Raccoons!

From time to time, a neighborhood cat pops up on the back porch and my very indulged indoor cats, spying the outsider from the sliding glass back door, promptly lose their minds, howling at the glass.  On Saturday night, T and I were watching Netflix when Tiger and Lucy went to the backdoor and commenced an alarm.  It wasn’t the usual howl, more of an announcing sort of meow.  We got up to scare off the cat outside but when we got to the glass, it wasn’t a cat staring in at us. 

It was a raccoon.

As we contemplated the best course of action, we realized that there was another raccoon on the back deck.

And a third, fourth, and fifth one playing in old man tree.  They weren’t full-gown, more like teenaged raccoons, and they were having a blast in the backyard.  

I’ve been known to be charmed by raccoons but this was no laughing matter.  I’ve never spied a single raccoon in the backyard, let alone five of them, and T and I jumped into action.

Well, actually T did.  She pulled on her boots and set out through the front door to scare them out of the backyard.  She brought a big stick and a rather impressive bark.  It took a few rounds, but she sent them packing.  Tomorrow, I’ll call the local animal control folks.  I’ll also call my tree guy to make sure the raccoons haven’t hollowed out a nest in the tree.

Until then, T is watching raccoon removal videos and contemplating how she’d look in a ‘coonskin cap.  As for Tiger and Lucy, they are napping, which they find to be a solid response to any number of troubling developments.

Batty

On Monday morning around 2 am, JT woke up and announced that a bird was flapping around his room.  As it turned out, it was no bird.

Eeep.

Our first line of defense was to shut the bedroom door and open the windows, in hopes that the bat would leave of his own accord.  It seemed that was the case (i.e., it was no longer on the wall after a couple of hours) and we returned to bed to finish out the night.

Fast forward to Monday evening and bad news in the bat cave: the bat was back.    This time, we removed it via a plastic box, using this method.  And by we, I mean JT, whose catcher's skills mean he has far quicker reflexes than me.  We placed the bat outside and so far it hasn't returned.

I like to say that guests are always welcome, but it would seem I need to specify what types of guests.  So, those of you who fly around our heads in the night should find other accommodations.

Real Life Observations of JT: The Party is Over edition

The backstory:  11 years ago when I moved to New Jersey, the house I moved into had an old fridge the previous owners had left behind.  I had brought my comparatively newer fridge from Nebraska.  Two fridges seemed like a bonus.  So the inherited fridge was designated the party fridge and in it we stored soda, beer, and other bulk-buy items.  It came with me to Sassafras House in 2005 and lived in the basement.  In 2011, the party fridge died after Hurricane Irene flooded the basement.  When I got a large new upstairs fridge that fall, the Nebraska fridge went downstairs to the basement to be the new party fridge.

Still following?

The new upstairs fridge is quite fancy and features both ice and water in the door.  This feature, which JT thought could only be had in a fridge from California, endears us to the fridge.  It also explains why we call call it the California fridge.  When you are a two fridge household, the appliances in question need names.

Unfortunately, the party ended sometime last week when the party fridge abruptly gave up the ghost.  Cold soda and beer is now warm and the last pot of freezer jam is now defunct.

JT, concerned about this development, announced that we should move the soda and beer upstairs to "...make a party in the Cali fridge."  

That is the sort of innovative, forward thinking that can only be learned at prep school.

Miracle Machine

Sixteen years ago this spring I bought my first lawn mower.  I don't remember a lot about the transaction itself, I just remember that my dad told me to get a mower with a Briggs and Stratton engine.  I did that and started mowing.  The mower came with me from Nebraska to New Jersey, cheerfully mowing row after row of grass.  We are close companions, this mower and I, having logged some serious miles together.

I fill it with gas and, on occasion, I've added oil.  I once had the blade sharpened.  Other than that, the mower doesn't get a lot of TLC.  For the last few years, each spring I roll the mower out of the garage and assume that this year it won't start.  I've looked at replacements, of course, but I don't want to replace a functioning mower.  And so I cross my fingers and pull the cord.  And every spring, for sixteen years, the mower starts.  Last year, it took nearly 20 pulls and I was starting to despair.  This year, it started on pull 7.  No one was more surprised than me.  It isn't pretty, my mower.  The rust has started to spread and the paint is dulled and chipping.  But on Saturday it fired up for another season of cutting the grass and who I am to deny it the pleasure?

