Rosings Park

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

Broken Glass

A couple of weeks ago young Emma smashed a pane of glass in the door to our back porch. I felt miserably qualified to make the repair, so I put it off as long as I could. (Which was until Kris couldn’t take it any more and we had a big fight about it. Aren’t I bad?)

On Sunday, I gathered my tools and set to work.

My first goal was to strip the paint from the wood around the broken glass so that I could determine how to remove the various bits of moulding. I believe the can of paint stripper was specifically designed for maximum spillage. As I stood at the kitchen counter, attempting to pour from the can into an old mug, none of the liquid found its way into the designated container. It all dripped onto the countertop. The painted countertop.

“Shit,” I said. I grabbed some paper towels and wiped up the mess. Fortunately, I acted quickly enough that no paint was stripped; there’s just a slight discoloration, one that’s not too apparent because these counters are old.

I read the side of the can: Do not swallow. Do not allow to come in contact with eyes. This substance is poisonous. There is no way to counteract the poison, etc. etc.

“Shit,” I said. I slathered the countertop with soap and water and crossed my fingers. (If you hear we’ve died from poisoning, you’ll know why.)

I decided the kitchen wasn’t the best place to be pouring paint stripper, so I headed to the utility room steps. (I might have gone to the shop but it was raining and I didn’t have shoes on and, well, I don’t really have a good excuse for not going to the shop, I guess.) This time I poured more freely. And still none — or very little — of the paint stripper made it into the designated container. It splashed all over my hand, splashed onto the steps.

“Shit,” I said. I held up the can again, re-read the warnings. This time I noticed: Do not allow to come in contact with skin. If contact occurs seek medical attention immediately.

“Shit,” I said. You all know how paranoid I am about my health. I started panicking, of course, sure I was going to die soon. (Kris once told me the heartbreaking true story of a woman working in a lab who had inadvertently come into contact with some substance (a heavy metal?) despite extraordinary precautions. The moment she came into contact with this substance, she knew she was doomed. She had only days (hours?) to live. After spilling the paint stripper on my hand, I felt I was this woman.) I scrambled around, washing my hands repeatedly, mopping up the spill, cursing.

When Kris returned from grocery shopping, I told her about my predicament, and asked her if I should be worried, if I should seek medical attention immediately. She glared at me (we were still angry at each other — this was the middle of our fight). “No,” she said. “You’ll be fine.” But the way she said it didn’t inspire comfort. In fact, I got the distinct impression that she might be lying to me. Never make a chemist mad!

Still, I returned to the task at hand. Eventually I found an angle that spilled less paint stripper than before (though it still spilled prodigious quantities). I filled my container and went to work.

I had set a piece of corrugated cardboard on the floor at my work area, and had gathered together a hammer, a chisel, and a flat paint spreader thingie. I brushed on a layer of the paint stripper. Then, slowly, carefully, I hammered out the broken glass. I was able to pull many of the pieces out by hand. (Most of the glass ended up on the back porch, to be shop-vacced later, but some of it fell inward — thus the corrugated pad.)

After removing the glass, I scraped away most of the paint on the moulding below the window. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see any obvious place where the moulding connected to the frame. I began to fear it was all of a piece.

“Shit,” I said, not knowing what to do next. Eventually, I decided simply to dash ahead, trusting to blind faith that this really was a piece of quarter-round nailed to the frame. And so I chiseled and pried, but s-l-o-w-l-y. Eventually, a piece of wood began to loosen, or so it seemed. I pried more and the wood popped free! I pried with increased vigor and then the piece shredded in two before my very eyes.

“Shit,” I said, as the pieces fell to the ground. I picked them up to examine them. Even after prying them loose, I couldn’t find any sign of a seam. It was as if the entire frame, even the decorative parts, was a single piece, and I had just hacked off an edge.

I’m getting better at home improvement, but still I find myself intimidated by tasks I’ve never before attempted. When I fixed the faucet in the bathroom upstairs, I initially felt a great deal of trepidation. Eventually I figured out what I was doing, yes, and I did a fine job making the repair, but I started warily, unsure of myself. Here I had not yet reached the feeling that I knew what I was doing.

“Shit,” I said. I slumped to the floor, frustrated.

Kris came in, still angry.

“Why don’t you just call Jeremy?” she asked. When Emma broke the window, Jeremy had immediately offered to help me fix it. I wanted to try it myself, though, and so had declined his aid.

“Shit,” I said, but I went to the phone and called Jeremy.

Tonight, Jeremy and I will tackle the window. This kind of project requires sustenance, of course, so I’ve pulled some steaks out of the freezer (thanks, Ron!), and have set aside a bottle of wine. If we get very frustrated, the whiskey’s not far away — just on the shelf there by the back porch — and the tobacco supply is also at hand.

Kris is worried that we’ll be too busy debauching to get any work done.

As for our marital squabble: eventually we talked things out, as we always do. Neither of us is completely satisfied, which to me indicates we’ve reached a proper compromise (the definition of compromise requiring that neither party feel he or she has “won”). In the evening, we watched West Side Story together while I ironed clothes and Kris looked for Christmas cookie recipes.

Comments

On 19 October 2004 (09:47 AM),
Johnny said:

If it’s any consolation, the warnings on the paint stripper are designed for people who intend on a) drinking the stuff on the theory that raw alcohol smells like paint thinner and it’s cool stuff so why not drink this too, or b)bathing in the stuff and leaving it on their skin for an extended period of time. Any time I’ve stripped paint using that goopy paint remover I’ve gotten it on my skin in select places, wiped it off, washed it off and received nothing but a slight burn for my carelessness. Apparently my overall health hasn’t suffered any at ARRRRGHHHH

On 19 October 2004 (10:05 AM),
Dana said:

I decided the kitchen wasn’t the best place to be pouring paint stripper, …

Allow me, at this juncture, to offer an interjection: DUH!

When I was at LLNL there was an incident involving broken glassware and a glove-box. The upshot — someone stabbed themselves through the glove with a broken pipette contaminated with Uranium or Plutonium (I don’t recall which — probably Uranium).

Yeah. Not a nice way to go.

On 19 October 2004 (12:29 PM),
Anthony said:

Some people. As if you really expect whiskey to improve your problem-solving abilities.

Those steaks, now� if I was closer, you could definitely count on my help with that glass.

On 19 October 2004 (01:19 PM),
pam said:

true story my ass – nobody is poisoned from spilling things on their hands. now you can corrode off all your skin and then die from the infection that ensues, but that’s another matter entirely.

On 19 October 2004 (02:02 PM),
Kris said:

Hey, Pam– I don’t think Jd’s in danger, but it can happen. Please read below.

The News York Times
HANOVER, N.H., June 10, 1997 – A Dartmouth College chemistry professor has died from exposure to a rare form of mercury, first synthesized more than 130 years ago.

Karen E. Wetterhahn, 48, who also had served as an associate dean and a dean at the college, died on Sunday, about 10 months after accidentally spilling a few drops of dimethylmercury on her disposable latex gloves while performing a laboratory experiment. The substance, which has no practical application, is used in research on heavy metals.

Prof. John S. Winn, chairmen of the college’s chemistry department, said Professor Wetterhahn was a leader in the study of how heavy metals can initiate cancer at the molecular level. Dimethylmercury is so rare that it is only in use in perhaps 100 laboratories worldwide at any given time, he said.

Through a search of medical literature, the college determined that exposure to the substance killed two laboratory assistants in 1865, shortly after it was first synthesized, and a 28-year-old chemist in 1971.

“Karen Wetterhahn’s death is a tragedy for her family and for the Dartmouth community,” said Dartmouth’s president, James O. Freedman

After years of study chromium metal toxicity, Professor Wetterhahn had turned to the study of mercury in a sabbatical at Harvard University in September 1995, Professor Winn said. In the experiment at Dartmouth last August, she had used dimethylmercury to set up a standard against which to measure other mercury involved in her research.

The drops apparently spilled onto her gloves, passed quickly through the latex and were absorbed through her skin. After her illness was diagnosed in late January, the college had the latex gloves independently tested, and it was determined that the mercury could pass through in 15 seconds or much less.

Other types of gloves offer more protection, but she probably used latex to increase dexterity during the delicate procedure, he said.

In a letter to Chemical and Engineering News about the accident, Professor Winn and the other college officials recommended that heavier gloves be used during experiments, and that “medical surveillance measuring mercury concentrations in whole blood or urine” should be considered during extended use of these compounds.

Professor Wetterhahn’s symptoms, which initially included difficulty with balance, speach, vision and hearing, progressed rapidly and she was in a coma from late February until her death. Although treatments were administered to eliminate the mercury in her system, they began too late to prevent irreversible damage to the nervous syster, Professor Winn said.

On 19 October 2004 (02:05 PM),
Anthony said:

nobody is poisoned from spilling things on their hands.

That is a very broad statement. I might make so bold as to say that JD is highly unlikely to be seriously poisoned by pouring paint stripper on his hands, but skin is porous� well guarded but porous. I think it is fairly common knowledge that your skin can absorb many kinds of harmless chemicals, and poisons are no different.

I’m not saying you’re in any danger, JD. Just be sure your living will is up to date. ;)

On 19 October 2004 (02:37 PM),
Joel said:

Johnny said: “Apparently my overall health hasn’t suffered any at ARRRRGHHHH”
Apparently Johnny dictates his comments?

On 20 October 2004 (07:36 AM),
Dave said:

Isn’t there a St. Aaaaarrrrrrggghhh’s in Cornwall?

On 20 October 2004 (08:10 AM),
Dana said:

I think you mean St. Iiiiives.

On 20 October 2004 (08:11 AM),
Dana said:

I think you mean St. Iiiiives.

On 20 October 2004 (08:12 AM),
J.D. said:

Shhh. Be quiet. I’m composing a poem about the skunk under the trailer house. You’re distracting me.

On 20 October 2004 (08:35 AM),
Dana said:

My cousin was bit by a skunk.

(sorry about the double post earlier)

On 20 October 2004 (08:39 AM),
kool-azz rider said:

A poem? Sweet dude! Im teh best when it comes to riting poetry. Let me know if’n you want my help there, G. I can lay down some mad rimes about skunks.

On 20 October 2004 (10:08 AM),
pam said:

ok – i concede to kris. i searched the med lit and could find seven cases of death from contact exposure – all of them involved some form of mercury and a few may have had inhalational exposure as well. so what i should say is that no one is fatally poisoned from spilling non-mercury compounds on their hands!

interestingly enough, there are a lot more cases of husbands being poisoned by there wives (i’ve even seen a case – arsenic, caught before fatal) and in many cases the wife works in the field of science or medicine…so how bad was that fight??

