Home sweet home.

Well, we moved in.  Hooray!!!!!!!!!  But we still have tons to do.  The first couple weeks we still didn't have a functioning bathroom.  That doesn't mean we were heading to "CVS" every few hours to relieve ourselves.  We did, however, have to leave through the front door and enter into the former barber-shop-now-storage-room to take a tinkle.  I can't tell you how much fun that was.  Picture a 3am "nature-call"...you stumble out of bed and then have to fumble with your damn keys.

Maybe you all are wondering, "Why in the world would these two crazy kids move into a house without installing a toilet in the bathroom?"  I have one word for you...grout.  We had not yet grout the floor or wall tile.  This delayed the installation of our toilet.  So during the first few weeks we were peeing in the front room, showering in the bathroom, and brushing our teeth in the kitchen.




We have lived in our new home exactly four weeks and we have accomplished quite a bit but as one of our many contractors has said, "It's the finish work that takes the longest."  There are still traces of pink/putty/flesh-tone but it will all be painted over...I promise.




The kitchen is still what I would call "a disaster".  We don't have a stove and are limited in our counter space.  The organization is questionable.  I often find myself buttering toast or making coffee on a counter that is littered with tools.  William Sonoma, Martha Stewart and any one who works at HGTV would be appalled at the state of our kitchen.  With that in mind I always try to time my hardware store errands early in the morning in hopes of being approached by a home-improvement host.


On the way I practice my shock and giddiness while planning which aisle might I find a kitchen make-over show.  Appliances...no, too obvious.  Lighting...nope, way too "I've done it all this is the last of my shopping."  Faucets...perfect!  I already have the perfect faucet which I bought from Overstock.com.  It's exactly what we need right now...I just have to wait to paint over the orange laminate counter.  You know...so it'll look "better".



I kind of have the feeling that the kitchen will get done later.  In the meantime I need to find a stove and some temporary but not atrocious cabinetry to frame the stove and give us some much needed counter space.  I'm not worried about matching it all...because I plan to paint EVERYTHING.

I've mentioned my day job is a Sign Language Interpreter.  This means that everyday I show up with paint ALL OVER my hands, elbows, in my hair and any number of places I can't see.  The teenagers look at me with disdain or that oh-you-poor-thing-you're-still-painting look.  Truly!  One of my favorite kids asks everyday, "Still painting?  Not finished?"  NOPE.  "Volunteer?" I ask her.  She smiles and with her devilish, beautiful smile she declines.




So we are mostly unpacked.  Everything has found its rightful place and we aren't losing things nearly as often.








But I still make coffee amidst the tools and we have yet to install a proper sink of the bathroom.  Organization is a luxury but a hot shower puts every long day into a rightful perspective.  We cook dinner in the toaster oven or on the grill. We've found countless uses for the plug-in skillet.  I'm fearless when it comes to light fixture installment while Jeff can wield almost any power tool known to man.  I have a new affinity for Grant Wood's American Gothic or Bob Vila on PBS' This Old House, to name a few.






Lastly, the only analogy to which home-ownership seems to relate is marriage.  It takes work and maintenance but when you find that perfect balance it is, and will always remain, home.

Did you say free time...what's that?

So between our full time jobs and this home renovation we have very little free time.  We consider all of our "free time" the hours we get to sleep and the moments we remember to eat.  Jeff has lost around 8lbs over the course of this whole process and lack of free time.  I always seem to remember to eat so I haven't lost a single pound.  If the scale ever reads lower than normal on a given day it's probably because I sweat a little more and haven't consumed my weight in water yet. 

Like I said...we've been busy and the busiest of late was the big move last weekend.  I wouldn't say it was a smooth move because we were at the house painting, tiling, cleaning and prepping for the move and then at the apartment packing, cleaning, purging and prepping for the move.  None of it got done completely and I have to say the move was pretty ugly.  I'm very organized, I have to be because I'm so damn forgetful.  So imagine my frustration when NOTHING is packed and what has been packed is literally thrown into a boxed and taped shut...WITHOUT A LABEL.  But why not complicate this whole mess a little more.  Leading up to last Sunday, Monday and Tuesday's mass exodus, I said it was ugly, we made the bold decision to get the floors refinished.  This decision was weighed in every possible direction. 





Option A: Tearing out the original flooring and laying all new pre-stained hardwood.

Option B: Refinishing just the living, dining and den leaving the hall and bedrooms with the old sub-floor (which we would paint and live with until more money came down the pipe...or is it pike?).