I'm thinking about adding some oil this year but I'd hate to mess with a good thing, you know?

Radiator Phrenology

I grew up in a part of California where serious cold weather is rare.  And even when it is cold, it's a relative chill.  Temps in the 50s are not uncommon but freezing nights are unusual.  When the day is chilly in my part of the Golden State, we turn on the heater.

Heater sounds mild, and I suppose it is, since weather there is quite mild.  I've been out east in one state or another for more than 20 years.  Weather out here sometimes features real and lasting cold.  A heater will not do.  So Sassafras House has a furnace that propels steam through pipes in the basement and into radiators in every room of the house.  It looks like a serious enterprise, and it is.

I love this kind of heat, because it isn't dry and so my skin doesn't crack in the winter.  But steam radiators can be moody and since each radiator must bring warmth to a room, a persnickety radiator brings with it the prospect of chilly zones in the house.  Especially cold mornings like today (it was 9 degrees when I got up at 6 am) find me checking each radiator for warmth, like some sort of radiator phrenologist, laying her hands upon the radiator and willing the pipes to warm up.  

I listen carefully for the clanks and and hissing sounds that confirm all is well in the pipes that power the system.  And then I stroll the house to assess problems.

A radiator that isn't drawing can be adjusted, though this is a tricky business and often leaves me engaged in the radiator equivalent of robbing Peter to pay Paul.  Lately, the warmer radiator in my bedroom is rather nice.

On the other hand, the consequently colder bathroom radiator is not so nice when you exit the shower.

It's a tricky operation, this business of being a radiator phrenologist.  JT, born to a colder climate, is a native to the process of keeping the radiators happily steaming.  He can adjust the valves like he was born to this style of living, which I suppose he was.  And that always amuse his California Mama.

"Mama, this is Bad"

Every parent recognizes a special tone of urgency in her child's voice.  It's a sound which indicates trouble beyond the usual garden-variety level of concern.  That's the sound I heard last Thursday, at 10 pm, when JT summoned me by saying, "Mama, this is bad."  The boy spoke the truth.

My first thought when I realized that the cracked bathroom sink had finally given up the ghost was, "I don't have time for this."  That rather says a lot about how my December played out.  Though I didn't have time, I do have the phone number of a good plumber.  Within a few days, we were back in business with a new sink that looks a lot like the old one, albeit one that doesn't have a giant missing piece..

Doing Kafka Proud

My house was built in 1930 and, like many houses of that era, has a gas meter in the basement.  The meter itself is new, having been replaced a few years back, but its basement location means that the meter can only be read by the utility company when someone is home to let them in.  In the months when no one is home, they estimate my gas consumption.  When they finally get in to read the meter, they correct the bill for any estimation errors.  In the nearly seven years that I have lived here, every time the estimate is corrected, it shows that PSE&G owes me, not the reverse.  In other words, PSE&G never has to wait for my money.

Every once in a while, the company calls me or includes a notice on my bill warning me that they must read the meter.  Or else.  When that happens, I call PSE&G and schedule a meter reading and on the appointed day, I stay home to let the meter reader into the basement.  This happened most recently in September and the next month my folks were here when the meter reader arrived on October 18.  My dad let him in to the basement; seconds later the meter reader left.  I figured that I was all set. 

So I was somewhat surprised this afternoon when I received a letter from the utility company complaining that they hadn't read my meter in 12 months.  The letter noted that PSE&G had sent me two warnings on my monthly bills and then delivered the big threat: unless they read the meter, they might "disconnect my service for non-access."  I was instructed to call PSE&G at once.

Before calling the utility, I got out my most recent bill (it came in yesterday's mail), the one that supposedly warned me that PSE&G needs to read the meter.  Please note that not only is the alleged notice not present…

 …but the bill also shows that PSE&G read the meter in the month of December (in fact, I was informed by the nice men who replaced my gas line that they had read the meter when they were here earlier this month). 