On 20 October 2004 (11:39 AM),
Kris said:

I think that just goes to show you that both Mac & Jd should be on their best behavior!

On 21 October 2004 (10:26 AM),
Pam said:

Joel may have to start watching his behavior as well.

And I don’t think Mac noticed anything odd about dinner last night, did you, honey? ;)

The Blood of a Squirrel

Greetings it is I Simon. Mom and Dad are gone to Andrew and Courtney’s to celebrate the impending birth of their new kitten. If you ask me, Mom and Dad’s friends have too many kittens; I would be happy to suggest a surgical procedure to prevent so many damn kittens.

It is the Week End, and I like that. The Week End means Mom and Dad will be home all day and they will feed us lots because they get tired of listening to Sister Toto whine. (When they are gone they cannot hear Sister whine — only Brother Nemo and I can — so they cannot feed her. Nemo and I have plans to eliminate this problem, but so far the opportunity has not presented itself. Toto does not go near the road often enough.)

On Week Ends, Mom lets us outside early in the morning. We play outside all day and we lounge in the sun and we watch the birds and the bugs and the squirrels and the cars and the dogs and the cats and we drink from the birdbaths and we dig in the garden and we loaf on the porch and we even sometimes help Mom and Dad in the yard.

Today I helped Dad plant the Apple Tree. And after he had finished, I helped him erect the Grape Trellis. As we were working, that goddamned Flash came round. Flash is a neighborhood cat — he has no Mom and Dad, he is an orphan — and he has not had a certain surgical procedure. Worse, he is big and orange and ugly. I do not like that Flash.

While Dad dug in the dirt, Flash and I had a disagreement. We always have disagreements. We yowl and growl and whine at each other. I lower my head and he raises his. One time, Flash stood on his hind legs and swayed back and forth. He looked like an idiot. Was that supposed to be scary? All the time when we argue, we end up butting heads. We get closer and closer, yowling louder and louder, until we are standing forehead to forehead, rubbing whiskers. Dad thinks we look funny, but he does not know that this is a battle of Minds. As much as I hate him, I must admit Flash is strong. He is a worthy opponent. He often wins these battles, and I hate him for it.

Later, Aunt Rhonda stopped by to talk with Mom and Dad in the garden. They chatted under the walnut tree while I sat at the end of the walk, watching them. While they chatted, Walnut, in a brazen move, came down the tree, with a nut in his mouth, and watched. He skittered down the tree to the ground. I was keenly interested, but I made no move. I watched Walnut. I observed.

“Simon,” said Dad. “Look! Walnut’s on the ground.” But I made no reply. Does the man think that I am an idiot? Walnut darted down the sidewalk in little bursts. I stood and eased my way toward him, testing his reflexes. His reflexes were quite good, actually, and he immediately climbed the filbert and then leaped across to the branches of his home tree.

I walked over and rubbed against Mom’s legs. I gave Dad a look to tell him that he is an idiot, because he is.

I hid in the bushes. Mom and Dad continued working in the yard. Dad went into the house to help the Heater Man carry the old heater out to the garage.

Just then, I noticed that Walnut had crossed the lawn to visit his little squirrel buddy, Cedar. They were clinging to the base of the cedar tree, chattering. Nemo crept up beside me.

“Do you see the squirrels?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to catch that damned Walnut for weeks. Remember how I got stuck in his tree once? And remember how I climbed the tree in the neighbor’s yard and got stuck there? Walnut escaped me by racing across the power line back to his tree. Stupid squirrel. And remember how one night I got stuck on the roof of the garage? I was chasing Walnut and Acorn then.”

Nemo’s a good kid, but he’s a little inept. All energy and no brains. “Watch,” I told him, and I began to slink across the lawn. Walnut and Cedar were chattering to each other still, still clinging to the base of the Cedar.

Dad and the Heater Man came out of the house and they dropped the old Heater on the steps, creating a tremendous racket. It startled me. It startled the squirrels. I thought my game was up, but the squirrels looked past me, at Dad and the Heater Man. They didn’t even see me!

And then I took the risk. I charged those little rodents and I flew into the air and I grabbed Walnut with my claws and I sunk my teeth into his chest I squeezed and he flailed and he flailed and he squeaked and Cedar came lower on the tree and he scolded me and Nemo flew across the lawn to my side saying “Let me taste! Let me taste!” and Dad began to yell “Simon! Simon! Simon!” and in my mouth was the blood of a squirrel and it was delicious and then the Heater Man came roaring across the lawn yelling “Simon! Simon!” and Nemo said “I want to taste the blood of a squirrel” and enough is enough so I raced across the yard to my spot beneath the holly and while Mom and Dad and the Heater Man ran around yelling “Simon! Simon!” and Walnut flailed and squeaked — weaker now, much weaker — I sat beneath the tree with the blood of a squirrel on my tongue.

Nemo came and sat with me. His eyes blazed with envy. “I want to taste the blood of a squirrel,” he said, but I pretended I did not hear. I held Walnut tight in my jaws, and when I was sure he was dead, I dropped him and walked into the house.

Stupid Mom and Dad. Now they’re outside looking for the squirrel and why? There are more here: Cedar and Acorn and Locust and Holly and all the others. And there are more in the neighbor’s yards. And why do they care if I have a squirrel now and then? And stupid Nemo. For three months he cannot catch a squirrel, but I catch one on my very first try.

All in all a very good day. Mom and Dad have shut me upstairs now while they go celebrate the Cronk Kitten, but I do not mind. I’ve been studying this weblog thing for months (and I even read Abbie the Cat when Dad lets me), and Toto showed me how she wrote here twice — though Lord! how abysmal is her spelling and grammar — so the only real trouble has been these miserable paws. How I long for opposable thumbs!

Now if only I could catch Flash by the abdomen and squeeze. I would like to taste his blood someday.

(I dedicate this entry to Nine Miron.)

Comments

On 02 October 2004 (07:54 PM),
Ruby said:

I want to munch on an SQ too! I’m fast as lightening. I’ve been told others like me can run as fast as 35 miles per hour. Alas, I have not caught an SQ. My people are very strict about chasing SQs. They are no fun. Someday . . .Tabor SQs beware.

On 03 October 2004 (09:32 AM),
nemo said:

ha ha it is i nemo boy is simon stupid because he came out from the bushes and mom and dad caught him and shut him upstairs and they thought i was there but ha ha ha they were wrong i was in the bushes and i saw where simon hid the squirrel and when they had gone to uncle andrew’s house i knew where to find walnut and find him i did i took him out on the lawn and ha ha simon ha ha it was i who got the blood of a squirrel it was i who got the blood of a squirrel while you were locked upstairs with stupid hissy sister and it was i who chewed off his head and it was i who tore off his tail and it was i who munched his guts ha ha ha it was i it was i it was i boy you are so stupid simon i hope you feel dumb because that is how i catch a squirrel now i let you do all the work and i eat it ha ha ha

On 03 October 2004 (03:47 PM),
J.D. said:

Rosings Park is oddly silent today. There is no chatter of squirrels. It’s as if they’ve all agreed to observe a day of mourning for their most vocal member, now deceased.

As I was mowing today, I found Walnut’s remains. His head was missing, but his fur, and claws, and tail were stretched out on the lawn (where now they are dessicating). Some cat — Nemo, if he is to be believed — had feasted on Walnuts’ better parts.

Kris and I are sad. It was fun to wake up to Walnut’s squawking. We’re hoping that a new squirrel will move in and take over his roost.

On 03 October 2004 (04:36 PM),
Tiffany said:

Is this the same squirrel that threw nuts at you as you walked under the tree?

On 04 October 2004 (08:51 AM),
Tabby said:

I must admit my jealousy as I am old and suffer from arthritis. Mostly, I just watch the stupid squirrels out the window while lying on the heating pad on the bed. If I venture outside to watch them, they mock me endlessly knowing that I am unable to pursue them. Bastards.

On 04 October 2004 (09:02 AM),
Nine said:

I have been taken to a very cold place.

On 04 October 2004 (09:03 AM),
Skittle said:

What are squirrels?

On 04 October 2004 (09:03 AM),
Sampson said:

Never mind Skittle, she’s my stupid sister. She’s really cute but kind of kookie.

On 04 October 2004 (10:33 AM),
Rex said:

Dogs eat little kitties for lunch. Yum yum. Let them out in the yard. Yes, let them play. Woof woof.

On 04 October 2004 (11:33 AM),
Skittle said:

Yeah, well Sampson is just a nerdy affection hogger with an oversized head.
Who cares if he can fetch anyhow?
Can you say doot do do do doot do do?
(music to the Sampson dance)
I’m not kookie, I’m just a little ADD…
I’m going back to my nap now…

Peeing Off the Back Porch

I grew up in the country.

One of the benefits of this, for me and my three brothers, was that we could pee anywhere we wanted. If we got the urge — no matter where we were — we’d just pull down our pants and take a whizz.

To the best of my knowledge, this is a luxury not enjoyed by city boys.

Best of all, we could pee off the back porch. Even if the bathroom were free, even if the bathroom were closer, even if there were no reason to pee off the back porch, we’d often choose to do so anyhow.

There was something particularly pleasing aboout the long, delicate arcs of urine we sent into the back lawn. Our favrorite target was the utility pole by the back door.

Sometimes we’d have pissing contests. We’d stand side-by-side and pee together: several long, delicate arcs of urine sent into the back lawn. Dad always won, of course: he had more advanced equipment.

It’s been a long time since I was able to pee off the back porch. In college, there were people who did so, but they generally got in trouble with Campus Safety. In Canby, peeing off the back porch would probably have been noticed by the neighbors.

Now, though &mdash now, I am free to pee off the back porch again!

Ah — life in the country…

Comments


On 30 August 2004 (06:51 AM),
Jeff said:

1. It’s just not as cute when you are 35.

2. I will be sure to avoid the area around your back porch next time I visit.



On 30 August 2004 (08:00 AM),
Dana said:

One of the benefits of this, for me and my three brothers, was that we could pee anywhere we wanted. If we got the urge — no matter where we were — we’d just pull down our pants and take a whizz.

You do realize that indoor plumbing is one of the halmarks of civilization, right? And people wonder why I want to be a woman…

=)



On 30 August 2004 (08:11 AM),
Kris said:

Darling, let me reiterate: You are NOT FREE to pee off our back porch. Gross! The mingling odors of pipe tobacco, cat spray, and human urine will surely rid us of any potential relationships with our neighbors.