Option C: Laying in new hardwood in the hall and bedrooms and refinishing the entire lot.





If you've read the blog at all in the past couple months you know that we tend to GO BIG.  Meaning we don't half-ass our way through the process and take a flying leap in the abyss of home renovation.  That said you might guess that we chose Option C.  Keep in mind that we made this decision with barely three weeks left until we had to move into the house so it was imperative we find a trustworthy company that could to the work with short notice and efficiently.  Never mind that polyurethane requires a certain amount of dry time or that sanding the floors would take a minimum of three days.  After many bids and a number of follow-ups we found our guy...literally...his name is "Guy".

And he was great!  This Guy called a number of times leading up to their proposed start date to give me a revised time-line.  With the economy in the pooper and the housing industry in the pooper it was easy to get a company out within a matter of days to get the work started.

It's important to note the condition of the floors and the choices we were asked to consider.  These floors are potentially 75+ years old.  They are maple and they are in need of repair.  We love the look of a darker stain, it looks rich and warm and sophisticated.  When we mentioned this to Guy he expressed concern.  Maple is a tight fiber meaning it doesn't tend to absorb stain evenly which could lead to a cloudy or uneven appearance.  We stressed our desire for rich, dark floors and Guy said it could be done.  "It will be a challenge but we will do it."  My flooring hero! 

And boy did he deliver!  They sanded a number of times until the floors we smooth and then massaged a conditioner into the grain and then on their hands and knees the stained and polyethylened.  These floors are gorgeous! 

Things I never knew...does this make me smarter?

Did you know they sell "nipples" at Home Depot.  I certainly thought Jeff was pulling my leg when he said he need to "run out for some nipples".  I now know that these are plumbing components need to attach a sink or toilet to the water line.

Did you know there was such a thing called "bitchathane".  It's an adhesive used to prevent leaks between seams in a bathroom or kitchen.

Did you also know that if you wear overalls you automatically get more attention when you walk into a place like Home Depot...and you get a smirk when you happen to be a five foot tall redhead with said overalls asking where I might find "nipples".  Go there...I did and it was a hoot.

I have also realized that it doesn't matter who signed on the dotted line.  My husband will forever be referred to as "The Homeowner" whenever we get mail.  That'll ruffle a girls feathers.

So the big question is, "Does any of this ridiculous information make me smarter?".  No, but it certainly makes for interesting hardware store conversation.

Now...are you ready to get your minds blown?  We've been busy!




Like I mentioned before, we have finished laying the tile floor in the bathroom.  I have to say it looks awesome!!!!






































We also decided to bring in the big guns and get wood floors installed in the hall, spare bedroom and master bedroom.






















We will have a professional team come in this next week to prepare the existing floor in the living and dining room for a fresh stain and polyurethane coats.  It's going to look UH-MAZING!  


Friends and family have been helping us purge the peach.  Amanda "Priming Princess" Zehavi was here on Thursday while the lovely Annie "Glossy Coat Goddess" Martzell did her magic on Friday. 

 Jeff's parents came back into town to help with painting and the bathroom walls.

 Slowly but surely this ugly duckling is becoming the swan we knew her to be.

Walls...glorious WALLS!

So we've made some progress and I know all eleven of you are chomping at the bit to see our progress.  Hold onto your hats folks 'cause we have.....................walls!

I think it's important to address an analogy that comes to mind when working on a home.  You know how you go to the beach and have a great time but then hours or even days later your finding sand in the darndest places?  Well that is how I feel about the process we have upon us now.  Painting...all the pink, coral, putty, peach, flesh toned wall those stupid owners painted.  But it isn't the walls that make me think of sand getting in my underwear or my ears; no, it's where I am now finding all of that putrid color.  I'm finding it painted in behind the ladder leading to the attic.  I'm finding it in every inch of the hutch or any given built-in.  I'm finding it in every corner and nook of this wonderful house.  I hurt for this house because it was forced to wear this godforsaken color for who-knows-how-long.

The other component of this analogy is where I tend to find paint on me.  Like my mother I tend to wear it home.  In my hair, on my clothes and of course under my nails.  It's only after you exit the shower and your spouse asks why and how you got paint under your pit that you wonder, "how the hell DID I get paint under my pit."