Nonetheless, I'm not one to ignore the threat of utility cut-off, and so I called PSE&G to check in.  I wended my way through the computerized voice service and was finally connected with Dave, who was quite friendly.  My man Dave confirmed that the meter reader had been here on October 18, though there is no evidence that he actually read the meter.  When I explained that I had recently received a bill which indicated that the meter had been read in December, Dave was at a loss.  When I asked whom I could speak to about the letter threatening to cut off my service, Dave said it was a computer-generated letter and there was no one to whom I could speak.  Then he asked if I would like to schedule a meter reading.

At a loss, I agreed to schedule a reading and then asked the utility to install a device to permit remote readings.  "I'm home tomorrow," I hopefully noted.  Dave consulted the calendar and proposed February 1st.  That day, PSE&G will read my meter and install a device to permit remote readings.  Still a little nervous about the threat to cut-off my service, I asked Dave again about the letter, noting again that I pay my bill every month.

"I've never heard of us cutting off service for meter reading," he advised. 

"Then why the threatening letter?" I asked. 

Trapped in the ninth ring of bureaucratic hell as he apparently is, Dave did Kafka proud: he had no answer.   And with that, our unsatisfying conversation was at an end.

On Sassafras Pond

The good news is that the birds were chirping when we woke up this morning.  There was some cloudy sunlight to be seen and the rain seems to have stopped.  The bad news is that we came downstairs to see that the backyard now has a pond.  We've never had this much of a pond before.

And there's water in the basement.  Well more than one would like.  JT and I will fire up the water pump shortly.  We are well experienced in the task at hand; and I have to say that having JT's help makes the whole chore a little easier to bear.  Rivers around here will crest in the late afternoon and then we will will slowly return to normal (which is flood-prone anyway).  I grew up in drought-prone central California.  That had its own problems, of course.  But surely there is some sort of happy medium between the two conditions?  I'd like to find that zone for the next few weeks.

My Personal Seasonal Disorder

It's no secret that I was happy to put away my snow shovel for the season.  However, in the brief celebration that followed, I had not anticipated how quickly I would be plugging in my shop vac. 

That's right, the basement monsoon season is upon us.  In all fairness, the basement was dry through 10 pm on Sunday night.  But the rains were remarkably heavy and steady; everywhere I looked outdoors there was standing water; the rain gauge was at 3 inches.  I knew the dry basement couldn't last.  And, true to form, there was water in the basement on Monday morning.  Happily, there was sun outside.  The sun continued today and more is forecast for tomorrow.  I took advantage of the lull to fire up the wet/dry vac and suck up the water in the basement.  Things are well on their way to dry.

But I see that the forecast is for floods and rain all day on Thursday.  The Weather Service website dryly warns:

IF YOU EXPERIENCED
FLOODING WITH THE LAST EVENT THE COURSE OF LEAST REGRET WOULD BE
TO PREPARE FOR IT AGAIN.

I shall take the course of least regret, and keep the water pump at the ready. 

Super.

Modern Living

I have a stock lesson for my U.S. History classes in which we explore the value of modern sanitation to life in industrial America, circa the late 19th century.  The lesson features a variety of horrifying stories about uses of the same river for drinking water and waste disposal plus a hefty dose of the smelly terror of chunky sludge running through the center of city streets. 

I can't say for sure that the students love this day in class, though I am confident that they never forget it.  I mention this because I think of myself as a girl who doesn't take modern sanitation and water systems for granted.  Thus there is some irony involved in the fact that my town is currently undergoing a project to renovate the water mains.

I actually have no idea what the gangs of workers are doing.  I do know that for the duration of the project, water on my street is being provided by this temporary hose:

Hard as it might be to believe, this high-tech system is prone to breakdowns.  With some regularity, the shiny metal clasps holding the hoses together pops loose and we come home to find our own personal geyser on the corner of Sassafras Street.  As if the blast of water wasn't trouble enough, it also means that there is no running water for the houses on our street.  This has happened at least half a dozen times that I know of; my neighbors report more.

So it is that we sometimes come home from school, use the bathroom, and flush the toilet only to hear an unsettling thunking sound as the house's pipes empty of water and are unable to re-fill.  A call to the water company typically reveals confusion and the announcement that they have no idea what could have happened (they've sub-contracted the job to someone else and have since seemingly washed their hands of the matter).  We've learned to call the police, who will then send out an officer in a cruiser who will slowly drive by, solemnly nod at the cluster of neighbors now standing by the gushing hose, and then drive on.  Within an hour, a truck pulls up and a friendly Jamaican guy hops out, armed with a bucket of tools he puts to use on the hose.  Within 20 minutes, we're back in business.