On 31 August 2004 (10:07 AM),
Joel said:

Kris: “The mingling odors of pipe tobacco, cat spray, and human urine will surely rid us of any potential relationships with our neighbors.”

I laugh, then I pause and think, and laugh again.


On 31 August 2004 (11:23 AM),
Anonymous said:

As an undergraduate, a friend of mine and I made it a point to sneak onto the roof of every building on campus and pee off the top of the building. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of standing at the top of a 4 or 5 story building, hanging things off the side and lettin’ er rip. Look out below!

Given our occassional degree of intoxication, it’s amazing we didn’t fall off the top of the buildings. Seemed a good idea at the time.



On 31 August 2004 (11:40 AM),
Aimee said:

Do I even need to remind anyone about Joel’s impromptu compost privy? Complete with rationalization: “Nitrogen is good for the soil!”



On 01 September 2004 (02:52 PM),
Dana said:

Good lord, Aimee. Ick.

I remember having to actively convince JD to bring along more than one change of clothing for a week-long geek/camping trip a few years back. He finally relented. It didn’t stop the whole ‘Fire in the Hole’ routine every time he cut the cheese, though.

Sigh.



On 01 September 2004 (02:58 PM),
J.D. said:

I am man, hear me roar!


On 01 September 2004 (03:12 PM),
Dana said:

How about “You are Man, smell you a mile off!”?



On 21 July 2005 (01:11 PM),
skippy said:

i wish i was aloud to do that



On 21 July 2005 (01:12 PM),
skippy said:

i wish i was aloud to do that



On 30 August 2005 (11:16 AM),
Kyle said:

Ah yes, outdoor pissing. One of the great joys of life. I truly love letting it loost outside. I try to pee everywhere. I love being a man…

Photo Gallery: Remodeling

[Dave pries wallboard in the parlor]Today, by popular request, I am sharing photos of our renovations, and relating anecdotes from along the way. Warning: this page may take a while to load.

At least 50% of all work on the house occurred during the first few days after we took possession. Our friends pitched in to pull up carpeting, peel wallpaper, and then remove wallboards and molding. You’d think that we would have taken all sorts of photos during these few days. You’d think wrong. We were too busy to remember to document the project until the flurry of activity had faded. This picture of Dave is the only photo we have from those days.

When Jeremy and Jennifer came over to help the day after we moved, we realized we had a digital camera and Kris snapped a couple of shots.

In the following photo, Jeremy and I are peeling wallboard in the parlor.

The wallboard in the dining room and the den comprised quarter-inch sheetrock of ancient vintage. (Most sheetrock is half-inch thick.) In the parlor, however, the wallboards were some strange laminated paperboard material that was reluctant to peel off in sheets. It mainly wanted to break off into tiny pieces (which you can sort of tell from the pile around Jeremy’s feet).

You can also see a couple of corrugated boxes near us. During this project, we filled about a dozen boxes full of wallboard scrap and set them at the curb. When the Oak Grove trash collectors rejected them, I took the boxes to our Canby house. The Canby trash collectors took them. (And charged us a pretty penny, I’m sure.)

[Jeremy and J.D. remove wallboard]

While the adults worked, the kids played. Actually, Harrison was moderately helpful, except when he was dropping the Superbar XL on the floors, or making like he was going to smash the windows with it. Emma occupied herself by lining up all of the empty cans and bottles. Into each one, she placed a single flower. When she had finished, Kris took a picture of her handiwork:

[Emma helped by picking flowers]

On Karen’s suggestion, we kept samples of the various layers of wallpaper. We’ll mount them and have them framed. I love the old wallpaper patterns, though the women universally found them hideous. (I’m not sure about the men; they never really commented.) In particular, I thought the bottom-most layer of wallpaper was gorgeous:

[The bottom layer of wallpaper -- beautiful stuff]

You can’t tell from the above sample, but there are metallic bits in that pattern. It was directly above the ship-lap siding, so we surmise that this was the original wallcovering, probably from right around 1900. Depending on the room, there were between three and five additional layers of wallpaper above the original stuff.

When we peeled up the carpeting (which had been freshly installed in order to sell the house), we found lovely oak floors which had lain unfinished for about eighty years:

[The unfinished floors in the parlor]

We brought in several contractors to make bids on refinishing the floors. Each one said something like, “These floors are gorgeous. They’ve never been refinished.” One of them pointed out a board to Kris. “See here? From this mark, you can tell that these came directly from the factory and have never been sanded.”

[The unfinished oak floors]

It’s a challenge now to keep the floors safe. As everyone said, we should have done the floors last, after we’d done everything else. Instead, we did them first. Now we have to protect them every time we do any work.

The drywall contractor begins work today (seventy-four minutes ago, actually). He came over yesterday to tour the work area with us. He seems to know a lot about old houses.

I pointed out the door to the closet under the stairs. “I don’t want to paint this,” I told Kris. “I love the way the paint is crackled and glazed. We can paint it when the paint starts to peel.”

The contractor looked at the door and muttered something to himself. Then he looked at the paint around a nearby window. He kneeled and ran his finger along the baseboard. He held it up so that we could see: it was black, covered with soot.

“There was a fire in here,” he said. “That’s why the pain on the door is crackled and glazed. That’s why there’s soot along the baseboards. And look at that window — see how it doesn’t have the same trim as these other two? They may have had to replace it.”

While this would make for an interesting story — and we’ll certainly research the possibility of a fire in the den — we’re not convinced that any trauma ever occurred there. That room used to be the kitchen. It seems more likely to us that the heat damage and the soot were caused by the presence of a wood-burning stove.

I’ve decided to document the daily progress in the three rooms that are being drywalled. To that end, here are photos of the rooms at the outset. (For some reason, I can’t find my photo of the dining room.)

[Day one of the drywall project -- the den]

Above is a photo of the den. Below is a photo of the parlor (facing east). You can see where we finally gave up on removing the wallboards ourselves. I took this photo last night after I finished pulling off the molding, which you can see strewn across the floor. Just after I took this photo, I began to label each piece of molding so that we’d know where to put it when the work was done. I lost my balance at one point, and stepped backward. Directly on top of a nail! Ouch! Kris played nurse for me. We checked the nail, and saw no signs of rust, so I’m not going for a tetanus shot. Yet.

[Day one of the drywall project -- the parlor]

The photo below is of the parlor facing southwest. You can see where we gave up around the circular window. The circular window is vaguely problematic. The current wallboards extend beneath it, but because the thing was custom-built by the previous owner, we’re afraid to remove the framing material. The contractor assures us that he can work around the circular window, so we have our fingers crossed.

[Day one of the drywall project -- another view of the parlor]

In both photos of the parlor, you can see wiring sticking up from the floor outlets. Sometime this week, I’ll try to find the time to complete this project. Jeremy helped me by wiring the den, but the parlor is unfinished. I’m going to try it on my own, but if I run into trouble, I’m going to call upon our neighbor, Mike, who used to be an electrician.

Below, you can see the holes in the wainscot. (Not “wainscoting”, according to Craig.) You can also see that if the contractors had gone up only a couple of inches, they would have avoided the wainscot. (This isn’t true around the windows, of course.)

[The holes in the wainscot]

I find it curious that the dining room has so many electrical outlets. The rooms upstairs that are wired like this have maybe two outlets for the entire room. Yesterday afternoon, we stocked up on power strips.

And here you can see the hole in the ceiling:

[The hole in the ceiling caused by the insulation contractors]

It’s really not that large — maybe eighteen inches by thirty-six inches — but still, it’s going to cost a couple of hundred dollars to repair. It’s just Another Thing, you know? We considered making the hole into an access panel to the attic (since there are none), but there’s only about eighteen inches of clearance above it, which may explain why the contractor was crawling on the sheetrock instead of the joists.

Finally, on a more pleasant note, I’ve got a couple of flower photos to share.

When we bought the house, MJ (the woman who lived here) told us there were 134 roses. That number may be a little high — Kris thinks there’s around 120, though she hasn’t done an official count — but it’s true that this house is surrounded by roses. In fact, it’s easy to forget that there are other flowers here.

And it’s the other flowers I find more beautiful.

In particular, we have several hydrangeas around the property. Two of them are spectacular. There’s a deep blue hydrangea by the workshop, and a gorgeous purple one just outside the utility room door.

[One of our blue hydrangeas]  [Our purple hydrangea]

Kris and I have both commented that doing chores around the new house is not like doing chores at all. It’s a pleasure to take the garbage out, to walk through the locusts and the dogwoods, past the hydrangeas and roses. It’s a delight to water the lawn, pulling the hose past the boxwood hedge, around the corner past the camelia. Kris says that she doesn’t even mind doing laundry any more.

Comments

On 12 July 2004 (10:24 AM),
Dana said:

It’s a beautiful house, and the bits of the views I can make out through the windows look fantastic.

I particularly love the round window.

(re: Electrical outlets. During a retrofit it’s generally a LOT easier to drop wiring down from the ground floor than to fish it up through walls to the second floor.)

On 12 July 2004 (10:33 AM),
Dave said:

I’m hoping that your contractor is paying for the fix to your ceiling since it was their problem (the guy should’ve known better that to have been crawling around on drywall in the first place).

On 12 July 2004 (10:37 AM),
J.D. said:

I’m hoping that your contractor is paying for the fix to your ceiling.

Yes, the contractor is paying for the repairs. And he’s promised that they’ll make it so that the wainscot will be fine after a coat of paint.

Basically, he’s been perfect in responding to our concerns. He’s a good guy, with a stellar reputation. (Our drywall contractor was raving about him yesterday.)

We’re not too worried. Yet, at the same time, we can’t help but be a little concerned because of the bungling so far.

On 12 July 2004 (10:48 AM),
Jethro said:

wainscot?

Hey, I know him. He’s the guy who owns half of Canby.

On 12 July 2004 (11:03 AM),
Amy Jo said:

The house looks beautiful. When can we come visit?

On 12 July 2004 (11:03 AM),
Joel said:

Jeremy’s a man of many sterling qualities. Among them are his shapely calves.

On 12 July 2004 (11:04 AM),
Joel said:

Jeremy’s a man of many sterling qualities. Among them are his shapely calves.

On 12 July 2004 (11:09 AM),
J.D. said:

Joel likes Jeremy’s calves so much, he mentioned them twice. I’ll be sure to post more photos of the Grinch’s legs…

On 12 July 2004 (01:06 PM),
Mom (Sue) said:

I wish I could transfer to you the benefits of the tetanus shot I got a couple of months ago. It hasn’t been doing me any good so far. :-) Maybe it would be a good idea for you to get one, although hopefully that would be a needless precaution. (Why doesn’t Genevieve Gorder ever step on any nails when she goes barefoot through whole episodes of Trading Spaces?)