Now I dealing with more than just paint...we're in the world of laying tile.  So that means I'm working with mortar.  That's like cement for a homeowner and I've got that cement EVERYWHERE.  I even found some this morning after my first bout with mortar last night.  It was on my backside for those of you wondering.  Mortar is like glue with sand.  At first I thought this might help "exfoliate" the latex paint off my hands but really it just adds another layer to my body.  Did I mention that I backed up into the mortar bucket.  I had the entire rim smeared across my cute rear end.  Now I feel like I'm sitting on rubble every time I drive home.

On the flip side, I layed the tile floor in our bathroom.  I have never done anything like that before.  I've watched videos on You Tube, read DIY magazines and watched enough HGTV to be considered an ultimate fan. When it came time to actually lay this tile...I did it.  And it looks good.  Even my father-in-law, a retired engineer, was impressed by my tiling prowess.

It ain't my problem...Well it certainly isn't mine. Part 3

Pins and needles.  That was our anxiety level this past week.  When last I updated this blog we were awaiting  DWP to arrive and "exhume" the pipe.  There are a number of discomforts one experiences during a journey like this.  Mine has been discussing our waste management issue (aka: poop), saying pipe and pole without a smirk on my face (yes I'm like a teenage boy sometimes) and lastly using the term "exhume".


This word, "exhume", makes me thoroughly uncomfortable.  When I hear it, I immediately envision one of those museum mummies.  Shriveled, grotesque and seemingly pissed off.  They always have a sneer...their upper lip curled in a way that communicates true distaste, dissatisfaction, or even outright angst for those around it.  So like the word "compromised" I only use "exhume" because it is the word DWP has deemed necessary when describing the next step of this long and involved process.

Like I said before, our new pole location has been determined so it was to my utter surprise when Jeff texts to say DWP is installing the new pole.as in "right at this moment...not next week, not next month, now".  It had been a month.  I knew it was coming but this was Goliath...and I didn't feel prepared for the upcoming fight.  There is still a question of who is responsible.  Hence the need to "exhume".  So I hurry over to the house after work just in time to see the crew, all five of them, hauling this massive pole up into the air and down into the hole.  I record the entire event.  As I am recording a DWP worker comes over to where I am standing.  "For legal proof?" he asked.  "No (yes), I've been curious how in the world you guys are going to install this pole." I lied.  "So were we." he laughed...another one joins our team.  It has proven throughout this process the more humor an individual has, the more likely they will be on Team Radue...not team AC-DWP-SUV.

So I watch and wait and watch some more.  The pole is now installed.  I decide this would be an opportune time to ask more about the pipe and when that part of the issue will be addressed.  I walk right up to the one who "caught" me taping for evidence.  He was surrounded by the rest of the crew.
"Excuse me, when do you think you'll be back to finish the job?"
"We'll be moving over the electric and removing the old pole in the next few days...we have a big job tomorrow so it might not be until the end of the week."
"When you remove the pole, is that when you'll replace the pipe?"  My heart is racing, he hadn't mentioned the pipe or any repair.
"What pipe?"  Oh no!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Your pole is sitting on top of my pipe.  My sewer-line."
"Wait...that's you?  I mean this is the job with the sewer-line issue.  We've heard about you."

There is a chorus, and I mean chorus of grown men gaffawing over the news that they "get" to work on the infamous "pipe and pole" job.  This means either the job has been circling the DWP rumor mill or the crazed redhead as been discussed around the DWP water cooler.  Either way...I'm a bit famous.  We joke and laugh and they explain that they will be the team to return.  They will be digging the hole to check the pipe and determine what to do next.

So we wait and watch some more...days go by before the crew returns.  This time I more prepared.  I introduce myself to one of the workers and ask what they may have found.  They have exposed the pipe and it is indeed "fractured" in both directions.  This means it should be fixed right?  That DWP is responsible?  I can't get a straight answer out of this guy.  Every answer I get is safe and covers his ass like an adult Depends but I can't blame him nor did I expect anything other than vague formalities.  I decide it's time to turn up the charm.  I make one beeline for CVS and buy their entire stock of Gatorade.  Head back to the house and offer the entire team some refreshing beverages.  I figure it worked for the 50's housewife...why not for the crazed redhead.  These guys work hard, very hard.  When I think of Los Angeles City Workers I always pictured rather lazy employees.  After watching these guys put in a solid 8 hours of distressing work in the hot sun on a hot day I have a new found respect for LA City Workers. 

