This Damn House - May 2008

The trees are lovely and green. Having the windows open lets in the smell of the lilac from outside. What a wonderful motivator to get back to work on the house. The garden is in, of course, so nothing is necessarily drawing me outdoors. And with such good karma in the new spring life, what could go wrong?

The trees are green, mind you, because water makes them thrive. And those 100 year old trees can't get enough water. Yes, and water can do a number on fresh plants. I have deep fear that the roots are rotting out. Two weeks of rain and little sun mixed with dark top soil resting on clay means i'd do better to grow celery or dispose of mob bodies from South Pilly than grow goddamn green peppers. Full sun? Redefine that when winter brought us two snowstorms total and tomorrow's high is 55 in the city. So i went to work in the house mostly from disgust of my garden. You caught me.

Water does more than kill my garden and embolden the grubs. Over time, lots of time, it can build up just a little moisture through the cracks in plaster. The South facing wall of my house, see, has a couple of cracks. Not too bad, mind you. Or at least they didn't look so with the stucco wall covering.

Remember that stuff? The stucco? There's plenty more.

But i'm getting ahead of myself. The South facing wall is where i found some old newspapers. The exterior walls are two layers of brick thick, then lathe, then plaster. No insulation. Insulation was a pair of long johns when my house was built. Anyway, to stop drafts sometime mid-life for my house, people shoved newspapers between the floor and the wall, which was now separtated as the settling had shifted things some. When i found these newspapers 62 years later, they looked like they had been in a fire for just a few seconds. The heat produced from the sun on the brick had "burned" them very very slowly over time.

I found those newspapers when i was installing my laminate flooring. I was at that again Sunday and today. Over the weekend, i had finally painted that wall i toiled with for so long, removing all of the stucco, wall paper, and paint. It doesn't look brand new, but it'll do. At least that one has no stucco. So with that painting out of the way, i started flooring the hall. I got all the way from the top of the stairs to the end on the South facing side. I had about three partial boards left to go and it would be done. It was getting tight for me to work in such a small space. While bracing myself to pursuade a board into place (which means i pushed my ass to the wall), I heard a very familiar sound. It was like paper ripping.

Now i know what would be funny here. A real, honest to god crotch of the pants ripped out story. With the girls in the ballet class down the street watching me through the window. I'd turn around just in time to see them point and laugh. I'd be mortified! But that would be a different sound. And that story would be funny. And i'm not quite that fat yet. No, this was like the sound i heard for all of those days when i was pulling the stuccoed wall paper off the hallway. See, in the same way the sun slowly burnt that newspaper shoved under the wall, it had also burnt the wallpaper around the places the plaster was cracked. That, mixed with the moisture that had seeped through there...only a little at a time over many many years...weakened the paper so much that my ass tore a huge chunk out of the wall with nary an effort.

I was excited for a moment when i thought i would have that hallway complete. I was certainly disappointed when a new and immeadiate project appeared without my wanting it. I think i'll have a beer and maybe kill the neighbor's dog. Just to relax, you know.

This Damn House - March 2008

Let me warn you. Applying a stucco finish to wallpaper might look nice in the short term. However, someday, and someday soon, a bearded, long-haired man will run his truck into your living room if you follow through. Why such a drastic reaction? There are a number of very strong reasons. Many are too terrible to tell even one's closest friends. But the only reason needed to head off such a stupid decoration scheme is this: only a sledgehammer will undo the damage. Unless, that is, you are an incredibly patient man, such as myself.

Moving on.

The carpets are long gone, as is ten or so layers of lead paint from three windows. And the border of ancient-looking world maps. Kilz the army green walls! Enough of this doom and gloom in the south-facing bedroom. How about a bright and cheery yellow? Or beige? Anything but the remnants of a crazy man's fantasy of being a World War veteran. He wasn't even born until the late sixties.

But the Home Depot offers so much joy. The local version of that company stocks a rather impressive line of American made tools and Green building materials. Lucky, as dust masks don't fit on my face very well.

Then there is the backyard. Spring is in the air and my delusions of being a farmer, er, lust for the outdooors...yes...has gotten me. Two weekends ago I drove twenty miles to pick up from the factory my Mantis electric tiller. Snicker all you like. It's maiden voyage in North Wales impressed the neighbors. Within 45 minutes I had a quarter of my yard turned over. I was drinking whiskey at the time and had to stop for my own safety, of course, but it could have all gone under before our daylight savings sun went down. Yes, the earth was black and smelled like rotting fungus. Perfect.

All for now.