I have been very tempted to stop over but I don’t want to get in the way of the construction so I have been reining in my curiosity. Your pics here are very much appreciated as they give me a good idea of what all is going on. And I’m glad that the contractor will be responsible for the costs of the repairs that his employees necessitated. I’m really looking forward to seeing the finished work!

On 12 July 2004 (02:15 PM),
Coleen said:

Okay … here’s the deal on tetanus shots. You need a booster every ten years. The old “rusty nail” deal is a myth. It matters not whether something is rusty or not (the rust only indicates that the object has been sitting around for a while). A puncture wound of any type (even from a rose thorn) is cause to remember when you got your last tetanus. Clostridium tetani is the bacteria whose toxin can kill you (there is not cure), and its spores can be anywhere, particularly in dirt. So everyone needs to make sure they have their tetanus shots every ten years (good idea to carry that information in your wallet because if you’re ever in an accident you will be asked when you had your last tetanus). So, j.d., call your doctor, and if it’s been greater than 10 years, go get your shot!

On 12 July 2004 (02:52 PM),
J.D. said:

I’m on hold with the doctor right now. Here’s the encouraging word: “A teanus shot is something that needs to be in your system before and injury. It doesn’t do any good to get a shot after you’ve stepped on a nail.”

Great.

And while I wait on hold, here are tetanus symptoms:

The incubation period from the time of the wound to the time of the symptoms is anywhere from a day to several months, with an average of about eight to nine days. Initially, individuals are very tired, irritable, have headaches, neck stiffness, and difficulty swallowing. Then comes the muscle rigidity and spasm, which you will have sustained contractions of muscles, specifically facial and jaw muscles, hence the term “lock jaw”. The overall mortality rate is around 30%. In individuals over 60 years of age, it jumps to 50%.

In some cases, symptoms will develop in the absence of any cut or wound that you can recall. In addition, you may notice restlessness, lack of appetite, and drooling.

Call Your Doctor If:

You are bitten by an animal or wounded by an object that might be contaminated with dirt, feces, or dust, and you have not been immunized against tetanus or received a booster within the last 10 years. Tetanus infection can be fatal and should be treated as soon as possible.

So, I’m going to get a tetanus shot today at 3:30, though it won’t do any good for my current wound. The woman I spoke with told me that I should just keep the injured area clean and watch for infection. If infection occurs, I’m to call the doctor immediately.

Odds are very slim, indeed, that there’s anything to worry about, but Coleen has put the fear of God into me. Well, the fear of biology, anyhow.

On 12 July 2004 (03:56 PM),
Lynn said:

So, Denise, are you reading these symptoms? Have you been drooling?

On 12 July 2004 (05:14 PM),
Lisa said:

Your floors, BTW, look gorgeous in the pictures (even better than Jeremy’s shapely calves). I can’t wait to see them in all their glowing glory.

On 12 July 2004 (09:24 PM),
Denise said:

Ha, Lynn! No drooling, and I’m still eating a lot. But that is pretty scary. If fevers were in there I’d be at the doctor tomorrow.

On 23 September 2004 (11:50 AM),
cindy said:

Let’s see…. the symptoms are tired, irritable,headaches, neck pain……sounds like what you feel like after a day of home remodelling. Yours looks in better shape than mine started 7/31/04. Keep up the good work. Speaking of which I’d better get back to…….

Insulated

Some of you are beginning to believe that Kris and I haven’t purchased an Old Home, but that we’ve purchased a Money Pit. For you, this story will only serve to confirm your suspicions.

(Let me assure you, though, that despite feeling overwhelmed by circumstances from time-to-time, Kris and I do not view this house as a Money Pit; it is an Old House with Issues. When these Issues are resolved, this place will be Beautiful.)

You’ll recall that, with the help of a half dozen friends, we peeled the wallpaper in the dining room, parlor, and den. You’ll further recall that upon doing so, we discovered that we could not paint the underlying drywall. And that we then proceeded to rip off the wallboards, revealing the old ship-lap siding beneath.

We called in drywall contractors, got bids, and scheduled a guy to start this coming Monday.

“Hey,” said W., our drywall contractor. “You know, while you have these walls exposed, you really ought to do some blown insulation. If you do it from the inside, the holes will be covered by the new drywall.”

“That’s a great idea!” we said. “Can you recommend anyone?”

“Sure. Try P. from GCS — he does excellent work.”

I solicited advice from you, Gentle Reader, and you also suggested P. from GCS. And the consultant from the Energy Trust also recommended P. from GCS. P. from GCS has a high reputation for quality work.

I called P. from GCS and explained that we had drywall work starting in a couple of weeks, and could he come out to give us a bid on insulating our house. I met him two weeks ago, and we toured the house.

“This is a beautiful Old Home,” he said. “Let me assure you that we’ll take steps to provide improved insulation while preserving the Old Home’s Historical Integrity.”

“Great,” I said. “When can you start?”

“Right away,” he said. “Let me go back to the office and work up a quote.”

This was a Monday. Tuesday passed with no quote. And Wednesday. And Thursday. On Thursday afternoon I began to fret. I called P. He apologized. He’d been Swamped but would get the quote over right away.

“When can you start?” I asked, worried that he was Swamped.

“Oh, in about two weeks.”

My heart cracked in seventeen places. We felt we needed to have the insulation done before the drywall work started, and that the drywall work had to start on the twelfth.

Kris and I went over the quote and selected a handful of insulation measures. I called P. on Friday morning and told him we’d like to proceed, but that we needed at least the blown insulation part of the job done by Monday the twelfth.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

Friday passed with no word on what he could do. And then Independence Day weekend came and went. On Tuesday, I was in a panic.

MUST. START. SOON!

I called P. again. “Oh, we’ll have a crew out there Thursday,” he said.

Whew!

But on Thursday, P. called me early in the morning. “The crew ran late yesterday. They may not get a chance to start on your house today.”

Despite P.’s concern, the crew did start on Thursday. When I pulled up to the house after work, they were loading the van to leave. I could tell right away something was wrong.

“Are you the owner?” asked a young man, tattooed and sweaty. “We have a bit of a Problem,” he said. He led me into the house, through the kitchen, to the dining room. He pointed at the wainscoting. The beautiful wainscoting, the focal point of the dining room, sported nineteen two-inch diameter holes evenly spaced around the perimeter of the room.

Inside, my heart shattered. Outside, I grinned feebly and said, “Wow. P. told me that you wouldn’t touch the wainscoting.”

The young man shook his head, frowning. “He forgot to tell us.”

I called P. immediately and, with a minimum of panic, told him what happened. He had the right answer: “We’ll do whatever it takes to make it so you cannot notice the holes.”

I felt reassured. Still, when Kris got home, her heart shattered, too. We agreed that on Friday morning she would have have a talk with the contractors.

Which she did. And they appeased her. And they continued their work. Then, fifteen minutes before I was scheduled to leave work, she called in panic. “There’s been another Problem,” she said. “They were putting the insulation in the attic when one of the workers fell through the ceiling.”

My shattered heart crumbled to tiny pieces.

“Come home,” said Kris. “Now.”

It’s difficult to drive home with a shattered, crumbled heart, but I managed. The sweaty, tattooed guy grimaced at me as I passed him on the lawn. “There’s another small Problem,” he said. He led me upstairs. There, in the hallway, was a large hole where the other worker had fallen through the ceiling.

I shook my head.

I wanted to talk to Kris about the Problems, but didn’t feel I could around the contractors. We headed to the Panda Chinese Buffet. Over a lunch of Szechuan chicken and Chinese dumplings, she told me about the meeting she’d had with P., who had dropped by to look in on the project.

“He was re-assuring,” she said. “He could tell that I was panicked, and he told me, ‘I know that these seem like huge problems to you. But we can deal with them, we can fix them. To us these are little problems.’ I told him that wasn’t completely reassuring, but that maybe I’d feel better later.”

We both felt more relaxed after lunch, and driving home we were even in high spirits. Then, as we walked in the back door, the same worker who had fallen through the ceiling tipped a bookshelf filled with bottles and boxes and cans of cooking supplies. The back of the shelf popped off, and foodstuffs tumbled to the ground.

“It’s like the Keystone Kops doing contracting work,” I muttered.

We turned back around and left. We went to see Anchorman, which is not one of the ten funniest movies ever made. (It may, however, be one of the ten most mediocre films ever made. It’s never outright bad, but it the audience never really laughed hard once. Just lots of little chuckles, like you might expect from a sitcom.)

I know this entry does nothing to convince some of you that this Old Home is not a Money Pit. Again, let me assure you that this is a solid building. It just has some work that needs to be done, and there are going to be minor disasters along the way.

We’ve just had a statistically large number of them over the past twenty-four hours.

Comments


On 10 July 2004 (09:41 AM),
mac said:

Oh man…I’m sorry. But we need some pictures of the hole in the ceiling. And if you could, put a body half way through the hole so we can get the true effect. Really though, I am sorry and in my experiences with home remodeling from when I was a kid…when contractors screw things up, they generally do fix things right.



On 10 July 2004 (11:16 AM),
Tiffany said:

I wish I was there to help.



On 10 July 2004 (01:02 PM),
Mom (Sue) said:

You poor kids! My thoughts are with you, and my hope that a lot of these things can be cleared up real fast. I feel kind of sick just reading about them — I guess you could say that I’m strongly empathizing. Somehow we always get through these kinds of difficulties but my heart goes out to you right now while the situations exist.



On 10 July 2004 (07:49 PM),
Anthony said:

Really sorry, JD. I feel for you. But we do want pictures. Of the hole. And the nineteen holes. And the tattooed guy, the way he looks when he says, “We have a small problem.” Good writing, by the way.



On 11 July 2004 (02:05 PM),
jenefer said:

Sounds like Baby Boom with Diane Keaton. That turned out okay, and I suspect yours will too. No matter how bad it looks, a good contractor or handyman seems to be able to make it “right.” We are in the middle of the demolition for our remodel, and we are hoping for a great result also. When we did the bathroom using the same guy, it did turn out great! Here’s to keeping a positive thought.



On 12 July 2004 (08:48 AM),
Joel said:

It IS a great house, and it’ll make you happy for years to come. It makes me happy just thinking about you guys being in that great house. Well, alternately happy and violently jealous.