After delivering the drinks I retreat behind the house...I feel excited that we've come this far but anxious to see the pipe fixed, the pole removed and electricity restored.  As I am walking back around the house I noticed a tall gentleman on the lawn.  The city worker whom I spoke to before tells him, "There she is, that's who you need to speak to."  I cautiously approach the man.  He introduces himself and explains that unfortunately they won't be able to complete the job today.  Uh-oh.

"I'm sorry ma'am.  We'll have to finish the pipe tomorrow." he states.
"Tomorrow?"  This means I have to wait another day before we find out who is going to fix this thing?
"We'll have our engineers here first thing in the morning to replace the fractured pipe but then it'll be a few more days before the old pole can be removed."
"You're going to fix the pipe."
"Yes ma'am."  He says this as though this is the only answer.

I barely keep it together as I thank him and ask the standard "cover my ass" questions about pictures and our claim.  This gentleman explains that I can take them now or tomorrow.  Photos taken that afternoon won't adequately show the damage so he suggests waiting until tomorrow and also promised to have the foreman take pictures in the event that I am not here. As we shake hands I look around at the huge crew who's hard at work...I catch a glimpse of one of them as he drinks from the Gatorade.  He tips his hard hat in my direction, a sign of gratitude...I nod and smile hoping to convey my immense thanks for the work they have done.



The following day I hull it to back in time to get pictures.  When I arrive...they're done.  I panic.  Without substantial proof I may not have a legal leg to stand on.  I politely ask where I might find the foreman.  He is sitting in the AC DWP SUV, he can because he's the foreman.  I introduce myself and ask if there are pictures.  He joked that it's "gonna cost me"...I tell him I have a Gatorade with his name on it.  Then this foreman says, "That smile is payment enough."  WOW.  I mean WOW.  I didn't think this fiasco was going to be such a self esteem builder.  Every one of these guys has been a gentleman...it doesn't hurt getting hit on every now and then.  Also, this is LA which means most of these guys are probably aspiring musicians, actors or models.  GORGEOUS.  So if my smile makes this hot afternoon more enjoyable...bring it.  Back to the pictures.  My heart sinks.  Each one merely shows a completed job, the pristine pipe that will carry our waste.  There are no pictures of an exhumed, pissed off pipe...no fractures, shattered bit or pieces. 
"But what about my claim...I need proof."
"Ma'am (I'm getting that more and more these days)...Ma'am, don't take my word for it but if we're out here fixing your pipe and moving our pole...we're as good as guilty.  You have nothing to worry about."

So in the end we got a new pipe and a new pole.  What I have learned most about my city and my new home is that honestly, respect, persistence and a good solid Midwest handshake can get you a lot.  I've also learned that it's the little things.  It's a smile and patience, a polite phone call or a sincere thanks.  It's allowing yourself to be vulnerable without being weak.  And lastly, we're all in this together so if it's hot out there stand in the shade or offer a cool drink.  You'll be surprised what can happen.

It ain't my problem. Well it certainly isn't mine. Part 2

Where did we leave off?  Well, I had just left the DWP's legal office after filing the claim form with our investigator.  Feeling powerful and capable of solving this problem in an afternoon I head to the house to meet the dispatch team.

I waited patiently for a couple hours and then my heroes arrive.  They pull up in the traditional DWP SUV.  I walk right up to these guys, introduce myself with a handshake and look the directly in the eye.  I flash the friendliest and most knowing smile I can fashion.

"Thanks for coming so quickly.  This is the electrical pole and the sewer line that's been compromised runs from this clean-out directly under your pole."  I say "I'm Hubbell Radue."
"Hubble?  That's your first name?"
"Sure is."
"Like the telescope?"
"Guess you'll say "I should have seen this comin'"?"  This evokes a chuckle from Steve, who smiles at my quick wit.  I can tell if I keep this light humor going I might be able to get this guy in my corner.

They survey the pole, they survey the location of the sewer line.  I explain what we discovered with the magical Fisher Price gun from yesterday and I am trying my darndest to get these guys to see my side of the story and fix this "special" problem.  But then they decide to run the pole identification code.

Now, to be clear, there are a number of tags on any given electrical pole.  Our happens to have a tag that read "2008".  We assumed that it had been installed in 2008, that was part of our argument. 

See DWP?  You screwed up three years ago?  It's a miracle it wasn't a prblem before now. 

