Meanwhile, Here at the Appliance Graveyard

Last Fall, when the seals on the fridge began to fail and then the handle broke off, a new refrigerator became a priority.  T struggled with our stove and talked me into a new stove as well.  Those arrived in September and both were nice - if pricey - additions to my world. *In 2023, one-by- one, nearly all of the remaining appliances at Sassafras House went on strike.  In late July, the hot water heater failed.  As it was nearly 15 years old, this was an understandable development.  Within 48 hours, a new one was installed.  In late August, the microwave began to make alarming sounds that indicated that it too had reached its term limit.  A new one was purchased and installed (the latter step was rather a customer service nightmare, but now that it’s done, my frustration from the experience is fading). *I was no sooner enjoying the new microwave, when the washer failed to drain water consistently and began to sound like a freight train was rolling through the basement.  Uh-oh. I called for repair, which sought to replace the transmission.  Alas, the whole internal mechanism had frozen.  The new transmission could not be installed.  I heard taps play in the background as the repairman drove away and I headed out in search of a new washer.  The new washer was installed last Saturday and it washes like a dream.  The dryer is - I hope - prepared to live a few more years.  At least I hope so, because my appliance budget is tapped out (and then some!).

An Independent Woman

 In our last year together, T and I faced some home improvement challenges that we did not handle well as a couple.  My sense at the time - and even more so now - is that in both circumstances she was weirdly unreasonable.  I never said that to her because it would not have helped things in the moment.  Though I held my tongue, in both cases, she was mighty angry with me anyway.  It proved a can’t-win-for-losing-proposition.

 I thought of these challenges on Tuesday afternoon, when I popped into the basement and discovered that my water heater had dumped a whole bunch of water on the floor.  A cursory feel below the tank revealed that it had sprung a leak.  I have a service contract on home appliances like the water heater and I called the repair service.  They came out that night to confirm what was already clear:  I need a new hot water heater.  I made arrangements for installation the next day.  Then I reported on the situation to a couple of friends and prepared to finish out the evening. 

I did all this confidently, in full command of the facts, and by myself.  I was organized and decisive and grateful that there was no one to doubt me or raise barriers to the obviously simple solution at hand.  Because that’s the thing about me: I am capable and independent and I know it.  I ask for help when I need it; I do not doubt what I know to be true and I don’t dilly-dally around because that makes an already- challenging circumstance harder.  That was what made the last two home improvement repairs with T so difficult: she made everything much harder than it needed to be, doubting my judgement in the absence of any valid reason to do so.

Once the repairman left on Tuesday evening,  I made myself a delicious late-night BLT supper (it’s Jersey tomato season, after all) and texted my sister that the hot water heater and I had a good run together.  ”14 years,” I texted, “longer than any adult relationship I’ve ever had.”  She gave the appropriate "ha, ha" response.

I know there is something sad about that claim - it’s no secret that in my darker moments I wonder if it’s something wrong with me that explains why both of my long term relationships have failed.  I sometimes fear that my independence is something that partners find threatening.  But there is also this:  I am damn good at looking after myself.  I always have been and over the years I’ve gotten better at it because I’ve had to do so.  While I wouldn't mind someone taking care of me every once in a while, I suspect that is not in the cards for me.  So I recognize the blessing my independence has proven to be.  I don't apologize for it and I never will.  

Tiger the Tub Cat

I am not writing of a heretofore unknown Dr. Suess title but rather of my weirdo cat, Tiger.  In his most natural state, Tiger is committed to a life of restful leisure.

I think he’s quite charming in this state because it is me that he loves best.  Together, we share a commitment to soft blankets, naps on the sofa, and vanilla ice cream.  Sometimes, we allow Lucy to join us.

But Tiger has another side and it’s weird: he likes to get in the shower.  Usually, he reserves his shower sojourns for the moment when someone has just completed a shower.  Then, while the bather seeks to extract themselves from the tub, he hops in and licks up the water in the corner near the faucet (this despite the fact that he has his own generous bowl of water refreshed daily). However, the temporary shower plastic to-prevent-further-leaking has cramped his style.  Now he waits on the edge of the shower while I shower, meowing his dissatisfaction with the current inadequate accommodations.

Imagine his response when this entire shower is torn out.  No doubt he’ll file a complaint with the ASPCA.  I am in the process of seeking legal representation.

Grateful

Some years ago, a sump pump was installed in my basement.  Before that pump went in, basement water was a semi-regular feature of Spring life around here.  Since the pump, basement water is pumped on out to the street, thus saving me from a whole lot of anxiety.