My neighbors and I trade stories about the inconvenience of the sudden discovery that we lack water.  One of my neighbors reports that it's happened twice while he's in the shower, once when he was still covered in soap.  I am haunted by the thought that this might happen to me and so now when I hop into my amazing new shower, I stand under the water and triage my options in case running water should suddenly prove elusive: should I wash my hair first and then apply soap to my body?  Maybe shave my legs first?  Try to do all three at once?  It is not a restful process, showering at my house.

The Universe and I have a long history of water issues.  And while I can't answer for my behavior in past lives, I think we can conclude from my experiences in this life that I still have a lot to answer for.

More Adventures in Home Improvement

For some reason, number 32 on my life list was a whole lot of ceiling painting.  The confusion here isn't due the need for ceiling painting (no, that was only too-apparent), but the fact that I had four ceilings in need of paint and yet I made this four-ceiling job just one item on my life list.  But I did.  Checking this one off might take a while.

Both bathroom ceilings have been done and yesterday I tackled the dining room ceiling.  It had incurred damage from a March rainstorm and while the trouble that caused these ceiling cracks and water marks was quickly repaired, I saved the ceiling repair fun for the summer.

It wasn't a strategy entirely driven by my slacker ways.  I wanted to be sure that the leak repair had done the trick.  We've had enough rain storms for me to be confident that the leak is fixed and all that remained was the paint job.  I picked this weekend because JT is away and projects help to make that more bearable.  And my friends C & C were coming for supper on Sunday (a supper delayed since that weekend in the spring when the leak first made itself known).  So the timing was karmically perfect.

This is how the ceiling looked before the painting began. 

The damage was confined to the eastern edge of the room and that section got some spackling and crack-repair in the morning.  Then I taped the trim and set to work with Kilz paint on the water stains. 

After that, it was time for the first coat of ceiling paint.

And four hours later, a second coat of paint was applied.

Come this morning, I pulled the room back together.  The repairs and fresh paint vanquished the water stains and are a noticeable improvement in the room.  I also did some substantial cleaning while the furniture was out of the room, and that helps.  Confidential to Mom: Don't sweat the chairs and the over-flowing basket in the corner.  Both are due to be cleaned out later this morning.

Three quarters of the rooms in need of ceiling paint have been checked off my list.  The kitchen ceiling painting will be done next month, once I have settled on a paint color.  Stay tuned for pictures of that project soon enough.

But right now, I'm a little tired.  And I think I've earned the right to a nap.

All Water, All the Time

Permit me, if you will, a time line of my adventures with water in 2010.

In March, massive rains arrived in New Jersey.  My basement filled with water and my dining room ceiling sprung a leak.  The basement has since been drained and cleaned out; the dining room leak has been plugged.  The damaged ceiling still requires repair, and I might have gotten to the job sooner if it weren't for the month of April.

In April, the bathroom plumbing commenced to leak through the kitchen ceiling.  A quick repair stopped the immediate dripping.  And a bathroom remodel, including brand new plumbing and a whole lot of new tile, assured that it wouldn't happen again.  That project took us right into May.  The kitchen ceiling, now repaired, has now been added to my list of summer ceiling projects in need of paint.

I'd hoped that the arrival of June would bring some smooth sailing.  Instead, when I went downstairs this morning with a load of laundry in hand, I found some water.  Not a lot of water, mind you, but water nonetheless.  And water in a spot in the basement which had never had water before (which is saying something).  The wetness seemed to spread from the hot water heater.  And by the end of the day, Sassafras House was the proud owner of a new hot water heater. 

I do my best to lie low when it comes to the Universe.  But clearly there is some wet message that I have not yet heard.  I'll be spending the next few days sorting that issue out, if only to avoid whatever wet disaster July plans on splashing my way.

Adventures in Home Improvement: Water Edition

The month of March brought New Jersey colossal rains.  It brought me water in the basement and a leak in the dining room ceiling.  The basement water is under control (which is to say gone, until ten inches of rain fall again).  The dining room ceiling leak ---- seemingly caused by the rain blowing in from the east and a small gap underneath the second floor window sill siding ---- has been repaired.  All that remains is a tiny bit of plaster repair and some repainting, a task I've reserved for June when school ends and I have ample time for that brand of fun.