The reason for the miracle is because this pole was installed in 1989.  Mother-$#*&#@!  Steve explained that the tag was merely an inspection tag.  Inside I am having a little fit but I remember that I still have the wit and humor and power from that red Disney gun.  I turn to Steve with the enthusiasm and charisma of a high school cheerleader.

"Well, certainly the installation of this pole could have done subtle damage that over the years has 'compromised' our pipe."  Smile.  A big toothy smile.  I'm a cute girl.  Not gorgeous like most LA women...but unassuming and darling when I need to be.  I hope that doesn't sound conceited.  I'm like a Tina Fey but not as funny.  I'm like a Sesame Street character...the pink one with overalls and pigtails.  I'm the "cute" one.  Never the "it" girl but her friend who's there to make her prettier friend look gorgeous.  "Gosh Suzanne, how do you get that french roll cuff so perfect?  Do you use Herbal Essence?  I like how it smells but it makes my head itch."  Okay, I'm really just a glorified nerd.  A cute nerd.

I digress. 

Steve sees the enthusiasm and proceeds to assure me that when he was installing pole [insert sexual innuendo] he would occasionally damage existing pipe. While he would always call in for repair, there are other guys in the field who might damage a pipe and leave it be.  And there is always the possibility to cause unseem damage.

Clearly this is still a matter for DWP...don't you think Steve?  Smile...always smiling.

He decides to call for another dispatch team to come out.  Steve doesn't "load pole" anymore, he's purely "wire".  I nod like I'm one of the guys.  I ask him to give dispatch my number and to call when they are on their way.

When he hangs up he asks, "What area code is that?"
"Chicago.  My husband and I can't quite give up our Midwest numbers."
"You're a Chicago gal?  I'm a Chicago gal!"  You read that right, kids.  G-A-L.  I hop on this comment like a tick on a bull.
"I'm sorry, you're a Chicago GAL?" Smirk, smile, toothy grin.  I've got this in the bag!
"You hear this Anthony?"  He calls to his partner, "She's bustin' my balls!"
"Well, what do you expect?  You busted my pipe!"  AHAHAHAHAHA

I wave as they leave.  Then I wait.  The second dispatch team arrives.  Great!  By now I am pretty impressed with myself having managed to get, not one but two, DWP teams to come look at my sewer line.  I walk over with exuberant confidence.  As I am introducing myself and motioning to the pole and the pipe this uninterested DWP worker asks if we can stand in the shade while we talk?  LA-DWP-WUS!  I quickly see this high-maintenance city worker isn't going to be in my corner and I need to cut to the chase.  I hike up the haggle pants and explain for the umpteenth time that day the lurid story of the pole and the pipe.  He explains that he is "water-in" of DWP, not "water out".  Clearly this "ain't my problem".  So he gets out his little Mead notebook, the kind my five year-old self would've used to scribble copious notes, he takes my contact info.  I should get a call the following morning from the Superintendent.  They leave.  I didn't wave.

The following day I hear from the Superintendent.  His name is Thomas, not Tom (note to self, this could be very important to him so call him Thomas, not TOM!!!)  We schedule to meet at the house at 1pm. 

As I am driving from work our contractor calls.  The inspector showed up and photographed the pole.  He made it clear that he thought we had no case.  "That pole was installed in '89, you know."  Wonderful. 

Then Thomas calls to say that he is at the house already and has inspected the pole and pipe location. I appeal to Thomas to wait that I would prefer to speak to him in person.  I know my nature in person is more convincing than on the phone.  My tone is adult, my physique less so...like Meg Ryan in French Kiss, her walk described as that of a woman and also a little girl.  Me.

I arrive and shake hands, smile, thank him for waiting.
"Would you mind if we talk in the shade?"  Uh oh...another one.  CRAP!  We talk and he mentions the age of the pole.
"I understand, Thomas.  But is it not possible for damage to be done?  Even a little bit of damage that might, in fact, "compromise' the pipe."
"Well, anything is possible."
Do I have this man in my corner?  Will he help me?  God help me!!!!  And then...Thomas asks about my area code.
"Chicago." I say...please, please please let this mean something.
"Oh.  I'm from Michigan, originally."
"Really.  What part?" I wait...hoping it's somewhere, anywhere close to Traverse City.
"I little town outside of Traverse City."
YES!
"Do you happen to know Old Misson..." 