The fool in the White House doesn’t see it, but climate change has brought greater extremes to New Jersey.  One of those extremes has been more precipitation.  My corner of New Jersey has had nearly ten inches of rain in November.  Four inches fell in six hours on Saturday; another inch fell yesterday afternoon.  The basement pump is getting after it and every 30 minutes or so I hear it come on and do its job.  When I hear the sound a chorus of gratitude echos in my mind.

Thank you little sump pump.  Thank you.

Adventures in Home Repair

On Friday afternoon, JT and I arrived home within minutes of one another.  As he helped me to unload the groceries, he advised me that there was water leaking out from under the kitchen sink.  I reluctantly opened the cabinet to find that yeah, there was water.  About a half inch of it with more still coming.

Awesome way to start the weekend.

I quickly emptied out the cabinet’s cleaning supplies while JT gathered the old towels we keep on hand for just such an emergency.  The collected cleaning supplies got stored on the front porch.  

Three large towels later, we’d sopped up the water and discovered the source of the leak.  We called our plumber (when you have a house that is more than 80 years old, you have a plumber of choice) and let him know we required his services.  A small bowl underneath the leak filled in less than an hour, so JT set to work in search of a larger item to collect the leaking water.  He hit upon a solution in the attic.  In the meantime, I tightened the water line and though I couldn’t stop it, that slow the leak to a manageable drip.  The bin underneath fills in about 6 hours, not ideal but manageable for the weekend.

My plumber has already phoned me back; he’ll be here on Monday morning.  Since we dodged the bullet of standing water on wood floors, we're gonna call this a win. Updates as warranted.

Like Camping, but with a Sofa and Fridge

My air conditioner offered its resignation as the year’s biggest heatwave rolled in to town.  After some back and forth, a replacement is slated to be installed on Saturday.  I have a window unit in my bedroom so that I can sleep comfortably, and I could certainly hang out with friends.  But I’m off work for the rest of this week and I like to be home.

Originally, I had plans to be one part productive and one part leisurely for this time off.  I planned to garden, read for hours, touch up some trim paint, clean a closet or two, and catch up on the home improvement shows on my DVR.  But even with the windows open and fans blowing, the house is steamy and unpleasant, so I’ve basically converted to camping-at-home mode.  I’ve spent hours on the shaded front porch or back deck with books and electronic devices that can easily be charged by stepping inside.   The walk to get a drink of water or use the bathroom is easy, if sweaty.  My heat-loving cats are happy and sleepy, per their usual habit.

I’ve mostly made salads or cooked on the grill outside, which is the summer mode around here anyway. I’d like to make jam to can for winter gifts but there is no way I will get the kitchen that hot without a/c, so jam-making will wait.  There is plenty of time for jam and outside relaxation is lovely.  It’s nice to have a coffee maker and a fridge to keep the half & half cold.  When the heat is too much I retreat to my meat-locker of a bedroom and cool off.  In the meantime, I enjoy the chirping birds, cicadas, unexpected breezes, and counting my blessings.  

Nest Repairs

In one of the Miss Read Fairacre books, Miss Read discovers that some local sparrows have made a nest on the roof over her front door.  At first she is charmed and then Mr. Willet, the local handyman, points out that the birds may use her front step as their toilet.  He volunteers to remove the nest to aid in relocation but Miss Read refuses, worried that the birds won’t find their nest.  Mr. Willet shakes his head at her kind heart and Miss Read ruefully begins to use the back door, so as not to bother the birds.

I thought of this story when I noticed a pair of birds making their nest in my roofline, having snuck under the eve where a piece of the trim siding had come off during a wild storm.   In the immediate aftermath of that storm, I had made a few calls for someone to replace the broken piece.   Homes in my corner of New Jersey had far more damage than that and I could never get a firm hold on a repair and so the problem lingered for far longer than it should have.  

Then a pair of birds tucked under the trim and built their nest along my roofline.  I’m not as kind as Miss Read and feared birds in the roof may be followed by squirrels in the attic so I doubled down on my efforts to get the trim repaired.  That happened over Spring Break.  For a few days, the birds perched on the roofline, unable to get inside.  In my guilt, I averted my eyes.  They’ve since found a new location for their nest and I have the satisfaction of a tidy new piece of trim.

That’s happy!

Real Life Conversations with My Boss: Toilet repair edition

The backstory: My boss and I have a lot of conversations. Surprisingly, none have made this blog.  This is either due to a stunning degree of professionalism on my part or the fact that all of our conversations are insanely profane. I’ll let you be the judge.  Upon our return to school on Monday, we had a conversation about toilet repair, a subject readers of this blog may recall from 2015.  