Patronus

For most people, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban — the third Harry Potter book — is their favorite. It’s the last of the books in the series to be tightly written (and edited), but the first to really explore its themes in a complex manner. And the climax is marvelous.

I didn’t really care for the first two Harry Potter films (though we had fun attending the second film in costume); I found them loud and garish and, well, annoying.

I’m happy to report that the third film adaptation is a refreshing change. The overall presentation is darker — the visuals and the sets, I mean. There’s more of an emphasis on character and story and less of an emphasis on gee-whiz special effects (though Buckbeak the hippogriff is amazing, the best CGI character I’ve seen yet: on a par with Gollum). There’s far, far less Quidditch, and no mention at all of the House Cup. This is the best film of the three so far, just as the third book is the best in the series.

In fact, from its middle, this film is nearly perfect. And it’s nearly a perfect adaptation. I actually had tears in my eyes as I watched my favorite scenes unfold, scenes I’d imagined in my mind for years, scenes created on screen in pitch perfect accuracy (unlike Peter Jackson’s mutilation of The Lord of the Rings).

My favorite part of the book/film is when Harry learns (and then uses) the Patronus charm. The Patronus is designed to ward the Dementors, the terrifying guards of Azkaban, the wizarding prison. Dementors suck joy, happiness, and hope — and eventually the soul — from their victims. They’ve caused trouble for Harry, and he wants a way to protect himself.

A wizard creates a Patronus by concentrating on the happiest moment of his life. This strong, positive emotion wards him from the despair and hopelessness represented by the Dementors.

How would my Patronus manifest itself? Which moment in my life was happiest?

In many ways, I feel as if Kris and I are trying to recreate happy moments from our childhood with this new home. If we follow our plan, the downstairs living area will feel very much like your grandparents’ house might have thirty years ago.

The furniture and painting Kris received when her grandmother died will be featured prominently around the house. We recently purchased a kitchen stool exactly like the one in my grandparents’ kitchen (only ours is yellow and theirs was pink); we have a heavy black rotary-dial telephone like my grandparents had; we’ll be hanging mirrors on the walls — as the current owners have — and one of the mirrors is one that hung on my parents’ bedroom wall when I was growing up; and so on.

I can’t keep away from the new house. I drive past it whenever I travel to or from Portland (which I’ve done several times this past week). Yesterday, before the movie, we stopped for a visit. The annual neighborhood garage sale was in progress, so we were able to see the stuff John and Mary Jo (and Gerry) don’t plan to keep.

“Hey!” I said, pointing at an old leather-covered chair. “They’re selling my chair.” When we first toured the house, I fell in love with this chair, which had been sitting in the kitchen. It’s old, and a bit rickety, but it’s comfortable (and comforting). I had wanted to write the chair into our offer, but Kris and Mary argued that it would be too frivolous.

“You want that chair?” asked Mary Jo, disbelieving. She laughed. “That’s Gerry’s chair. He loves it, too.” (Gerry is her housemate.)

Gerry appeared, beaming. “The chair is $25, but for you it’s only $20,” he said. I thanked him, paid him, and then carried the chair back to its proper spot in the kitchen.

“Do you want this old end table?” Mary Jo asked when we’d gone back out to the garage sale. “It’s forty years old. It was my mother’s. She loved it. I hate to sell it, but we don’t have a place for it.”

“Sure,” I said. “We can use that.” And so I carried the coffee table back into the living room.

The current owners have a long Davenport in the front room. Though it’s large and its form is fine, it’s rather ugly.

“Do you want this Davenport, too?” Mary Jo asked. We did not.

But, in a way, I did. My grandfather had a long, ugly Davenport, too: a mauve-colored beauty with a flowery pattern etched in the fabric. (The fabric was very firm, so that if you slept on it, the pattern would be etched in your cheeks). Every day, after a lunch of Campbell’s bean with bacon soup, grandpa would sleep on the Davenport for fifteen minutes to half an hour. Then he’d rise suddenly, get to his feet, and say, “Well, time to get back to work.” And then he’d go out to his garden or his cows or his woods.

Things from our childhood are comforting, are they not?

I really like the house’s current owners. They seem like good people.

Comments


On 05 June 2004 (11:18 AM),
Ron said:

I had some bean and bacon soup this week because it reminded me of grandpa’s house. I hadn’t had any in years. Its still one of my favorite soups. I have a picture of my mom and dad on that couch holding me as a baby.



On 05 June 2004 (11:39 AM),
J.D. Roth said:

I eat Campbell’s bean-with-bacon soup on a regular basis. It’s one of my comfort foods. And it’s all because of grandpa. (Actually, I’m fixing a can for lunch right now.)

In fairness to my extended family, I should admit we recently had a converation about grandpa’s naps on the top-secret Roth family forum (past excerpts from the forum, and a cast of characters, here). Here are some highlights:

J.D.: So I was reading and article in Prevention Magazine about sleep and sleep disorders, and one of the points that they made was that a short nap every day is very beneficial and that more American businesses should allow time for their employees to nap. (I guess they must mean more than zero.) This got me to thinking of Grandpa and his naps, so I shared my memories with Kris. She wondered if he had always napped, or whether that only happened when he was older. Viriginia? Did Noah nap when you were a kid? And when were his naps? I seem to recall them coming after a hearty lunch of bean with bacon soup, but I could be mistaken. Anyone? Any memories of Grandpa’s naps?

Tammy: Yeh, he’d often sit in the corner of that pink couch right by the old radio and snore loudly.

Virginia: Years ago there was a wood cook stove in the area where your mom’s breakfast nook is. The nook part is now in what used to be the bedroom walk in closet. (Hmmmmm, I wonder if anyone else had a walkin closet in them days) The refrigerator sit in what used to be the pantry, so I guess the nook takes up part of that, too. There was a space between the stove and the wall. Dad would lay down in that space everyday right after lunch for a short nap. One day I decided to crawl back there after he was done with his nap. I had a box on my head (don’t ask me why) and I crawled on the floor behind the stove. When I got ready to come out I stood up. Well, it so happened that mom had a kettle of soup on the stove and the handle was sticking out over the edge and the box hit the handle and the handle spun around and tipped over the soup, and the soup hit the floor, the soup was hot and I bawled and Dad came to my rescue and poured cold water on me and till it was all said and done there was a big mess which I’m sure my Mom enjoyed cleanig up. :-( Dad’s naps only lasted about 10 – 15 minutes. Sometimes shorter, The ones in church seem to last longer.

Gwen: Mom, I never heard that cute story! I remember Grandpa saying “well, I had a good nap”. It was totally amazing to me as he had been sitting upright in the car, while Grandma was shopping. I have inherited that ability, and for the most part I am glad, In church it is unhandy, but I find that if I quit fighting and go ahead a doze a bit, I often wake refreshed and can stay awake the rest of the service. If I fight and fight, I have to keep on fighting and it is terrible. Henry envies my ability to lie down on the recliner with the children all around and sleep 20 minutes. But the children laugh at me when I fall asleep in the middle of a spelling test, or doing oral reading class. Did Grandpa have that problem, too. I mean, besides church, did he fall asleep when he sat still? It is especially in the forenoon that I have that problem.

Sue: I remember Steve telling me about his dad’s ability to just drop off for 20 minutes and then wake up suddenly and go back out to work. I am assuming that this took place after his lunch but I’m not sure — you all have better memories of what happened than I do of what Steve said. I have often envied his dad’s ability to nap like that. I very rarely nap, and when I do, sure as shooting I have a cat on me trying to make itself comfortable (I am being vague about the sex here because it could be either Stevie — a female — or Chester or even, if he’s in the house, Silver).

Tammy: I seem to have inherited grandpas short naps. I often lie down in the afternoon and get up in fifteen minutes totally recharged. If I sleep longer I feel headachy and groggy all day!

Virginia: I also remember another story about that old stove. On Saturday night there would be a big wash tub filled with water and that is where we took our Saturday night baths. On this certain evenng the electricity went off after the tub was filled, and before anyone was in it. We were all told to stay in the dinning room while Dad went and checked the electric box. I was scared so I followed him. The rest of the story is all wet. Also it is on this stove that I learned to bake. I would wait tlll Mom went over to clean the church and then I knew I had plenty of time to make cookies. I learned just how much wood to put in to hold the fire at just the right temperature. The only thing I didn’t know… One time I put too many eggs in the cookie dough and at that time I didn’t know about doubling a recipe so I threw the dough out and started over.

Ron: I remember Grandpa’s naps. It seemed to take him about 2 breaths before he was asleep and then he would wake up with a snort and sit up and go to work. I also remember looking across the church at Zion and seeing him sleeping. I tell Eileen I am just following the behavior modeled for me by my ancestors at church.

I love the top-secret Roth family forum. :)



On 05 June 2004 (11:42 AM),
Lisa said:

Oooh. That stool is cool. I think that Albert wants it.



On 05 June 2004 (06:21 PM),
tammy said:

I had totally forgotten about that pink metal chair of grandmas. I put some tributes to my heritage aroudn myhosue too. My craft room is bordered in faceless Amish dolls in a nod to my roots. The guest room is filled with things from Gregs side of the family; a trunk that came over to Ellis Island with his family when they immmigrated from Poland, his baby pictures, a huge painting of an iris that his sister made, antique picture frames from his mother and a quilt hanger with old quilts that his aunts and mother quilted through the years.

In Gregs den is a balck and white framed wall hanging of the boat his dad worked served on in the war. I love old things that tell a story. By the way that trunk in the guest room has it’s lock broken. Seems they somehow lost the key on the voyage and so immigration officers forced it open. Gregs mom thought I might want to get it fixed. Why? It’s all part of the story.



On 05 June 2004 (09:01 PM),
Anthony said:

I love the idea of you returning furniture right back into the house whence it came. I also think your plans for the house sound splendid.

Why do we love old things? Why in a culture marked by a compulsive desire for the newest and best do we still find ourselves drawn toward things, outdated relics, that remind us of the past?



On 06 June 2004 (07:17 AM),
gwen said:

Mom fell heir to that ugly couch. I’m sure she had it until she moved to Idaho. Perhaps it could still be traced.;^) Are you going to have a sterio console instead of an entertainment center?
We found a beautiful one at an auction for 40.00 when we got married, but 10 years later we couln’t get a nibble on it a yard sale, and ended up burning it. I always felt kinda bad about that.