After all that, I figured that April would feature a whole lot of gardening and smooth-sailing, home improvement wise.  And boy was I wrong.  I learned just how wrong on Easter Sunday, when JT reported that there was a leak in the kitchen ceiling.  A leak he noticed while I was in the shower.  That shower is in the bathroom.  The only full bathroom in the house.  The one with the 1930s-era plumbing and the cast iron bathtub whose plumbing is directly over the kitchen ceiling.

This can't be good.

Plumber number 1 arrived the next day, took a brief look at the situation and it's  80 year old lead pipe plumbing, then threw up his hands and announced, "you're going to need a whole new bathroom."

This was not promising.  And while I didn't doubt that new plumbing and a bath tub would solve the problem, I was hopeful that less costly repair could be effected.  In any case, I wanted a plumber who would actually touch the plumbing before diagnosing a zillion dollar home improvement solution.  A laying-on of plumbing hands, if you will.

Enter plumber number 2, a man with the promising name of JP.  We like letter names around here and he came highly recommended.  JP took a look, ran the water through the offending leaky plumbing, and diagnosed the problem: I  needed new bathtub fixtures.  Replacements aren't available for tubs this old (and they aren't up to New Jersey code anyway).   The back up solution: caulking around the ancient bathtub fixtures.  It was just the laying-on of plumbing hands that I sought.

JP thinks this repair will work just fine, for a while anyway.  He cautions that the long-term solution to the situation is a replacement tub and brand-new, non-lead pipes.  He can do that for me and I may soon be taking him up on the offer.

And the kitchen ceiling?

 This will also be repaired, likely after the replacement tub enters my life.  So we're not yet done with the home improvement drama.....though, God-willing, we are done with water damage.

And just right there, Internet, there I have tempted the Home Improvement Gods to jack with me again.

Keeper

 The final weekend of spring break found me once again pumping excess water out of my basement.  Under the best of circumstances, this is not a fun job.  Between the constantly wet, cold feet; anxiety over the state of the appliances in the basement; and the smell of wet cardboard (best described as the smell of ass), it's just not fun.

I was on my own for much of the work; JT was away for the weekend.  By Sunday afternoon, the pace of the water flow had slowed, the appliances were safe and I had decided that JT"s 7 pm return would be a fine time to break camp from my basement hell.    He had been away for 5 days and I had spent much of Saturday and all of Sunday in a dank, wet basement.  His return was my excuse for a hot shower, a warm supper and some time spent doing something else.  Plus, we had some NCAA tournament brackets to watch together.  When he came home Sunday evening, his first question for me was, "how is the basement?"  I gave him a tour of the mess and he was immediately concerned; especially about me.  "Are you tired, Mama?" he kept asking me. 

I took my scheduled break and JT and I caught up.  As 9 pm approached, I couldn't resist one last look at the basement.  JT came downstairs with me and as I set up to pump out the water, he volunteered to help.  It may have been a weak moment, but I was exhausted and help seemed like a good deal.  I took him up on the offer, though with some trepidation.  There is nothing fun about a wet-dry vac and gallons of water and I figured he'd soon tire of this adventure. 

But I was wrong.  The next afternoon, after we got home from school, JT accompanied me downstairs and set to work again.  This water removal project was the result of a day's over-fill; requiring both the 800 gallon an hour pump and the wet/dry vac to bat clean-up.  It took nearly an hour and JT helped for the duration.   And the next morning, when he heard me arise at 5:30 am, he came downstairs to help again.

It's no secret that this boy of mine is my pride and joy.  I love him with every fiber of my being.  I am regularly proud of his sense of humor, his imagination, and kind heart.  But his good-natured help with the basement simply blew me away.  He was matter-of-fact in his assistance; hard-working and strong and with the ability to laugh thrown in the mix.  As he stood in the basement, wielding the wet/dry vac and laughing all the while, I was as proud of him as I've ever been.

He's a keeper.

Endless Snow

The shortest month of the year has really delivered when it comes to snow days.  This morning we awakened to the fourth snow day of the month.  And nearly a foot of very wet snow piled all around the house, including a very snowy front porch.