Me:  We have two weeks off but my toilet chooses Sunday night for the handle to break.

B:  Didn’t you just repair that?  You people are hard on a toilet.

Me:  That may be…..but in any case, I yet again confront a broken flush handle.  When I diagnosed the problem, both T and JT were cavalier, offering up something along the lines of, “your last repair was never any good.”

B:  An unwise response.

Me:  Agreed.  In any case, I am once again about to replace the toilet handle.  Let’s hope this repair doesn’t come in for criticism or the two of them will be sent outdoors to do their business.  

One You Tube toilet handle repair video refresher course later, a new handle has been installed.  We are flushing like champs.  

Adventures in Home Repair: Flushed with Success edition

On Sunday evening, as the weekend was coming to a close, JT announced that the upstairs toilet no longer flushed.  The handle had broken off the lever inside the toilet, resulting in cracked plastic arm and a failing flush mechanism.  This is generally an easy thing to repair but not at 9 pm on a Sunday.  I removed the toilet lid and announced that we would gently use the cracked arm to flush the toilet, a reasonable plan until I could find time to get to Home Depot and secure the supplies to repair the toilet.

On Monday and Tuesday, I watched toilet repair videos on You Tube and got a plan.  It still involved weekend repair of the toilet because weekdays are already busy around here.  But on Tuesday, the gentle giant who shares the bathroom with me broke the plastic arm off while flushing the toilet.  

I was annoyed and rather than wait for the weekend, I made an 8 pm run to Home Depot.  Thanks to the toilet repair videos, I was feeling knowledgable about what needed to be done.

Hah.

The first toilet repair kit had a bolt I could not remove, despite instructions on the package ordering me to do just that.  It was now nearly 9 pm and to say that I was enraged is to understate the situation.  I emphatically do not enjoy being unable to solve a problem.  JT backed away from me; T offered to come over and effect the repair.  The cats steered clear. 

My first toilet repair plan was flushed away.

On Wednesday, I made a second trip to Home Depot, returned the poor functioning toilet repair kit, and selected a new repair kit.  This one was a success.

We are once again in business and as for me, well, I’m flushed by my success.

Stepping Up

My unfortunate affection for puns ensured that an abundance of titles optioned for this posting:  Step in Time; Stepping Out; In Step; Step and Fetch-It….

I settled on “Stepping Up” because of the significant improvement the repaired steps bring to our daily life.  Winter’s cold and the truckload of salt required to keep the front steps and walk from being a daily ice hazard took their toll on the front steps at my house.  I noticed a loose brick in January and during Spring Break I sought to use some mortar to fix things.  As soon as I swept the loose step clean, it became clear that an easy repair was not an option.

This may not look all that bad but underneath was a greater problem.

I needed a mason.  Not only did I find one, I found a good one with the willingness to tackle this job in a timely fashion.  Score!  In short order, we were back in business.

This isn’t just a surface repair; the underbelly of the steps is now on very solid footing.

Just in time for Spring, the steps are looking spruced up.

It’s a step up for Sassafras House.  Pun intended.

Home Improvement: Stairway Handrail

When my sister and I were little girls on house hunting adventures with our parents, two-story homes were a rarity.  We grew up in California, in a place with abundant space and excessive heat ——— no one needed a second floor around there.  The two of us always admired two-story homes.  I came to see two-story houses and stairways as exotic; the kind of thing you saw on television and read about in books.  Such things were the domain of the fancy people who lived elsewhere.  Fast forward to 2014 and I live in a two-story house with a stairway of my very own.

 I love the stairs in my house and still think of them as faintly exotic.  They are also an early indicator of the boy moving about because these stairs creak, as one would expect in a home that is more than 80 years old.

As it turns out, not only do the stairs creak but the stair handrail, attached to the wall, after the landing had come loose.  This house has plaster and lathe walls and they can be tricky to work with.  The loosened rail had caused plaster damage on its way out of the wall.  T and I realized a solution must be found and so we set to work.  I forgot to take a before photo with the handrail attached but I can show you this picture made once the hand rail came down.

Up close, you can see how bad the situation had gotten.

Once plaster starts to disintegrate, it can go pretty quickly.  Inside the wall in the section with the problem, the plaster and lathe is to the right.  To the left is the metal post that forms the center of the stairway.  This is a load bearing wall in the center of the house on the only path to get upstairs.  The problem was significant, though still small enough that it wasn’t necessary or practical to take the wall down to the studs and replace the plaster with modern drywall.  But how to fix it?

