I realize I haven't posted anything since the cat was discovered cowering in the garage. Well, it took a day or two to realize how glad I was to have her back. Being alone, she is often my only companionship for days at a time. Friends (especially married friends) tend to forget about the widows and widowers among them, and fall away socially after a time (who wants to be reminded of death and its emotional aftermath), and I was precluded from attending the one event to which I was invited in months due to the idiots who put in the stairs. ("GET OUT OF MY HOUSE," Wednesday, July 2, 2014 entry.)
No one is willing to come over for even a few hours to help out with things like moving furniture and other two-man chores; they're just too too busy. Everyone, of course, wants to get together for dinner before I leave town, once the tribulations are over. Many of these "friends" were in AA with Steve, and I am shocked at the insincerity and lack of caring that's come from these people. To them I'm not a fellow human, I'm a leftover "normie" spouse, and a theological third wheel.
I was crazy to think a bunch of recovering drunks would extend their compassion to me. Now, if I were an alcoholic or a heroin addict or a meth head who went to three meetings a week, there'd be compassion to spare. I guess if I don't share in their suffering, then they feel no need to share in mine.
By the way, the workers never cleaned the wood glue off of the stairs or the bathroom floor, and I can't get any reply from them, via phone or e-mail, on what solvent to use to clean them myself. The company is called ST Builders Group. Never never never never never hire them to do anything.
The job here was done satisfactorily, but only because I kept making them come back and do it right. Had I not complained, they would have left the shoddy work undone. And the most unsettling thing is they have a great rating and online reviews. I suppose if I were spending an extra $50- or $100,000 on the project, they would have paid a little more attention.
So anybody know how to get dried wood glue off floors? I Googled it and wet hot towels are the most consistent answer I found, but I'm hoping someone knows about a great product that will do it without all the hassle of microwaving wet rags and scraping slowly by hand to get the crap up off the otherwise attractive flooring.
Kittie and David visited the weekend of the 16th, and most of the undone work was picked up. Dave installed the bedroom light fixture (now all are done) and, with a little help from me, we put in a slate floor at the foot of the garage stairs (he cut, glued and placed; I sealed and grouted), so now it matches the entryway floor. The only DIY remodel left is painting the banisters and balustrade white and touching up the paint in the office.
Also, the screens need to be replaced. The old ones never really fit well, and the workers did a great job of destroying them even further when they were here. Then windows cleaned outside (I'm hiring a service for this, since I don't fancy balancing on a 14-foot ladder with a bottle of Windex.)
Happening in parallel with this is packing all non-essential items and gleaning even more donations from the closets. Things are actually starting to pay off, as the bedroom is now clear, the two bathrooms are clear, all ready to be restocked (with the bare essentials only) and staged.
Yesterday I went around to all the drawers and decorative storage boxes and emptied all contents into several cardboard boxes. Today I plan to sort through all that crap, which will leave little else to sort through. Most of what's left in the upstairs closets are big-ticket donations already in the box. The last big packing area is the kitchen: anything I haven't touched in the last six months is being packed or donated (fancy glassware, the crock pot, etc.).
So I'm seeing the end of the tunnel. Once all my stuff is packed and to storage and donations have been picked up, then I can clean the garage and the cleaning women can come and do their magic and make the house sparkle.
This past year has been filled with unpleasant anniversaries: March, Steve's diagnosis; June, his birthday; August, our wedding anniversary. Next month will bring the date of his fall (which was really the day some kind soul should have shot him and put him out of his misery, as he never saw home again); and, in October, the anniversary of his death. These last two—by far the most unpleasant—will fall just about the time I relinquish this house to the open market and the machinations of Realtors.
I plan to take the wedding ring off my finger on the anniversary of his death, put it away in the box in which it arrived or perhaps wear it around my neck. But, at some point, I have to admit that I'm no longer married. All the reasons for my being in L.A. and Pasadena are no more (Steve being the major force keeping me here).
I follow this grand plan of mine in a sort of semi-daze. I'm not engaged with the world around me beyond existence and sharing the same municipal and business facilities of the community. But my heart is wandering. My head has made these big decisions and plans directed toward a new life, but my heart won't be warmed again until I have a new home, new friends and a new community.
So, off to the boxes of junk and a fresh garbage bag: it's amazing what we hold onto.
I shall fill the dumpster this week.
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