On 06 June 2004 (09:44 AM),
dowingba said:

Every time you mention the LOTR films, you get more and more viscious about it. Now they’re a “mutilation”? Come on, how many Academy Awards have the Harry Potter films won? And by the way, they really shouldn’t be compared, since LOTR was written by a true linguistic genius half a century ago (and it took him about 20 years to write), while Harry Potter books are churned out one per week it seems, just riding the perpetual wave of fantasy popularization that was started solely by Tolkien.

Okay, I was disappointed with The Two Towers adaptation (and that was my favourite of the books, too), but ROTK is a pretty damn good adaptation, you’ve got to admit that. I haven’t seen a more perfect page-to-screen rendering of any story, ever. Of course, I haven’t seen or read the latest Harry Potter book/movie. Nor will I.



On 06 June 2004 (10:18 AM),
J.D. said:

Dowingba makes some fair charges against your humble narrator.

Every time you mention the LOTR films, you get more and more viscious about it. Now they’re a “mutilation”?

Fair enough. I deserved to be called out for this. Let me explain my current feelings.

When I first heard about these films, and saw the initial production stills, etc., I was worried about the potential problems.

Then I saw Fellowship. Though I wasn’t blown away by the film, I liked it. I thought the cave troll scene and the insanely long final battle were the only real blemishes. And then when I saw the extended version of Fellowship on DVD, I loved it. I could forgive the twenty-minute final battle because the rest of the film was so good in its extended version.

Then I saw Peter Jackson’s Helms Deep. You all know how I feel about that. To say I was disappointed is an understatement. It’s not fair to say that it’s a bad film — it’s merely average (or, actually, a little below) — but it certainly did not live up to my lofty expectations. And the extended version didn’t help this time.

When I first saw Return of the King, I had mixed emotions. There were some great scenes, yes, but the film was marred by too many scenes of overwrought emotion from Sam and Frodo, but too much glossing, and by a tedious extended denoument. It’s only with time that I’ve really come to realize how much I disliked the third installment. It’s not as bad as Peter Jackson’s Helms Deep, and it’s still an above average film, but again: I was disappointed, and sometimes “failure to live up to expectations” can, in a person’s mind, be a worse sin than actually being “a film of poor quality”.

To compound the problem, the Rings films were the subject of relentless hype for over two years. There’s only so much hype I can stand before I sour on something, even if it’s something that I’m predisposed to like, you know? I’ve read The Lord of the Rings a couple dozen times in my life, and I love it. But that doesn’t mean that I’m willing to endure two years of being told how awesome a trio of mediocre films are.

To summarize: I love the books, and always will. I find the films mediocre (though I do quite like the first, especially in its extended version). They failed to live up to my expectations, though, and that makes me bitter. This bitterness is compounded by the relentless hype around these films that exists even now.

Come on, how many Academy Awards have the Harry Potter
films won?

I have no idea. But you know how I feel about the modern state of the Academy Awards, right? Are you really saying that you can believe they’re a true indicator of quality? Titanic over L.A. Confidential? Shakespeare in Love over Saving Private Ryan? Gladiator over Crouching Tiger? A Beautiful Mind over anything? Please.

And by the way, they really shouldn’t be compared, since LOTR was
written by a true linguistic genius half a century ago (and it took him about
20 years to write), while Harry Potter books are churned out one per week it seems,
just riding the perpetual wave of fantasy popularization that was started solely by
Tolkien.

You’re right that comparing the two worlds is like comparing apples and oranges, but it’s perfectly possible to have a good apple and a good orange. And besides, I’m not comparing the books, I’m comparing the films. (It’s no secret that I’m not a fan of Rowling’s stylistic ability. She’s no master of the craft. (In fact, the last two books have been pretty poorly written and poorly edited.)) And, to my mind, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is the best of the combined six Harry Potter and Rings films. That’s my opinion. (The second Harry Potter film is the worst of the six, even worse than Peter Jackson’s Helms Deep.)

ROTK is a pretty damn good adaptation, you’ve got to admit
that. I haven’t seen a more perfect page-to-screen rendering of any story, ever.

The Princess Bride was pretty damn faithful to the book, IMHO. Also, To Kill a Mockingbird. Actually, I can think of many better adaptations than ROTK. Just saying.

I know you love the Rings films, and I respect that, but they just didn’t do it for me. And I realize that the rest of the world agrees with you and disagrees with me. That doesn’t mean that you’re all right and I’m wrong. It just means we have different opinions. :)

I’ll try to talk less smack about the LOTR films, though. It’s difficult, but I’ll try…



On 07 June 2004 (08:45 AM),
jenefer said:

jd, I was so glad you mentioned to Kill a MockingBird. I was about to mention it. My whole life my mother (Pam) felt it was the best adaptation of book to film she had ever scene. Nothing else surpassed it.

I think you hit the nail on the head with Tolkien. It is not the director’s job you hate, but your own anticipation and too firmly entrnched ideas of how the movie should have been adapted that disturb(s) you, I think. I too have read the books many times, and all the associated support books. I think the films were great given the limitations of the medium and the audience. How will your books ever make it to film if you are so critical now? Prepare yourself.



On 07 June 2004 (09:16 AM),
J.D. said:

Also, Jurassic Park was a better adaptation than ROTK, though I missed the pterodactyls from the book…

Here are other Harry Potter reviews from weblogs I read: Michael Rawdon’s Escape from Chris Columbus, Joel and Aimee’s The Boy Who Lived, and Rob Fahrni‘s brief comments.



On 07 June 2004 (11:23 AM),
Denise said:

J.D. – how can you say Jurassic Park was a better adaption? They completely changed the ending…in the book the old guy dies and is eaten by the little scavanger reptiles, whereas in the movie, he is saved with the rest of the crew.



On 07 June 2004 (11:25 AM),
Denise said:

Sorry folks – should be adaptation up there.



On 07 June 2004 (12:15 PM),
Lynn said:

Understanding that when a book is adapted to film there are going to be changes, I was still disappointed that my favorite line from HP3 was removed. It occurred at the very end of PofA when Harry went home for the summer and he informed the dreaded Dursleys that he had a godfather…and he was an escaped convict! It was a sweet moment. But, other than that, I thought the movie was great fun. I loved the themE of time and the ever-present clocks. I also really liked the added landscape and the color.



On 07 June 2004 (02:00 PM),
J.D. said:

Denise: How can you say Jurassic Park was a better adaptation? They completely changed the ending.

Peter Jackson completely changed the ending, too. He changed lots of stuff. Where’s Saramun in the third film? Where’s the scouring of the Shire? Where are Sam and Frodo falling in with the orcs? Why did he add that stupid scene with Aragorn falling off his horse and into the river? (Wait — that was the second movie, wasn’t it?) Why the emphasis on Arwen?

I think Jurassic Park was a more faithful adaptation than Return of the King…



On 07 June 2004 (02:36 PM),
Denise said:

Ok – I get your point, but I still say that the old guy getting eaten at the end is much better than him getting saved. That sort of changes the whole feel of the story.



On 07 June 2004 (02:57 PM),
Joel said:

JD said: “Why the emphasis on Arwen?”

Perhaps the mighty lobbying power of the Collagen Advisory Board? Peter Jackson’s a big Aerosmith fan?

Or maybe P.J. concluded that, for the movie to work, it really needed a romantic subplot.

Similar to Cuaron’s decision to change how Peter Pettigrew was first revealed, making the moment more about Harry.

It seems we’re having a disconnect over the question of the “perfect adaptation”. Did you like the movie because it effectively captured the spirit of the books and communicated that spirit as an effective film? Or did you really like it because the “scenes [were] created on screen in pitch perfect accuracy (unlike Peter Jackson’s mutilation of The Lord of the Rings).”? The Cuaron took more liberties with the story than the previous films and clearly benefited from the resulting freedom. Peter Jackson tried to do a similar job with LotR, but it didn’t work for you. Eh?



On 07 June 2004 (05:04 PM),
Nikchick said:

JD said: “Why the emphasis on Arwen?”

I think that was a wise decision, to appeal to modern audiences who maybe are not entirely consumed with their geekish knowledge (and reverence) of the books. Tolkien was a man, and he wrote about males. The female characters in his books need modern punching up.



On 07 June 2004 (10:05 PM),
dowingba said:

J.D., film and literature are quite different mediums. Being closer to the book doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a better adaptation. Can you imagine how bad the LOTR movies would have been if they were line-for-line with the books? I, for one, am damn glad the Scouring of the Shire was ommitted from the film. And I am amazed, and thrilled, at how much dialogue was lifted directly from the books. I think the movies, and ROTK specifically, perfectly captured the spirit of the books, and that’s what counts. Of course, the books or the movies might have had a different impression in your mind.

Also, I loved Jurassic Park, but I never read the book.

Oh, and the Saruman battle is going to be in the extended edition. I hear it’s a huge 10 minute fight of some sort. I kinda liked the non-violent battle-of-words in the books, but some more Jedi-esque wizard martial arts like in the first film would suit me just fine. I hope he winds up imprisoned on the roof of Orthanc. Heh.

Three-Hour Tour

Our new home has passed its inspection; the appraisal came in fine; no known financial barriers stand between us and the new place. Because things look sure, we arranged a time to meet with the current owners. This morning, John and Mary Jo (brother and sister) gave us a three-hour tour of the house.

We didn’t get any information on owners from the first half of the century — perhaps our hosts didn’t have that info — but we have plenty from 1959. John and Mary Jo’s parents bought the house in 1959. John was thirteen, Mary Jo was about eight. Their parents lived in the house until they both died four years ago. Since then, Mary Jo has lived in the house, acting as caretaker.

When the family arrived, there was a filbert orchard along one side of the house. There was also a garage and a barn (used for horses, according to John, used for cows, according to Mary Jo). The filberts eventually died (because of ice storms during the 1970s?), and the orchard was cleared for lawn and roses. Jack, their father, loved roses. He was a member of the Portland Royal Rosarians, and the property currently has 134 rose bushes.

Mary Jo and Kris toured the gardens. Mary Jo has been responsible for the garden for the last several years, so she knew the names of just about everything. The are dozens of camellias, a redwood, a cedar, an oak, a spruce, something that may be a sequoia, two pink dogwood, a star magnolia, several holly trees and lots of lilacs, a mimosa, a huge locust, an Empress Tree (Paulownia) a filbert, a glorybower tree, many rhododendrons and azaleas, and manicured boxwood hedges. Winter jasmine, daphne, weigela, peonies, ferns, japanese quince, laurel, skimmia, and what Kris is hoping is a snowball viburnum — the list goes on. There are volunteer locusts and filberts and cedars that will come out to make room for fruit trees, and lots of trimming and pruning that needs to be done.