After some thinking and talking through of the problem, T hit upon a terrific solution.  She carved two neat holes in the wall where the handrail attached.  Then, she cleaned and patched the edges and fit in wood squares about an inch deep into the wall.  Those were secured with deep screws into the study plaster and lathe that remained.  Once in the wall, they looked like this.

The wood had been primed and after some discussion, we decided to paint them to match the wall.  

T then re-attached the railing onto the durable wood squares, using the original railing hardware.  The finished attached railing at the bottom, where the damage was, looks like this up close.

Up top looks very similar.

When you look at the handrail as a whole, the repair is barely detectible.

It looks like a small project but it took a good deal of time and care to get it right and T was a patient and clever carpenter.  Plus, a functioning hand rail is a really nice thing to have.  Though JT has been repeatedly reminded not use the handrail as a gymnastic bar, I think that if he did it would hold up quite nicely.  That's happy!

Out with the Old

Yesterday, T set to work securing some loose boards on the front porch.  While she was under the porch I took care of some fall clean-up chores, some of which had been delayed earlier this month as I dealt with my beak.  Most of the leaves in my yard get spread over the garden to take advantage of some cheap natural mulch; others get left on the grass because they are good for the lawn.  The extras get bagged up and placed at the curb for the township to carry away to their own giant mulch pile.

The pumpkins were mulched and fall-themed decorations on the front porch were put away, in an out-with-the-old tradition.

I began to organize the outdoor holiday decorations.  Some are familiar favorites, like the holly-trimmed wreaths that hang from the flower pot hooks.  Others are brand new, like this snowman that my folks gave me for my birthday.   

Next week, I'll put the boy to work hanging some lights on the porch.  I love the sight of twinkling holiday lights and greenery, especially in the cold twilight of the short days in December.  It brings cheer to the evenings and is a welcome tradition at Sassafras House.

Toilet Whisperer

Sassafras House is more than 80 years old.  I've lived here for eight years and over that time I've come to recognize the sounds of impending plumbing troubles.  As a consequence of some of those troubles, there is new plumbing in some parts of the house.  Both toilets are relatively new, but even so, toilets around here get clogged with what I would characterize as an alarming frequency.  It's not every month or anything like that, but it's often enough that I always know where the toilet plunger is located.

Earlier this week, the downstairs toilet made some noises that caused me anxiety.  I couldn't identity a specific problem, it was just that the sound of the water flushing wasn't quite right.  So I was on alert.

Yesterday morning, the alert rang loud and clear when I tried to flush the toilet.  Instead of the sound of water swishing away, the toilet made an unpleasant gurgle.  I got the water shut off just as the toilet filled to the brim.  A clog.  And if there is anything better than a clogged toilet, it's a clogged toilet at 6:20 in the morning.  I followed my plumber's advice from previous clogs and headed to the basement for a listen to the soil pipe.  I could hear just a bit of water trickling downward; enough to conclude that the clog was close at hand.  I headed back upstairs with my plunger and some towels in hand.

Less than five minutes later, the clog was cleared and we were back in business.  I was reminded yet again to honor my instincts and watch that toilet like a hawk when it's making the wrong sounds, lest I find myself with a toilet crisis flowing onto the floor.  Internet, I've become a toilet whisperer.

Full Service Mama

Even though I only worked two days this past week, Friday night found me tired and ready to tuck into bed by 10 pm.  JT, who is either hardier than me or has the judgment of a 12 year old (or both), wanted to stay up to watch the second half of the Texas A&M-Oklahoma bowl game.  I gave him the thumb's up on this important task and he headed up to the playroom.  I set to snoring.

By the time he came downstairs to go to bed, I was asleep.  I woke up enough to dimly register that the toilet made an odd sound when JT flushed it.  Then I rolled over and fell back asleep.  At 4 am, I had to use that toilet and only after I flushed it did I remember the sound, which I was now hearing for a second time.   

Uh-oh.  

I turned on the light and grabbed my glasses, prepared to shut off the water.  But the toilet didn't quite overflow, though it was clearly clogged.

Awesome.

Some people would leave such a problem to be solved in the daylight.  I am not some people. So I set out to solve the clog.  Step one involved diagnosing the extent of the problem.  I have a two-story home with a single soil pipe running out of the basement, so it was entirely possible that I had not one, but two clogged toilets, or, more accurately a clogged drain.  I headed to the downstairs toilet to see if it could be flushed.  It could, which led me to conclude that my problem was with the soil pipe between the first and second floor.  I made the trip to the basement to get the plunger and headed back up two flights of stairs, now accompanied by the cats, who like to supervise my work.  Three plunges later, my problem was solved.  As my plumber has taught me, I flushed the toilet several more times, to be sure the clog was truly removed.

