Love, Deeds, Pumpkins and Bast's Laughter

My parents just left after a week of visiting.  My father is physically unable to NOT find things to fix around the house.  Even when it is not his house, as my brother and sister-in-law also know well.

One morning while I was at the pool, he accomplished the following:
* Took down and cleaned the porch fixture, figured out how to make it possible to change the bulb, glued back together the few remaining pieces of glass so I can make a template to have new glass cut for it.
* Figured out that the reason my two newish outdoor outlets were not working was due to a fried GFI box.  He put in a new one and saved me a visit from the electrician.
* One switchplate apparently offended him in its many layers of paint, so I got a new one of those.
*  Broke up some concrete that was preventing my garage doors opening fully, and diagnosed the reason the doors want to pop open in the first place.

He also started to mess with where the phone line comes in (it's kind of a mess) but I threatened his life, as I was not prepared to potentially lose phone and internet.  I DO think he could have fixed it just fine, but I was not prepared to weather the resentment it would engender in me should it disconnect.  At least not while he was delightfully underfoot, occupying the kitchen when I was trying to get stuff ready (he's got an uncanny knack for being right where you need to be in small awkward spaces.  It's a superpower.)

I continue to uncover little things here and there that he fixed.  I know he was making a running list of ideas, he certainly was measuring my porch posts (which need work.) It's part of the way he expresses his love for us.  Demonstrate it in deeds.  Oh, he uses the words too, but he really feels best expressing it in works.

A couple of years ago I had a tooth go painfully bad while they were visiting.   I was writhing around in pain, crying, and there was literally nothing my parents could do for me while I waited for my emergency appointment (well, mom offered me her prescription painkillers, but since I've no idea my reaction to them, I didn't want to chance it.) That had to suck for them.  I was in an apartment, so there wasn't much he could do, but I did have an old halogen that I couldn't get apart to fix. Dad took it apart and replaced the dimmer switch on it.  Lots of swearing and sweating, but he managed it, despite it being welded and me not having the right tools.  That was love.

My dad  and mom gave me another gift, in a sense, this visit.  One of dubious face value, but one that will probably provide me a fair bit of amusement and joy.  You could say I've buried the lede, but this really was motivated by my dad's efforts.  This is just one not quite about home repair....

First full day they were here, we walked down to the Baltimore Museum of Art.  On the way back, passing the shrubbery enclosing the Y field, he and I both heard a feline cry.  I turned and saw a cat carrier tossed carelessly over the fence.*  Immediately, I began swearing in my head, filled with a sense of certain inevitability. Ohshit!Ohshit!Fuuuuuckmeeeee. I know how this will go. Oh shit. Damnit.


The three of us began talking to the cat in the bushes.  She (as it turns out) kept crying at us, wandering back and forth in the bushes on the other side of the fence.  Dad went around to the other side, and with mom and I acting as spotters, was able to lure her within reach.  And he scooped her up.  That's also a talent of his (and theirs.)

Long story short, I was adamant this was just a foster.  She was down in the basement until I could take her to my vet.  My parents both spent a lot of time with her.

Mom & the rescue, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

She's a sweet little thing.  Very affectionate, very young.  And very, very mellow.  People oriented, completely.

PA200026.JPG, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

My mother started calling her Pumpkin.  I was still holding out.  But I did use that name at the vet, where she got a clean bill of health and we scheduled her spay.  Dad wouldn't let me pay the bill...

When we got home, my parents decided we should let her explore, which she did with alacrity. As the other cats stopped freaking out (Loki, 14lb+ Loki, was terrified of her at first.  She's all of 7 lbs and under 6 months, I'd guess,) I began to wobble in my hard-heartedness.  I was going to get a playmate for Loki once Mister Kitty eventually shuffles off this mortal coil anyway, right?  And while she still hisses at each and every one of them, she's not alarmed by them at all and was even calming in that aspect as well.  What's more, I was calling her Pumpkin too.

I had known from that moment at the Y we spotted the carrier.  I was doomed.  My parents knew it too.

It's called "Find a Sucker" I Win., a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

(sorry about the quality, it's the best that sums of my fate.)