There is only one remedy for such a mess: my snow removal double-punch.  Punch 1: JT.  The kid can shovel like no one's business. 

Punch 2: The snow blower which clears out the mess and admits me to the neighborhood snow removal team.  This time around, I even showed JT how to use the snow blower (don't worry, Dad, I was right at hand). 

 We blew out the driveway and the sidewalks and then made another snowman. 

Clearly, our snow sculpture artistry is lacking.  But there's only so much to be done about that when your Mama is from California.  And what we lack in skill, we make up in style. 

Tap, Tap, Tap

I used to believe that my home maintenance vigilance was a function of the fact that I live in an old home.  These days, I realize that a certain household wariness is simply part of the home ownership bargain.  In my neck of the woods, the most common problems are those related to precipitation, both indoors and out.

I've experienced basement flooding in the past and I'm always wary of excessive water.  I keep my outdoor gutters cleared of leaves; I keep watch for the prospects of ice.  When it rains, I check the basement.  On top of that, my home has old-fashioned radiators and a steam heat furnace.  Steam heat running through pipes has a tendency to clink and clank, and I always have an ear tuned to sounds that signal danger.  Last winter, after my furnace received a tune-up, I needed to bleed the upstairs radiators (to remove air trapped in the pipes) and then adjust the pressure.  I discovered this after I awoke one morning to the steady sound of dripping water from the radiator in my bedroom.  Standing water is never desirable in your home, especially on the second floor.

So it is that I keep an ear tuned to the sound of water.  Last week, we had a steady hard rain that resulted in a series of flood warnings.  I became more vigilant than ever.  And in my bedroom, as I read at night, I would sometimes hear a steady tap, tap, tap.

For nearly ten days that tap tormented me.  I checked every radiator upstairs.  I checked the gutters.  I walked around the house, looking at the roof and foundation for signs of impending disaster.  I did all of this multiple times.  Everything seemed fine.  But still the quiet tap continued.  And so my anxiety grew.

Finally, after days of this, I discovered the source of the quiet tapping.  I have some lights in my bedroom that run on the timer and the timer had gotten stuck. When I repaired that glitch, the tapping magically disappeared and my problem was solved. 

My sanity will likely return a bit more slowly.

Ironic?

One of the things my students quickly learn about me is that I like a cold classroom. I always joke that I keep it cold so that they stay awake to prevent hypothermia from claiming them. The truth is that I move around a great deal when I teach and I don't like to be over-heated. Risk of hypothermia is funnier.

But things around here are not so funny at the moment. On Monday, it was 60 degrees and raining. Yesterday the rain switched to a slurry of snow and ice and the temperatures sank to right at freezing. My furnace chose this moment to quit heating my home, which I discovered when I got home last night. I think that pilot light is out. Actually, I hope it's just the pilot light as that's a fairly inexpensive prospect. Furnace repair comes between noon and 4 pm later today. It's quiet around here without the furnace. No roar as it snaps to life. No clinking pipes. Just a quiet cold and the sound of my chattering teeth.

3:45 pm, furnace update:
Happily, the repair man showed up within seconds of my arrival home. He headed downstairs to check things out. The pilot light (which JT calls the pirate light) was working so then he did some stuff. And then the furnace was furnacing.

The diagnosis: not sure. I have a steam furnace and sometimes you need to drain the water. He did that and then re-filled it. Flipped the breaker; turned on the thermostat and bingo! back in business. It took a bit to get the water heated and the steam moving through but within a couple of hours, the house was warm again. Or warmish, anyway.....the thermostat is still set at 65, after all.

Let's not get crazy.

8 pm furnace update: Ummmm. Not working again. So.....repair version 2 tomorrow morning. Let's hope I meet with greater success.

Home Improvement Day 3: Success!

On Sunday, the task at hand was grouting. I'd chosen a grout that is close to the color of the tile. The old grout had a number of problems; the most significant among them was its light color. It was impossible to keep pristine or even clean-ish. I live with an 8 year old boy and I wouldn't say that careful aim is always a high priority. That grout like to kill me.