Turns out, Thomas' parent live in a little town I always drive through on my way to Neah-ta-wanta (a place my family vacations).  I mention some landmarks along Front Street including a new store friends opened featuring M-22, one of the most beautiful roads along Lake Michigan.  Thomas had a long conversation with his parents trying to determine what it meant.  I explained and encouraged him to stop in the store to say 'hi' to my friends.

"Well Hubbell", he said, "Here is what I'm going to do.  I'm going to move that pole and I'm going to fix your pipe."
OMG.  OMG.  OMG!?!?!?!
He had to say it a few more times as I peppered him with "what if" questions.  We shook hands and I smiled.  A genuine smile that exuded gratitude and awe.
"Oh!  The inspector."  I started to explain.
"What's his name?  I'll shoot him a call and tell him we're taking care of it."

So here we are.  It has been exactly one month since Thomas came out.  The location for the new pole has been marked and ground should break this coming week.  The inspector has requested to be present to take photographs and Thomas will oblige.  So we wait...and when they pull up, we'll shake hands, look them in the eye and smile.

That's a whole lotta....

 What do a large truck, an elephant, a baleen whale, three walrus, and ten horses have in common?

They all weigh approximately six tons.  How does this relate to home improvement?  Well...over the last nine days Jeff, Roger and I have removed six tons of plaster, lath and other debris from our home.

That means we lifted six tons, dragged six tons, threw six tons, hauled six tons or loaded six tons into our PURPLE dumpster.

I can tell you that our home looks bare and almost naked without the plaster lath overalls.  But like a newborn babe this house is going to be wrapped in new, new, new.

Now the headache of prioritizing comes into play.  Our to-do list seems epic so maybe you'd like a glimpse...
 
1.  New wiring/electric throughout the house  (we've hired someone since we don't want anymore "excitement" in our lives)

2.  Insulation of the exterior walls, ceilings and any interior wall needing an extra sound barrier (We are doing this...imagine yourself on a ladder, 9 feet in the air, on a hot July day with fists full of itchy installation.  Volunteers??????  Didn't think so.)

3.  Drywall (My boss' husband and his crew are swooping in to save the day!)

Not to mention:  In the bathroom... -Flooring (sheet rock or another durable and water resistant membrane
-Floor tile
-Frame out wall for shower
-Installation of the tub
-Drywall with water-resistant membrane
-Strip and paint cabinet

-Replace or refurbish cabinet hardware
-Strip and paint built-in medicine cabinet
-Tile wall
-Paint walls (color...I hope)
-Install light fixtures
-Replace vent cover

There's also...

-Purchase and install a new hot water heater
-Sand floors
-Stain floors
-Polyurethane floors
-PAINT INTERIOR OF THE WHOLE  *&#$%#(#)  HOUSE!

And much much more.  Oh!  Did I mention that I accidentally broke a window that will need to be replaced?  WHA!?!?!?!?!  This has been, what many may call, an education.  MAMP!  The flip-side:

-I'm sleeping like a baby.
-My biceps and triceps look HOT!
-I'm coming home cleaner than I have in the past few days since the ceilings came down.
-A day off seems deserved.
-And finally, I am humbled.

The Wall...

This title is both figurative and literal.

Marathon runners will often refer to "the wall".  This is the moment when the runner questions his/her ability to continue or the ultimate fatigue during a race sets in.

I consider this renovation a marathon of sorts; complete with the aforementioned "wall" .  Like a runner, I have moments of euphoria.  As I tear the place apart I feel a sense of "I can do this, I am doing this".  Surely those competitive runners have moments of despair.  Maybe the onset of a blister or a nagging ache that won't quite quit.   I too have those emotions when I find yet another repair that is required.  And, of course, there is the onset of fatigue.  This house is no newborn baby or the 24th mile of the 26.2 mile race but it is mentally and physically tiresome.  So last night I experienced what I would like to deem the "home-renovator's-wall".  I hit that thing like a highway bug on the windshield.  SPLAT!!!!  The figurative title is now in play.  Now, it may very well have been the mounting realization that there is still so much to do.  It may also have been the lack of notable progress.  It's easy to see accomplishment when you open walls and see one another across the 1400 square feet house.  But when you're  stuck in the same 6x6 foot hallway and turn around on yourself again and again like a clumsy ice skater...that, my friend, is not progress.  That spells B-R-E-A-K-D-O-W-N.  I tend to have these moments occasionally.  Jeff says I don't do well in "limbo".  This is not limbo in my opinion.  This is an abyss between start and semi-homemade. 