I pick her up from the vet tomorrow.  As you can see, she got pretty comfortable in a mere six days.

She seems to have settled in..., a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Thanks Mom & Dad, for the wonderful visit.  And for humoring me.

*  Yes, she was clearly dumped.  Makes me very angry.  But at least she's not with the jackass who would do that anymore.  She hit the jackpot with me, clearly.

I'm probably down a few more braincells

Three day weekend!  What holiday is complete without a home improvement project?  Ah, the Memorial Day I spent crouched in my undies in a tub of cold water, recaulking the entire tub.  Or the countless ones stripping the banister last year.  Easter weekend, stripping and repainting the back door.

This Labor Day's labor was the medicine cabinet.  This is what first greeted me when I looked at the house:

ACK! Old med cabinet, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Yikes, right??  After moving in, I chipped off what I could, figuring the less lead paint shards floating freely about the better.  And then I lived with it for two years.

...

It's a telecoping/elbowing mirrored door.  At maximum folded-outed-ness, getting to the backside is tight.  You can barely see back there.  In retrospect, it might have been wise to remove the goddamned door.  But apparently, I'd lost those braincells in a previous endeavor.

So I set about stripping.  And stripping.  Yet another case of 80 years of paint, choices that make me wonder if previous residents were insane, colorblind, batshit insane, or hell, maybe that was the 70s.  Maybe the lead paint got to them.  There was a pale pink that clashed mightily with the green and lavender tile. Much like the current sink, hmmm...  There was a version of seafoam green, that while in the same family as the green tile, was off just enough to cause visual offense. A battleship grey.  And the one I really can't wrap my head around, the one I find all over this house, lurking under layers:  a painters tape blue with a hint of turquoise to it.  I think the house was once all that color.  It's so bilious, the only way I can accept this insult done to these walls is to assume the residents were blind.  I think even the colorblind would recoil.

Bonus, a lot of the paint was latex based, which means apply stripper, wait 15 minutes, scrape/slide/ooze off, repeat.  It's really annoying.  Especially with the door still attached, you moron.


But I prevailed.  Finally got down to the base layer, where it hadn't already chipped off to bare metal.  It became clear then that this stuff?  Wasn't going to budge under my power, nor any noxious chemical I am allowed to handle.  I whipped out the sander and got it as smooth as possible.

The sander doesn't really fit behind the door well.  I was sanding blind.  But the only sad news is I don't have a future as an international fugitive/spy as I still have my fingerpads!

Wiped everything down with acetone.  My manicure habit comes in handy, as I have a huge jug of it lying around.  Which is good, because I was going to need it later.

Plastic was hung, sheets were draped everywhere, everything taped up.  Sometimes several times.  Painters tape does not like to stick to glossy walls in a muggy room.  Oh yeah, did I mention the humidity was a gazillion percent?  And working with spray paint, I was going to need to encourage lots of outside air in to avoid gassing the household?  I have a few spare braincell (I think) but really, my cats don't.  Believe me. So yeah, unpleasant.

So I painted.  You know they say not to use spray paint in an enclosed environment?  Say, not in a 10x10 (if that) bathroom with only a skylight vent?  They know what they are talking about.  Even with a damned good respirator mask, I had to take breaks. And it smelled up the whole house, despite the fans all running at 11, moving air out.  Uhg.

7/8th, no, make that 17/18th, of the way through, I ran out of paint. Typical Sara Project. Ran back to Home Despot.  Discover as passing the mirror collection that I am misted.  Sorta like a fairy, but with gloss white.  Definitely not magical.

Finished it up, took up the sheets and plastic.  It looked like this:

Preview of After, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

This is the point I look at the floor.  Even covering with sheets and plastic, if you have them tented rather than flat, and if you generate a cloud of white aerosolized paint, the cloud will find a way.  Sigh.  Instead of admiring my brilliant white, not scary medicine cabinet, I spent the next hour or so wiping down the whole bathroom with pure acetone. I love that stuff!  I am noticing I neglected to wipe down me, and that after 3 showers and a vigorous mile and a half swim, I still have paint.