Then the cats and I returned to bed, confident that we had earned the right to sleep in this morning.

"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..

Modern Conveniences

Last Thursday night, we arrived home to find a bright orange notice on the doorknob.  It would seem that PSE&G, my local gas and electric utility, needed my attention.

I called the number at once and was told that my gas line needed to be replaced.  I'd need to be home for the job, they reported.  So I took a look at my calendar and said "I'll be home on winter break the week of December 19.  How about then?"  There was a pause and then B, the friendly utility worker on the line asked, "how about tomorrow?"

I responded by asking, "why the rush?"  B's answer, "There's a gas leak in front of your house."  Assured that we wouldn't blow to Kingdom Come in the next few minutes, I said I'd take a day early next week.  B hung up to check the utility's calendar then called me back and asked, "how about Saturday?"

Internet, when the public utility volunteers that they want to replace your gas line on the weekend, you don't say no.  So much for my exciting Saturday morning plans (lying around in my own filth, going to the gym, scoring a Christmas tree, and re-stocking the fridge).  I stayed home to get a new gas line.

At 8:30 am on Saturday, as I was still working through my third cup of coffee, a giant truck equipped with a front-loader and a jack hammer pulled up in front of my house and 5 guys piled out.  The day had begun.

I will confess that I derived a certain satisfaction at the noise created by all this equipment.  Some of my neighbors are of the leaf-blower-in-the-morning dawn variety and I spend far too many early weekend hours awakened by the hum of their leaf-blowing efficiency.  Revenge came in the form of a loud jack hammer and front loader.  It was richly deserved.

For a few hours, while a new gas line was placed underground,  we didn't have any gas service.

Then, with the new line complete, the holes were filled, grass seed was thrown around, the pilot lights on all the gas appliances in the house were re-lit and bingo! we're once again cooking with gas.  That we didn't explode in the process is just gravy.

Adult Nirvana

Longtime readers will recall that this blog regularly features postings about my flooded basement.  There was this time.  And this.  And let's not forget this time.  Or perhaps you prefer to read about when it all started?

You get the picture.

After the floods of Hurricane Irene and the follow-up fill of the basement courtesy of Tropical Storm Lee, I began to fantasize about a permanent solution.  The amazing JP, plumber extraordinaire, got to work and now I have a sump pump.  It's quite impressive looking. 

And it spells the end of my illustrious career in basement water removal.

Completing the Ceiling Quad-fecta

The final ceiling due for painting in my house is the kitchen ceiling.  The water leak there precipitated the bathroom renovation and so, technically speaking, this repair is also a function of that job.  The carpenter and plumber who completed the bathroom repaired the ceiling.  All that remains is for me to clean and paint it.

Is there anything more fun than painting a kitchen ceiling in August?  Easy-peasy and all that.

The rub at the moment is that I'm not sure which color to use.  The current color is a creamy white; it matches the wood trim in the room.  I could get a can of that paint or I could go ahead and use bright white; the color used in every other ceiling in the house.

The current color looks fine, and so I'm not adverse to repeating it.  But there are some good arguments for switching to bright white.  First of all, a different color makes it easier to see what has been painted and what hasn't, a huge advantage when one is painting ceilings.  Second of all, the slightly brighter color might make this room a little lighter, which would be nice.  Third, I have white ceiling paint on hand and that might save me the cost of another gallon.

I remain indecisive on this question and so I'm turning to you, Internet.  Photos show the current ceiling (as well as the plaster patches applied courtesy of the bathroom leak earlier in the year). What say you?  Stay with the creamy color or go to bright white? 

Suds in the Bucket

Some years ago, JT was fixated on a Sara Evans song, "Suds in the Bucket."  He loved the tune and would sing it from his perch in the backseat of the car.  It was one of the great pleasures of my day to hear his little voice sing that song.  And it came to mind when the bathroom got torn up and we went to bathing in this:

Last Thursday, the tub was installed and limited bathing was once again authorized.  But as tile and grout are drying, the tub, which looks most lovely from a distance….

…has briefly returned to the forbidden zone.

And so this morning found me once again humming "Suds in the bucket."  The marble apron at the door is installed and some of the new floor tile has been laid down.  Paint has been secured and today more tile and more new drywall is being installed. 

 We're getting tantalizingly close to completion.