Remember how I said home renovation can be tiresome?  I don't feel tired...I feel utter exhaustion.  During the day I work as a sign language interpreter at a high school.  Summer school is now in session so my hours are part time.  I rise at 6:30 a.m., out the door by 7:10 and in class by 8...work, work, work and head for the house. It's important to clarify that interpreting is a physical job.  Moving your hands and arms around requires a level of exertion...not to mention the same muscles and joints required in home renovations.  So, like I said, I finish up at school and drive straight for the house.  I get there around 1pm and work until 7 or 8 at night.  If you did the math this amounts to roughly 12 hour days.  I am, by no means, complaining.  This analysis is pertinent when we explore the literal mean for "the wall".  Fatigue has a way of affecting your judgment.  That judgement can be anything from over-exerting yourself or, like me, pinching my index finger between "the wall" and the sledgehammer.  The literal interpretation of this wall is what sent me over the edge today.  I hit the wall literally and figuratively.

Jeff knows my temper.  Bless this man for marrying me...but my father-in-law hasn't seen the wrath that will erupt when I have done something stupid.  My true colors came out.  No expletives, no crying, no screams or wailing...it was a silent, white hot temper that festered as I walked out to the front porch to access my injury.  Like a wounded animal I like to be left alone.  I don't want to be coddled or consoled...I want to berate myself for the stupid move and fester.  Jeff knows to just leave me alone and let me be.  Roger, my father-in-law, didn't know of this.  I didn't snap or yell at him but merely shrugged it off and went back into the house. It was only then that he saw the rage as I kicked the sledge into the air and across the hallway smack into the "wall".  I didn't care that this hurt my foot...this damn inanimate object was partially to blame.

What have I learned from this moment.  At times I'm like a splattered bug, a clumsy skater, or an animal.  More importantly I've learned that you can hit a wall but it is also there to lean on.  A wall can also be something to hold you up.  It carries the weight to the foundation.  Instead of hitting the wall I need to remember sometimes I need to know when enough is enough, pack it in and head home.  It also help to have a cold beer in the fridge...works wonders on all accounts.

I'd love to post the second installment of the sewer-line fiasco but we are going to hold off until more has transpired.  Instead we have decided to load a photo archive of all the shenanigans we have be up to.  Hold on to your hats folks...this is gonna be a bumpy ride.

Remember the nasty carpet and faux wood paneling? 






GONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But now we have crumbing plaster lath, circa 1911 and some questionable wall paper.  So naturally our next step is to tear that sh*t apart.

Hi Karyn.  I see you!

Our amazing friends Karyn and Michael show up to give us a hand.            

Trash.  We hate dumping this in a landfill so we decided to keep it out of plastic bags so that it would break down over time.

It ain't my problem. Well it certainly isn't mine. Part 1

When your toilet doesn't work and your sewer-line isn't passable, you have what one might call, "A problem".  So Mr. Rooter came out a couple nights ago to clear our line and make this blockage a thing of the past.  Eddie, our trusty "cleaner-outer", worked diligently but to no avail.  I was busy keeping company with Mark's wife when I looked out the window to see Eddie shaking his head while speaking to Jeff about the line.  His body language and gestures saying, "You've got a problem."  We know, we were told and that is why we called.  But this is no ordinary problem.  This is a unique problem. I feel like a parent might when their kid is labeled "special".  You know the label...the kid has something to work on, nothing permanent but requiring immediate attention and maybe expensive therapy.  Well, my kid and his problem are "SPECIAL".  Maybe you are asking yourself why...just like we did.

Eddie couldn't get through the guk, try as he might.  So he had to call in the big guns.  His boss. Oscar.  You see, there is this device that they can use to pinpoint the problem area and determine how deep the problem goes...literally. I was expecting to see a sophisticated, massive mechanical tool with all the bells and whistles.  Oscar pulls out a bright red "gun" that looks like something Disney would market a 6 year old for a film like The Incredibles.  There are no bells and certainly no whistles but it "sings" when you get close to the problematic area.  At this point the entire household is on the front lawn watching Oscar locate this "unique" and "special" problem.  Wait for it....

The Department of Water and Power installed a 65 foot electrical pole atop our 100 year old sewer line. 

What this means folks is that LA needs to fix our problem.  But we need to convince them that this is in fact their fault. 
As Oscar explains the logistics of our situation he throws around the term "compromised" like it was the word of the day. 
"When your pipe has been compromised..."
"It appears the pipe was possibly compromised..."
"If a pipe of this age is compromised..."