Today, got to put everything back into it.  Well, everything but all the crap that migrated there due to evil gnomes.

Finished med cabinet, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Anyone got a line on a lavender soapdish?

Someday, I'll learn that if it is awkward and hard to reach, but there are screws, use them.  But I might've killed off those braincells this weekend.

Sixty One Hours

That's how long I went without power.  It turned me into a four year old in need of a nap.  The candle-lit room was not nearly as bright as it appears above.

We had power during the worst of it, though we could see and hear transformers blowing left and right.  We endured properly, by having a party!

Sunday morning, 7:15, as I was standing with the fridge door open, the power flickered, surged and everything went silent. It hit most of the neighborhood, save a few lines of homes. And so began the wait.

Do you know how hard it is to read with a flashlight propped between your ear and shoulder?  I usually have the radio turned to the local public radio most of the day.  I had no NPR.  It was disorienting.  I tried to get my fix in the car, but the car decided to die Sunday afternoon.  So it was me and the candles.

We threw a No Power party Sunday night, to demolish what we could from our fridges and so we weren't sitting at home alone in the dark, cursing and working ourselves into a righteous rage.  At least not yet.

Monday, dropped my car off at the mechanic's and walked home, a couple miles.  Weather was absolutely gorgeous, the air clean and crisp and the slower pace along my usual commute allowed me to really see the houses and yards and things I hadn't noticed from the vantage of  the driver's seat.  My neighbor S kindly lent me her car in exchange for use of my hot shower so that I could drive to an open Y and swim.  Our Y had no power.  That afternoon, I walked down to the Barnes and Noble to partake of the Starbucks power outlets and the JHU free wifi.  Catch up on the internet and charge my cell.

There was people-watching aplenty, and being a pedestrian made me love my city a little more.  I took time to actually look at  all the murals painted on end units, peer into people's gardens and on their porches.  Wander into the little odd shops tucked back a block.   Met and complimented  half of the couple that is renovating a house we pass weekly en route to the market.  It's been neat to see the neglected victorian shape up and get some tender loving care.  Sat in the sun once my cell was charged and read some magazines.  Without the car, without electricity, without the entertainment of the internet  or radio at home, with all the uncertainty, I just settled into the warm sun and let go of urgency.

Wandered home, where my next door neighbor plied me with a cocktail on the deck and S made use of the hot shower.  Mechanic called and she took me to pick up the car.

Later, went out for dinner and half price margaritas with an assortment of neighbors.  Came home to a dark house.  I won't lie, at this point, it was frustrating and by midafternoon Tuesday, I was in a foul mood.

I swam and then overcame my urge to sulk and took up the invite for dinner on a powered neighbors' porch.  They fed us electrical refugees well, and my crank lessened under the spell of good company, spaghetti, garlic bread, étouffée, salad and wine.  

Round about 8, I saw a glint in my window.  In disbelief, I started gesturing incoherently to the porch lights glowing across the street.  As I did so, a roar of joy and cheers swept through the neighborhood and down the street.  We joined in and hugged and high-fived.  It's ridiculous how much the inconvenience weighed upon us all.

The peaches in the freezer were the only casualty I was going to mourn, knowing I wouldn't get to dealing with them until they were probably no good.  But the shower-needing friend S offered to stew them up for me.

I came home today to a couple tubs of rum spiced stewed peaches in my fridge.

I cannot imagine how glum  and frankly, really disgruntled, I would have been had it not been for this neighborhood full of friends.  We entertained one another, took care of one another, shared information.  I cannot imagine living in a better place.

Irene, my liver and the contents of my fridge might not thank you, but I'm glad you gave me the opportunity to enjoy the camaraderie and take some walks.

It Starts With An Earthquake/ Hurricane/ And Downpours...

Yes, this is a natural disaster post.  Sorry about the earworm with the wrong lyrics.  And Lenny Bruce might not have been afraid, but I really don't like earthquakes.  Yes, I might even fear them.

In the past month, if I count this upcoming weekend, I will have experienced all three, with attendant freakouts, casualties and oh hey!  More projects.