So the new grout is darker and blends in with the tiles. It won't improve anyone's aim, but it will cover a multitude of sins. I had mis-estimated the amount of grout we'd need to complete the room and that necessitated an emergency grout run to Lowe's. But within the hour after my return, T had the room grouted. Then came the tricky part: she had to wait several hours for the grout to set before re-installing the toilet. We would be wiping up the excess grout and cleaning the surface but that doesn't really take all that long in a 5x5 room. What to do?
Normal people would spend their downtime laying about watching football and barking orders for cold beer and nachos.

I say this with the greatest respect for her endless energy: T is not normal. So instead of down time, we had project time. A new curtain rod was installed in JT's playroom. At some point (I have no idea where I'd gone off to) T vaccumed underneath the furnace in my basement (eeek!). Then T hauled out her leaf blower and organized the rest of the leaves in the backyard. JT did some leaf pile jumping and then helped me to fill the bags. Not to be outdone by T's work ethic, I recruited the boy to help me plant the rest of my fall bulbs and then hang up the outdoor Christmas lights.
The trash piled in the front yard was testament to a weekend of hard work.
Once indoors, I made a little celebration supper and enjoyed our last meal with the toilet in the dining room. Reinstallation of the toilet was a little trickier than we liked, but once the plumbing was up to speed (i.e. a person with actual skill tightened the valve attaching the toilet to the water supply) it was all good. The door was re-hung with a minimum of profanity, all of it coming from my mouth. I was even allowed to use the drill (with no adverse affects on the project).

I couldn't be happier with the results. I'm like a kid with a new toy, happily standing in my bathroom and admiring the new floor.

Thanks, T. I owe you one.

Home Improvement Day 2: Beware the Cats

On Saturday morning, I lay in bed second-guessing my decision not to carve my initials in the new floor before it cured hard and fast. I came downstairs to find that the cats had not been so reluctant to mark their territory.
JT and I were horrified, like parents of a couple of very difficult teenagers. While the guilty parties retreated to the attic playroom for a stern lecture from JT, T assured me that we could work around this snafu. And work was her strong suit that day. As I struggled to fully awaken, she set up the wet saw for tile cutting on the back deck.
The day's task was laying the tile. With precision and speed, that's exactly what T did.


Not to appear indolent, JT and I hauled the Christmas tree indoors and started to decorate. That was the theme of Saturday: holidays and heavy equipment. By the evening, there was a lovely Christmas tree in the living room.
In the bathroom, the new tiles lay affixed to the floor, awaiting Sunday's festival of grouting. Things were starting to come together.

A Good Time on a Friday Night

The first day of my home improvement weekend featured the greatest amount of destruction. Because nothing says "have a relaxing weekend" like tearing stuff apart and filling the living room with equipment and Christmas decorations.
In must be noted that when my friend T sets her mind to fixing up your hovel of a home, she means business. While I got supper to the table on Friday night, she unloaded supplies into the house. Then, she and JT fired up her compressor to use the air gun to nail up my indigent cabinet kickplates. And presto, a problem I've been living with for years was magically fixed. Ten minutes into home improvement weekend, and we were off to an impressive start.
After that appetizer, a little destruction was on the menu. The bathroom door was removed from the hinges to enable a little more breathing space in the tiny room. That kind of job is always more fun if the screws are stripped, as were the screws holding my door. The toilet was pulled out and carried to the dining room, where the throne would spend the better part of the weekend as the butt of many jokes.
The tile was torn up, revealing a rather corroded floor underneath, including barely recognizable lino that last saw daylight circa 1960, I'd guess. The worst part of the corrosion featured some black ants who were less than delighted to see us. The feeling was mutual. Bug spray and bleach were deployed to aid in 1) their demise and 2) ensure mildew removal. The old tile was hauled to the trash bin. That work completed, we headed to Lowe's to contemplate some new sub-floor materials.
The new sub-floor would be a combination of heavy mesh metal nailed to the floor and finished with Mega Bond mortar. And no December trip to Lowe's is complete without securing a Christmas tree, so we did that as well. Upon our return, T played with the sheet of metal in the living room.
Her next challenge: nailing the mesh into the bathroom floor.
JT and I secured the Christmas tree in its stand and left it on the front porch to shake out (not to mention taunt the cats).
By the end of the evening, the new floor was in place, providing a nice even surface to affix tile the next morning. While the floor was still wet, T encouraged me to carve my initials in. I deferred, but that's a story for tomorrow.