I quickly realize that this word is going to become my word.  My stone that will hopefully take down Goliath.  It is a precarious predicament when one needs to prove that an entire Department, run by a city, is responsible for an OLD pipe that is no longer working.  Hence the dilemma.  We have to prove that the city is responsible for the repairs that have been estimated around $6200.  That's not chump change, that's a sh*t load of dough.  As a result I was given explicit instructions to go directly to the Public Works building and contest this development, demand repairs to be done by city, and get it done asap so we can flush our toilet because our sewer pipe has been "compromised".

So that is what I did, the next afternoon I headed straight downtown from work.  I pulled a ticket to wait for a verdict that might change the trajectory of this entire adventure.  Unlike the DMV I was called within minutes of arrival but quickly told that it wasn't Public Works' responsibility to fix my pipe but the DWP.  So naturally that would be my next stop.  Memories of college registration and dealing with the Bursar came flooding back and instinct kicked in.  Gotta find who can fix this and hound them 'til they do.

DWP customer service was helpful.  Surprisingly so.  An "emergency" dispatch was called to head to the house and would arrive during a four hour window.  Awesome!  I was also asked to fill out the claim form and send it to the address listed along with any pertinent information to help the investigation.  THE INVESTIGATION?  Your pole is sitting on my pipe.  My pipe that is 100 years old.  Never mind the age, this stuff lasts a lifetime when you don't "compromise" the pipe.

I thank this woman and turn to leave.  Before leaving the building I noticing the claim form address is in this building.  I decide to fill it out and hand it over.  I want to flush my damn toilet.  Within minutes I had the entire security team helping me fill out this claim form.  All six of them put in their two cents.  Who to talk to, how to phrase my problem and then a chorus of "good luck".  I head upstairs to the 3rd floor and enter the legal office for the DWP.  My knees are shaking because I fear I will open my big mouth and say something, anything that might prevent us from getting this sewer pipe fixed. 

Now, I don't know what happened that evening with the red gun or the news that this would cost us $6200, but something happened.  It turns out I have a super power.  I can convince anyone to do anything and do it with a smile on their face.  I'm like a redheaded Christopher Reeves, a shorter version of Ironman.  Maybe the potential of sewage in my home is enough of an incentive but I have a gift and I am going to use it.  Proof, you ask?  I left the office with three things in hand.
1.  A direct contact of the person who will be handling my claim.
2.  A promise from the inspector that he would make immediate calls to get someone over to the house asap.
3.  And a restaurant suggestion for the best Mexican food in Highland Park.

I'm golden.  Not so fast Red, now the real fun begins....

Down under for the big dig...maybe we'll hit China.

I think it is safe to say these last few days have been "productive".  Our amazing contractor, Mark, completed the our problematic sewer-line.  We now have new ABS piping that has replaced all of the old bathroom cast-iron.  The previous owner did replace the clean-out and sewer piping that runs the length of the house down to the street...we will give them credit for this proactive choice.  Well done, previous owners.  As most of you have gathered we are not fond of the multitude of choices these people made or neglected to make over the years.  So the adventures continue.

Jeff, my darling husband, diggin' in for the long haul.  Also know as the poop-shoot, loo-line, sh*tter or  sewer-line.  He's my hero.




So from the looks of this picture, it's hard to get down in there.  Both Jeff and Mark spent the better part of two days in the bowels of our abode.

Mark told Jeff that he needed to demo the wall in our bathroom and clear out the old cast-iron pipes.  No sooner had Jeff heard these sweet, sweet words and he was off like a folly at the race track.

                                                  
And this was the intended damage done. Bu-bye.

This is one of the two clean-out locations on our property. A feature to ensure we have a functioning line.  Unfortunately, this line was still connected to the old system.  It took some digging but eventually the boys hollowed out around the culprit, tied off the old and married in the new.  

Crawl-space, aka: the gnome-hole.    

Supplies.  I have now befriended the local hardware store owner.  Jim and I became better acquainted during an emergency visit.  We needed a plunger; this puts us past the awkward stage.





The next phase to this project was to have a plumbing company come out and clear the line.  We were told by an inspector that the sewer-line closest to the street is clogged, common when an older house sits vacant for a period of time.  We have spoken to our neighbors who have had to do this periodically.  The events that unfolded warrant another blog post.  Coming soon!!!!!