First up:  downpours.  Back in June, we'd had  one big storm and I got a wee leak in the back bedroom by the downspout.  Due to telephone avoidance, I didn't do anything about it.  Yes, I know.  Shut it. Well, I dug up the roofing contract from settlement, and sure enough, the roof is under warranty for a decade provide I recoat every 3 years.  This is year 2.  Great!  Fast forward to the weekend of August 12.

It pours.  And  pours.  And the leak returns.  Late one night, I notice the leak is spreading.  Oh hell, it's pooling!  This calls for desperate measures:  armed with a phillips screwdriver, I make a panicky call to my parents (they don't answer.  I just want validation in what I'm about to do.  And I want my mommy.)  I grit my teeth, grab the stepstool and prepare myself to commit minor demolition:  poke a hole in my ceiling.  Ahg!  I poke one hole, it dribbles.  Move over a little, another.  More dribbles.  A third.  Fwoosh!  Well, as much a fwoosh as maybe a cup and a half of water makes.

And then a chunk falls down.  And I have a bona fide HOLE IN THE CEILING!

There's a hole in my ceiling, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Up close:

HOLE, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Yeah, not my finest hour. In any case, I called the roofer Monday, and they came out Tuesday morning and patched it up. Additionally, they found a SHOVEL on my roof. A really heavy, rusty, broken shovel. That makes #2. I found the first clearing off my roof in the 2010 blizzards.  I should blog about that adventure someday....

It rains crazy-heavy again later in the week and everything stays dry.  Whew.  Roof repair cost nothing, due to the warranty.  Now fixing the ceiling, that's on me.  Sigh.


This weekend we again had heavy rains.  Hail even!  This time, problem child was the porch roof.  Now, the porch roof normally doesn't leak.  Unless the drain is plugged, which given the trees around here...  I regularly clear it out, but somehow, despite it not being leaf season, it acquired a blockage's worth of leaves in the space of a week, the last time I cleaned it out.

This is the clear drain:

Porch roof drain, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

See that teeny square hole?  If that gets plugged, the roof fills.  Then it leaks through the surface and this happens:

Porch ceiling leak, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

So one evening, I notice it is dripping on the porch and swear. A lot. Up on the porch roof I go, in a thunderstorm to heave handfuls of sodden leaves off the roof. Leak stopped.  Sara soaked and filthy.

That's all the boring, routine stuff.  Now for the real excitement.  That's right, the headliner of my week, hell, year maybe:

  THE EARTHQUAKE.

For the unlikely one individual who doesn't know this, I live in Maryland.  Prior to that, NC and NM.    Until yesterday, I have never, ever experienced an earthquake.  I was very secure in that state of affairs, believe you me.  No latent, secret desire to ever go through one.

I am sadly disappointed.  Tuesday 8/23, at 1:52 pm, I was at work.  We're perched on a ravine over the Stony Run, and over the past year, the City has been doing blasting as part of a drainage project.  Usually they honk a warning horn before the blast. Usually.  Which is why when the familiar rumble that feels and sounds like riding down a rock avalanche in the building started, I didn't jump.  Then I realize there was no initial blast.  And instead of tapering off, it was actually increasing and wow, I could see the walls moving and hey, that's a second wave and the metal in the windows is creaking and popping and my flatscreen monitor is rocking and HOLY HELL WE'RE REALLY ROCKING HERE.  I turn and stare blankly at my officemate, who starts laughing at me.

I think he's seen my What the everloving fuck?!! face a few too many times this year.  He chirps punchily "It's an earthquake!"  I have an insanely strong desire chuck my squishy Hubbles at him before I flee to somewhere not shaking and not  looking out over a steep ravine.

As it stops, I post to a favorite board "Um, earthquake.  Seriously."  And then I bolt from the building as my officemate keeps laughing.  It's stopped, right?  Rather like shutting the barn door.  But I've just had an adrenaline dump, so rational has left the building.  Barn.  Whatever.

So yeah, we'd just had a (currently) 5.8 earthquake, epicenter out in Mineral, VA.