Jack converted the barn into a workshop. He built a garden shed between the barn and the garage, and added a second storage shed on the other side of the workshop. (We hadn’t even noticed this extra storage shed before today.) Here are some photos of the interior of the workshop, which is maybe ten feet by sixteen feet on the inside:

[first photo of workshop interior]

[second photo of workshop interior]

There used to be great chestnut and cherry trees around the house, but many of them have died, leaving only dark green mounds to mark their passing. One large English walnut remains, but it’s nearing the end of its life, too. Fortunately, a volunteer walnut has started on the property, and it may grow big and strong before the old one has to come out.

The previous family hadn’t taken great care of the house, so Jack and his family spent a lot of time fixing it up. The hardwood floors — a type of oak (as you can see from the following photograph, which shows us peeking under the carpet) — were dirty, but in good condition. They may never have been refinished. The current owners have kept carpet of some sort on them for 45 years. Our current plan is to refinish the floors as soon as we get the keys.

[photo of us peeking at hardwood floors]

Jack loved windows and light, so he added many of them — including the circular window — to the parlor. His wife loved mirrors, so she mounted them on the wall, creating even more light, and adding a tremendous sense of space to the house. (I told Mary Jo that we’d love to have some of her mirrors, but we understood if she wanted to take them.) Jack liked to work with wood, too, so after he retired, he built tables, and plant stands, and a wagon-wheel light fixture, all out of a lovely maple. (Though the wagon-wheel light fixture is beautiful, we admitted that we wouldn’t keep it, which actually seemed to please Mary Jo. She’ll take it with her.)

The wallpaper in the parlor and the den — the stuff Kris hates but I love — has been up since at least 1962. It is, at a minimum, 42 years old. We admitted that we plan to take it down and to paint the walls. Mary Jo did not seem offended. She’s unsure whether the walls are plaster or drywall. She knows that many of the walls upstairs are sheetrock, because they’ve only recently been replaced. She thinks the walls downstairs may be sheetrock, also, but this doesn’t seem likely since they exhibit deformities (cracking, etc.) characteristic of plaster.

The gas furnace that we thought we needed to replace imminently, we are now reassured that it will last at least a few more years with little risk. That means more of a budget for the bathroom remodel — still a major priority — the floor project and furnishings.

As we moved from room to room, I measured various spaces, trying to determine whether our appliances and furniture will fit where we want them. The space for the refrigerator, for example, may actually be half an inch too short for our current one. It may have to live in the mud room, and we may have to buy a new one. Our “Haseldorf cabinet” will fit in the kitchen, beneath a set of wall-mounted cabinets. Our second table will fit in the kitchen. Our main table, with all its leaves, will fit in the dining room. Our sideboad will fit there, too. The mahogany ball & claw-foot desk we purchased on Friday will reside in the den’s nook. Several bookshelves will fit in the den, and in the parlor. Our old hi-fi will probably fit in the den.

The big question is how much we can fit up the stairway. Mary Jo assures us that they’ve managed to get large pieces of furniture upstairs in the past; queen-sized mattresses are a tight fit, but they do go up the stairs. We’re still worried, though.

John and Mary Jo believe the house is in the Gothic revival style of architecture (though I remain unconvinced), which was popular during the latter part of the nineteenth century. Also, once when they were doing work in the walls, they found a newspaper from 1889 (according to John — 1887 according to Mary Jo). Because of these two facts, and because of the age of the materials in the house, the current owners believe the house was built around 1890. No official records actually exist on the construction of the house. The earliest records show that the house exists in 1903, but they’re not convinced this is the actual date of construction.

John and Mary Jo were wonderful hosts, and they took obvious pride in showing us their childhood home. We hope to do them proud, to maintain its glory for many years to come.

Each time we go to the house, we love it even more. It’s perfect for us.

Bring on the projects!

(Thanks to my co-writer and wife, Kris Gates, who really ought to have her own weblog, eh?)

Comments


On 31 May 2004 (07:53 AM),
Scott Smith said:

Wow. If I can ever get back to Oregon, I hope you will let me drop by to see the new place. (Do you have a name for it yet?)
I have lived in Las Vegas for six years now, and have almost forgotten about gardens, roses and rhododendrons. I miss the sights and smells.
Here in the desert, we have a water district that pays you to rip out your lawns and install xerascape (rocks with a few drought tolerant plants). Such is the price you pay for 360 days of sunshine per year.
Congradulations on jumping through the hoops necessary to purchase the house!



On 31 May 2004 (09:55 AM),
Tiffany said:

It is amazing that the wallpaper can be 40 year old! It seems strange that it was never redone. But I guess that Grandma’s downstairs bathroom has had the same wall paper me whole life.



On 31 May 2004 (05:13 PM),
Aimee said:

On your behalf, I went to the Oregon Historical Society website to try and find an old photo of your estate, but to no avail … I couldn’t remember the name of the original builder/owner. Isn’t it something like Guernsey? In any case, I found the online photograph catalog extremely user friendly, just for your information …



On 31 May 2004 (10:01 PM),
Nikchick said:

I’m impatiently waiting for you to get settled in so I can see the place! I wish I’d had time on either of my trips to Canby this weekend to stop in and talk with you about the house and the move. It all seems very thrilling, for those of us living vicariously.



On 01 June 2004 (12:47 PM),
Mom (Sue) said:

You will have to keep a lookout for old artifacts as you remodel — maybe you will qualify for HGTV’s “If Walls Could Talk.” :-) What a neat project this is for you both! I’m wondering if you have had the inspection on the house you have are selling and how that end of the process is going.



On 01 June 2004 (12:48 PM),
Mom (Sue) said:

Ack — I’m not sure how that extra “have” got in there; it should read “the house you are selling.”

Interpreter of Dreams

Update: From nightmare to dream come true…

Updated update: Photographs of the house (hover over photos for description)

Google is your friend.

4027044?

No. No 4027044.

[photo of exterior of house]

1814 square feet farmhouse on 3/5ths of an acre — two car detached garage, workshop, garden shed — four bedrooms, 1-1/2 baths, hardwood floors, period architectural details — elaborate rose gardens, many mature trees, privet hedges — tucked into the heart of Oak Grove

Kris found a house, we both fell in love with it immediately. We rushed to make an offer.

Our offer was first — and good — but a second offer came in today. With knowledge of our offer, the other buyers were able to outbid us.

We are sad at heart.

We just spent three whole days pouring every spare moment into this dream, and we came up short by the slimmest of margins.

Woe are we.

(Kris notes that we’re not really house shopping. This just happened to be the Perfect House, and it appeared unexpectedly. Please don’t tell us about the house for sale in your neighborhood.)

Kris and I sulked after hearing our offer wasn’t accepted. Denise and Shannon (and Ryan) were over — dining on Mac‘s seafood pasta — when we got the news. I’m afraid that for the rest of the evening our minds were elsewhere, and we were less than perfect hosts.

Last night and this morning, we talked and thought and talked some more. For different reasons, we came to the same conclusion: We really are ready to move, ready to live in a house that we truly love. We decided to look around.

We lay in bed for hours, reading real estate magazines, looking at web sites, trying to find a house that we loved as much. No dice. There’s nothing even close.

Still, we found a couple that we liked enough to drive by. We set out this afternoon to do just that.

We were winding our way through Gladstone, looking at houses, when Mary (our real estate broker) gave us a buzz.

“J.D.,” she said. “The first offer backed out. The house is yours if you still want it.”

We were in a state of shock. We told her we needed to talk about it.

“Do you still want it?” I asked Kris.

“Of course I still want it,” she said.

We called Mary back to accept the counteroffer. “There’s a complication,” she said. “The seller’s Realtor is expecting another offer. If you don’t sign the papers by the time she receives that offer, she’s legally bound to present it to the seller.”

We zoomed to Custom Box Service where we waited by the fax machine for the documents to arrive. We waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And they came. We signed them in a hurry and faxed them back.

Mary called us a while later. “I talked with the seller’s agent,” she said. “She confirmed that she’d received your signed paperwork without any further counters, and that the other offer had not yet come in.”

“Does that mean the house is ours?” asked Kris.

“That means the house is yours,” Mary said.

We’re giddy with excitement, but we still don’t know whether to believe it.

Right now, our closing date is June 15th. Anyone want buy our house?

Rock on!

[photo of outside of house]

[photo of two-car garage]

[photo of house from near rosegarden]

[photo of dining room]

[photo of living room]

[photo of piano room]

[photo of kitchen]

[photo of back porch]

Comments


On 07 May 2004 (10:03 PM),
Bad teacher said:

Boy do I know how you feel. I was just searching for houses moments ago. We’re in that limbo-land of having not quite sold our house (Joel, Amy sound familiar?) but are still thinking of “that number ($)” that our house will sell for AND THEN look for the dream house. I guess I’m not pacing around the house but I know the appeal. “House porn”.

Porn is such a great metaphor.

I’m in the middle of our school’s musical (Anything Goes) and the kids were commenting on how bad the story/plot is and I said, “Ya, it’s kind of like porn, it’s not about the plot but the “action”. In a musical the “action” takes place during the songs…

Corrupting young minds one ensemble at a time.



On 07 May 2004 (10:12 PM),
Lisa said:

Ohhhhh… It’s a beauty–I’m so sorry that it didn’t work out.



On 07 May 2004 (10:24 PM),
tammy said:

Oh JD it is so gorgeous! That is just not fair. People shouldn’t get to know about the original offer and if they do find out the owner should give the first people a chance to up their price.

I must say I am proud of myself for hitting the bulls eye in my guesses.



On 08 May 2004 (08:33 AM),
Yoda said:

A sad end to the riddle it is. A rare gem it was indeed. Despair you must not. There are other gems out there….

You have only known of your dream a short while. In time, the dream shall become reality.

Patience….



On 08 May 2004 (05:30 PM),
Lisa said:

Oooooh! I CANNOT wait to see this place in person. It looks beyond fabulous. Hope the inspection and all such stressful hurdles pass without incident.



On 08 May 2004 (06:49 PM),
Mom (Sue) said:

Congratulations! It seems as if this was meant to be, the way it has come together for you. Will you be able to take the bookshelves in your computer room with you? You made such nice impreovements to that area. I wish you the best of luck with the move and selling your house!



On 08 May 2004 (08:13 PM),
Lynn said:

That house is GORGEOUS! Congratulations! And I think one of your first new-home purchases had better be a riding lawnmower.



On 09 May 2004 (03:16 AM),
nate said:

Congrats! I really dig the porch and upper-balcony features, from what I can see in the pictures. Nice yard, too.



