasting cap and fuse and shove it down the hole. He would then tamp dirt back in the hole to keep the blast from coming out the hole and then he would make me crawl under the tractor and wait while he lit the fuse and would crawl under the tractor with me. After the explosion and the pieces all hit the ground around us we would crawl out and go look at the hole to see if all the roots got torn out. I remember the smell of the smoke and the bad headaches it gave you. Grandpa would tell me to stay back until the smoke cleared, but being an impatient little boy I would run up to see the new hole. To this day I love explosions and the Fourth of July.


On 29 August 2005 (10:47 PM),
J.D. said:

I should point out that I have no firsthand memory of the dynamite. I only know about it from stories that Ron and Tammy have told at recent family reunions…

Bathroom Remodel: During

We’re one week (of a scheduled three) into our bathroom remodel. Though the phrase “behind schedule” hasn’t officially been used, I think it may be appropiate. Our contractor, Dale, whom we like, doesn’t seem worried, though, which is good.

Only the demolition has been completed. Electrical work is scheduled to begin today, and I believe it will take a couple days to move the electrical panel and reroute the conduit. “Once the electrical work is finished,” says Dale, “the rest the of the project will come together quickly.”

The cats would be delighted if the project came together slowly. They’re pleased with the hole in the wall that gives them free access to the forbidden cellar. What fun!

Kris and I spent an hour on Saturday at the Contractor Furnishing Mart, arguing over the colors for the wall and the floor. The granite countertop is set in stone; the rest of the room must be built around it. Kris has selected a split-pea green for the walls, but I’m not too fond of the color. “Who has better taste — you or me?” she asks. “Trust me.” The clawfoot tub too will be painted split-pea green. I’ve already forgotten which color we chose for the floor. (I wanted a sort of burnt red that picked up flecks of color from the countertop. “Too dark,” Kris told me. “Not if we use another color for the walls,” I said. I really don’t like the split-pea green for the walls, but I’m trusting Kris. I keep repeating my mantra: “Kris Gates is always right. Kris Gates is always right.”)

Kris is taking a day off today to paint the bathtub. It’s a cast-iron behemoth currently packed in a crate in the garage. (I forgot to take a “before photo”.) When we toured Mac and Pam’s new place on Saturday, we were impressed by their huge tub. “Climb in,” Kris told me. “I think it’s about the same size as our new tub.” I climbed in. “Look how you can lay flat,” she said. “You’re going to love this.”

I’m going to love this.

Meanwhile, however, we continue to use our friends’ showers. Sometimes in the morning, we sponge bath on the back porch.

Comments


On 12 July 2005 (07:51 AM),
Jethro said:

You don’t need no new-fangled bathroom; not in an old house like that. Just git yourselves one of these old-fashioned beauties and you’ll be set. Then you just flip a coin to see who gets the fresh bath water…



On 12 July 2005 (08:06 AM),
Tiffany said:

Love the photos. The bathroom looks huge with everything out of it! I know it is deceiving. If you are sponge bathing on the back porch, I hope you did not trim the back bushes too much.



On 12 July 2005 (09:43 AM),
Dave said:

It’s always interesting looking at the underlying structure of (someone elses’) house. Given the different directions of the floorboards and the different style of wall construction, was the back half of the bathroom added after the fact?

Bathroom Remodel: Before

Our bathroom remodel began today. I had the foresight to preserve the room in photographs.

The room has already been gutted. All that remains is the toilet, and I think that goes tomorrow.

Of course, the first day of any remodel reveals all the little hidden things for which one cannot plan, things such as:

  • The vent fan, which I want to keep, is not up to code. It will probably have to go.
  • The plumber had a headache picking up the bathtub from Rejuvenation. He was forced to wait two hours for somebody to help him. I’m hoping that’s not two hours for which we’ll be billed, but it may be.
  • The bathroom walls were built at various times and to various levels. By this I mean that one section of the wall is set back at least half an inch from another section. It’s a Headache.
  • The window casing is too deep for its enclosure and will require some tricksy woodworking.
  • And worst — and most expensive — the electrical panel is totally illegal. It’s currently mounted in the cellar stairwell, on the back side of the bathroom wall. Apparently this is Not Good. The electrical panel will have to be completely relocated.

This whole project, while necessary, and sure to be wonderful when completed, has been causing me a great deal of stress for the past six months. I cannot wait for it to be finished. Until then, I’ll be rather anxious.

Comments

On 06 July 2005 (05:52 AM),
serenity said:

wow, where did you go for..euh..you know.. i hope it’s not your only bathroom :D

On 06 July 2005 (08:17 AM),
Tiffany said:

I wish you all the luck possible that things go smoothly.

On 06 July 2005 (08:53 AM),
Rich R said:

It is a stressful process that can drive a man to drink… Good luck with it!

On 06 July 2005 (10:12 AM),
jenefer said:

I agree with Tiffany, Luck is what’s needed. Luck with the contractor, luck with the individual workmen and luck that no more surprises will appear. When is your anticipated finish date? Too bad about the vent fan. Old bathrooms are so interesting, especially if they have been “updated” several times in old houses.

On 06 July 2005 (10:12 AM),
jenefer said:

I agree with Tiffany, Luck is what’s needed. Luck with the contractor, luck with the individual workmen and luck that no more surprises will appear. When is your anticipated finish date? Too bad about the vent fan. Old bathrooms are so interesting, especially if they have been “updated” several times in old houses.

On 06 July 2005 (01:43 PM),
Lisa said:

Somehow, the pictures make it look even worse than it does in person. Regardless, you’ll be thrilled when all the dust settles. My condolences about the electrical panel…

On 06 July 2005 (06:01 PM),
Cepo said:

yick! Good luck, i can’t wait for the day that i actually own a house that i can make look any way i wish.

On 17 August 2005 (07:01 AM),
Cori said:

You have my sympathy! My husband an I bought our first house last fall, and ironically enough, we started OUR bathroom remodel project within days of you starting yours. The room was originally a porch, so the floor sloped rather steeply away from the house, and they never bothered to level the floor when they put in a half-bath… A few months after we moved in, the toilet developed a leak, and that coupled by the fact that the floor was topped with TWO layers of carpet, made it necessary to pretty much redo the whole thing.

We’re undertaking the project almost entirely by ourselves, however (hubby is an electrician by trade, so that helps), and the biggest problem WE’VE found is that the bathroom itself wouldn’t be so difficult it it weren’t for all the related problems OUTSIDE of the room which needed to be dealt with first– replacing water shut-offs in the basement that feed the bathroom, since they had corroded open; rewiring the main electrical panel, essentially for the whole house, since it (like yours) was totally out of code, etc., etc. That, coupled with all the structural work that needed to be done (levelling the sloped floor was a major obstacle), has made this quite a stressful project! Luckily, though, this isn’t our only bathroom… but you’re right, I just have to keep reminding myself how great it’s going to be when it’s finished!