I do not recommend it.  Not at all.  I'd say run, but I thought Maryland was safe, damnit.  I suppose it is, except for every hundred plus years or so, but why did it have to be MY hundred years?


Oh, yes.  This is a house blog.  House is still standing.  Remarkably, the only things that fell inside were a couple tabletop pictures and a wooden cat that often falls if I walk too close or heavily to that shelf.  So that's good.

Later that evening, my neighbor calls from her porch.  "I have a crack."  Sure enough, there is a crack between the porch floor and the exterior wall, as if it has pulled away or settled.  I'm going with settled.  Earthquake-accelerated settling. Yes, exactly.

 I go poking about, and sure enough, I have a bit too.  It was caulked, so it wasn't a tight seam to begin with.  Still, earthquake left its mark.


Separation floor exterior wall, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.


Crack, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

I checked out the room in the basement under the porch.  There was a chunk of plaster from here newly strewn on the floor.

Yup, looks like the porch settled, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.
There were also some new/expanded cracks.


Expanded, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.
 I'm not too fussed.  It's an interior wall supporting the porch, and it looks more like shook rather than collapse.


I hope.

Again:  earthquakes?  Thumbs down.   Reject.  Bad.  SUCK.

Next up:  Hurricane  Irene!  Oh wait, that's coming this weekend.  Best go make sure the drains are clear...

Projects:  ceiling repair, caulking.  Avoiding natural disasters.

I think I've covered all the elements in the past year and a bit.  Earth(quake), wind (blizzard, hurricane,) water (blizzard, hurricane, crazy storms!) and fire (at work, which has wind too:  halon gas!)  Enough already!  Please?

PURPLE SINK!!!

So it's been a while.  No major new developments... Until today!

(Well, unless you count my roof springing a leak in a crazy storm and the retractor on my screen door screen unspringing.  Um.)

My neighbor is renovating his bathroom, all new fixtures.  As luck would have it, he has the original purple sink that mine once had!  And because he is a generous, generous dude, he offered it to me(!)
Today, he got his new fixtures.  So I got mine!


PURPLE SINK!!!, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.
It's sitting in my livingroom at the moment.  As you can see, it needs some patching up.  I want to get the rust sanded down and recoated, and then reglaze the whole thing before I install it.

Original Fixtures, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.


Fixtures are original and match the shower's.

Closeup on bowl and fixtures, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.


Drain might need redoing as well.  In any case, I was having a hard time finding one  for a) cheap or b) both the bowl and pedestal or c) in purple to match the tub and tilework.   


This picture is from when I looked at the house, so the faucet covers were off.

Bathroom tile and tub, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

It's cast iron.  Very heavy, but I can carry the pedestal (dunno about the bowl, B carried it in for me.)
I'm very very pleased.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go pet my sink.

Note regarding the sick cat mentioned previously...

HOME!!, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Mister Kitty came home today, with an adjusted insulin dose, insulin kind and antibiotics. I moved him from the ER to my regular vet and once again, Village Vet of Mount Washington conspired to execute a near miracle. I love that they're on the same page as me regarding treatment. We go with stabilizing and maintaining Mister Kitty's quality of life. I don't need to know what caused this, just find something that stops it and returns my cuddly old man cat to relative health.

I mean, this is a near 20 year old cat who has had diabetes for at least 8 years. His problem? It's called age and a chronic condition. Anything can knock him off kilter. So we just try to knock him back on track and hope I get a few more comfortable months from him.

Sometimes, it just doesn't go according to plan.

So I got up and painted the door for a second time

Second coat, still taped, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Door after second coat, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Turned out pretty well, just a few spots that need a third coat.

Then I planted four pots of flowers.

Pretty pot, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Salvia, snapdragons and marigol, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Salvia, dianthus, something, something else, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Normal ones, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Malevolent ones, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

As I started cleaning house, I noticed my diabetic, geriatric cat, Mister Kitty was staggering.  After administering some Karo syrup, and him now acting disoriented and trying to hide under the bed (he never does this) it was off to the emergency vet.