On 09 May 2004 (06:20 AM),
dowingba said:

Holy crap, man! That would totally suck if this turned out to all be a dream. All be a dream. All be a dream. Be a dream. A dream. Dream. –ream.



On 09 May 2004 (09:38 AM),
Denise said:

OMG!!!

Ok – all I have to say is I did mention at dinner that the deal could fall through…and you could still get the house.

And that stupid saying that everyone says…but it always seems to be true: If it’s meant to be it will happen. Oh, yeah, and the famous: Things always happen for the best.

Anyway – CONGRATULATIONS! I am so excited for you both!

No worries about being preoccupied at dinner – it was to be expected and Shannon, Ryan and I had a great time – thanks for having us!



On 09 May 2004 (02:03 PM),
Dana said:

Great news! I’ll keep my various digits crossed till closing, just in case! =)



On 10 May 2004 (07:12 AM),
Yoda said:

Much lawn to mow, you will have. Find you a lawn-mowing land-speeder, we must.

Use the force, JD…



On 10 May 2004 (08:00 AM),
Amanda said:

“Charming” doesn’t even begin to describe this house. It is spectacular! Good for you guys!!!



On 10 May 2004 (08:21 AM),
J.D. said:

I’m so enamored of this house. I keep scrolling this page up-and-down, looking at each photo individually.

Just so you know: there are definitely problems with the house. The bathroom situation is woeful. Our top priority once we close on the deal is to remodel the main bathroom, which is located on the first floor. (All the bedrooms are on the second floor.) Before we even move in, we may have to replace the wallpaper in the living room and study. Also, the current owners just put down new carpeting (which I don’t like). Why did they do this? Are the hardwood floors in bad repair? Were they simply replacing old carpeting?

These are examples of our questions.

Many of our fears have been allayed, however, by the fact that the current owner reportedly had a full home inspection done before putting the house on the market. He made all the recommended repairs on the inspector’s report. This is comforting, if true.

More later, I promise! :)



On 10 May 2004 (08:51 AM),
Cari said:

It’s beautiful! I can’t wait to see it! We close on our new house on June 11. Moving season, I guess. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you!



On 10 May 2004 (11:03 AM),
Virginia said:

JD, the house is gorgeous, It looks like a total dream. It is the style house that I love.

I am soooo happy for you and Kris.

Is the house in Canby? Maybe you already said but once I seen the pictures and that you actually get it, I couldn’t even read the rest of the blog.



On 10 May 2004 (11:07 AM),
Virginia said:

OK, the house is in Oak Grove :-)



On 10 May 2004 (01:07 PM),
Paul said:

J.D.,

If you need help with tiling the bathroom I’ll be glad to help. I’ve tiled our bathroom and the backsplash in our kitchen. It’s kind of fun but time consuming.

(We’ll be there in July!)



On 10 May 2004 (01:14 PM),
Amy Jo said:

Oh goody. Kris and I can have tea parties in the garden . . . We can’t wait to see the house. It looks wonderful and sets my mind a flutter, thinking about a new house for Paul and I someday soon. Of course, we need to dig out from the paint cans and tools strewn about our current, hopefully soon to be sold house. I must admit, I hate to leave my garden now that it is finally taking on my character . . .



On 10 May 2004 (01:16 PM),
Amy Jo said:

Paul and me . . .



On 10 May 2004 (04:24 PM),
Shannon said:

Hey, congratulations to you both. I’m very happy for you. That was so sad when you thought you wouldn’t get it. How exciting. The pictures are great. It looks like it has a lot of character.
Denise and I had a great time. Thanks for having us over. I enjoyed the cd too. Thanks again.
Well, I wish you the best of luck with the closing. Hope everything goes well.
Keep us posted!



On 11 May 2004 (10:04 PM),
ElizabethSwartzendruber said:

J.D. AND KRIS the house is absolutely beautiful. When after the 15th are you moving? I would love come see it sometime so let me know your new address and phone number.



On 18 February 2005 (07:07 PM),
nelina said:

hi
nice to meet you i want to know is this house has a basment an 4 or 5 bedroon and at less 2 bathroon please let me know i really want to know i need to buy a house i have looking for a house for months

4027044

Sometimes you don’t know what you’re looking for — or even that you’re looking — until the object of your desire appears unexpectedly before you.

What do you do then?

Do you cling to your old, safe life, the life of the known and the familiar, the life that always seems a little hollow?

Or do you take a risk? Take a chance on what might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?

Do you listen to your conscience, to the voice of reason, to your friends? Or do you jump at the chance to pursue a dream, succumb to love at first sight?

Maybe, in the past, you waited, took the safe path.

Not now.

You know what it’s like to taste a dream deferred. You want to know what it tastes like to taste the dream realized. Though you know you’re playing out of your league, you move as quickly as possible, pour all of your love and time and attention into your dream.

You give your best effort.

And then you wait.

You wait because your dream is in somebody else’s hands.

You wait.

Your heart sweats. Your body shakes. You can’t sleep. You can’t eat. Your throat is tight — you can’t breathe.

You are chasing a dream.

Comments


On 07 May 2004 (07:54 AM),
J.D. said:

If you discover the answer to my riddle — and some of you will probably figure it out quickly — please do not share. Just sit smugly satisfied in the knowledge that you know what the hell I’m talking about. (Feel free to post conjecture, but don’t post an actual solution once you discover it.)

I’ll share the whole story some other time.

Meanwhile, discuss your dreams. What does it feel like to take leaps of faith? How much strength does it take to put your heart on the line? When have you done it and been glad? When has your heart been broken?



On 07 May 2004 (08:41 AM),
Lynn said:

So, you bought powerball tickets?



On 07 May 2004 (09:16 AM),
mac said:

is it a mint condition copy of every comic book ever made?



On 07 May 2004 (09:20 AM),
Johnny said:

Uh, you got the call and you’re going to be a Robert Palmer girl?



On 07 May 2004 (09:59 AM),
Denise said:

Well, it’s either something really good, or he’s got the DTs.



On 07 May 2004 (10:34 AM),
Dana said:

Johnny:Uh, you got the call and you’re going to be a Robert Palmer girl?

No, that’s my dream, silly =)



On 07 May 2004 (11:22 AM),
Courtney said:

You take a risk, follow your dream, and know that it will turn out as it is meant to.

In 1999, after an incredible heartbreak, I did just that!

First, I completed the Portland Marathon (my first and only so far); next I walked 55 miles in 3 days to raise money and awareness about breast cancer (Avon’s 3-Day in Southern California); then I went to Thailand by myself and celebrated the Y2K New Year.

Taking one risk enabled me to take many more and my life since has been very fulfilling.

Congratulations! I’m very excited for you!! :)



On 07 May 2004 (11:26 AM),
Lynn said:

After wasting 6 years of my life and then getting a divorce (no, I’m not bitter at all), I bought my own house and went back to school. It was scary to start all over and be alone, but it has been very gratifying and has made me a much stronger person.

Go for it, JD!



On 07 May 2004 (12:49 PM),
tammy said:

Okay, I cant stand mysteries! What are talking about? How long do we have to wait to find out? Are you leaving Custom Box for a different job? Have you finally decided to leave Canby and move to the big city? Oh, don’t wait long to tell us! I just can’t handle stuff like this!



On 07 May 2004 (12:58 PM),
anonymous said:

…knock and a door shall be opened unto you, seek and ye shall find…



On 07 May 2004 (01:54 PM),
Dana said:

Okay, everybody — mark your calendar! I agree completely and without reservation with Tammy’s last comment. =)

C’mon, JD — Spill it!



On 07 May 2004 (02:06 PM),
Amanda said:

Maybe it’s just me but the first thing that came to my mind was sci-fi related.

If you’re moving to the big city that sounds way cool!



On 07 May 2004 (02:07 PM),
Yoda said:

Troubling it is; not knowing the truth.

Wait for it you must – my young padwans.

Smug I am; knowing the truth.



On 07 May 2004 (02:15 PM),
Amanda said:

Um, thanks, “Yoda”.

:p



On 07 May 2004 (02:31 PM),
Lynn said:

Ya’ decided neither the sun nor the moonroof was going to cut it so you bought the convertible! Right, Yoda?



On 07 May 2004 (02:35 PM),
Jeff said:

I bet JD & Kris are getting an SUV!



On 07 May 2004 (02:41 PM),
Dana said:

If it really is an SUV, I’d be disappointed in anything less than one of these, really.

I suppose this would satisfy me as well…



On 07 May 2004 (02:43 PM),
Johnny said:

Dana– wanting a Hummer is a very masculine thing (on multiple levels).



On 07 May 2004 (02:54 PM),
Yoda said:

Wanting a Hummer am I. Bigger than the Millenium Falcon are they.

JD I am not. Led you astray, I have.



On 07 May 2004 (02:57 PM),
Dana said:

You misunderstand, Johnny — (sarcasm)I don’t want a Hummer, I want a man in a Hummer! I’d be satisfied with JD getting a Hummer (or a Canyonero, of course)(/sarcasm)

(Which is not to suggest that I want JD, or that any sort of SUV would enhance his attractiveness to me — Don’t worry, Kris! I’m not competition!) =)

(Not to beat a dead horse, but my tongue is firmly in my cheek with all this SUV talk…)



On 07 May 2004 (03:04 PM),
Jeff said:

I know! He is going to organize his CD’s chronologically rather than alphabetically.



On 07 May 2004 (03:22 PM),
J.D. Roth said:

I should note that what you’re feeling is insignificant compared to what I’m feeling. I’m a wreck. I’m pacing the house. I’m unable to focus. I feel as if my life is on hold til I get a response, til I know how the other party feels. I can only hope that everything is resolved by the time Denise gets here for dinner tonight.



On 07 May 2004 (03:53 PM),
Lynn said:

Well, look at it this way: if it turns out bad, you can binge on PCCCs; if it turns out good, you can binge on PCCCs.



On 07 May 2004 (04:44 PM),
J.D. Roth said:

In theory, I’ll know whether I succeeded in chasing my dream in another seventeen minutes. In theory.

And Lynn, I’m going to eat a butt-load of PCCCs tonight. (Assuming Denise brings a butt-load.)



On 07 May 2004 (05:00 PM),
J.D. Roth said:

As my deadline passes, I am utterly nauseated. My pulse is racing. I think I’m going to be sick. When will I know?



On 07 May 2004 (08:47 PM),
tammy said:

When will we know? This is killing me!



On 07 May 2004 (08:48 PM),
tammy said:

I just checked the time on your last post. Jd, you should kow by now. Where are you?