And then it started to storm.  Nothing I could do from the hospital.  Good news is old man just was having a blood sugar crash, though who knows what caused it.  He's staying overnight to get him stable.

Bad news:  it was a torrential storm.  Water was (apparently) running down the door.  On the bottom half of the door, several places where it is bubbling, so I'll have to wait until it is completly dry, sand it off and start over.  Including the bottom of the window trim.  Ahrg.  Had my cat not been, you know, trying to die on me, I would've put plastic over the door (as I've done now.)

2nd coat, door, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Water damage, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Ah well.  It's just paint, right?

Exterior started! Weather foiled! NEWS AT 11!

  Or something like that.

Weather looked like it was going to hold long enough for me to work on it tonight.  Nevermind the $50 of flowers and dirt I'd just bought.  I can plant those in the rain if I must.

So I taped up and primed.

Primer, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

The cats LOVED this state of affairs, since it meant they could come and go to the deck at their discretion.  For hours.

My audience, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.


Mister Kitty, Loki and Devi, left to right.  And all those flowers I bought.  Doesn't the deep plum/purple one look freakish?  It's a salvia, which I always like for their weirdness.  They look like a flower elegantly puking up its insides.  AWESOME.  And the purple-black and yellow petunias just looked malevolent, so I had to get them too.


Alright then...there is a problem with this state of kittendom.  My cats don't listen to me.  Twice I had to drop the brush to remove Devi from the rail, and once I had to go fetch her from my neighbor's deck.


And then at some point, when I was in the thick of trim work (and it was dark out,)  Loki's war cry starts.  Now Loki is a big cat with a kitten head, and likewise kitten voice.  Very high pitched.  But the war cry...ok, Devi's is deeper, but still.  He was truly warning anyone and everyone that they were going to DIE if they dared encroach on his turf!  He was fully inflated and pacing madly along the side of the deck, rubbing the slats  and staring intently at something beneath my neighbor's deck, hissing and growling between the caterwauls.


I couldn't see anything. He was completely bottle-brushed and if there was a flat hair on him, it was only on his ears.  He can inflate like WHOA.

There are rats in the alley, but he usually goes predator over those.  This was the Defender and Chief Bowel-Ripper.

I tried shutting him in the bedroom upstairs.  Since none of the doors latch, he escaped and went back to the raaaaage.

 I thought I could take it, but then he started acting like he might consider jumping off the deck, and so, paintbrush firmly gripped in teeth and hoping I wasn't accidentally painting him or the deck, grabbed and threw him in the basement.  Which doesn't latch either, but I have a U-security lock to, uh, keep the cats out.  Point:  Sara But I was at my wits' end and little man needed a reboot, since I'm pretty sure our dangerous intruder was long gone.

And then I finished the first coat.  In all its glory below.

First coat, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.


Loki was clearly confused by the basement visit, but forgot the marauders from hell.  And is now chilling on the deck while I wait until it is safe to shut the door without gluing it to the seal.

One side painted!

Deck door, a photo by sarameg on Flickr.

Put a coat of semi-gloss on this morning. Was able to remove the tape and paper from the windows. Only peeled on the window trim in a couple of places, which I'll repair tomorrow. Put a coat of primer across the jamb where it was a) faded and b) I spilled a few drips...

Still have to do the exterior now.

Today's work...

I epoxied up the holes, then once that set, sanded them down with my handy electric hand sander.  It was AMAZING.  You could hardly tell there were holes there!

Here is is, pre-sanding.  I forgot to take a picture post.


Epoxied and ready for sanding., a photo by sarameg on Flickr.


Then I primed.  And added some tape.




And here we have the first coat.  As you can tell, it needs another.



What you can't tell is that I need to sand it in places.  Beginner's stupidity.  Have some drips and, since this is a high gloss (I probably should have gone semi...sigh,) places where my brush work was lacking.  That's tomorrow morning, I guess.  Still have to do the exterior.  MAYBE it'll get done tomorrow.  But I have evening plans, so....

I love the color.

eta:  looking at it, I think I'll go out and get semi-gloss tomorrow for the last coat.  Live and learn.  At least I have another $10 off coupon!