Thursday, June 26, 2014

You No Pick Color Monday

My living conditions downstairs
Monday was payday for Roni and company: first payment on the remodel job. I had let Miguel #3 in and gone up to take a shower when Roni and Sam showed up. After drying off and getting dressed, we met in the office (the only unaffected room in the house) and discussed the work so far, (removing the popcorn, finishing and painting the ceilings), which is very nicely done.

We added in one more project: we are installing a sconce light on the wall of the basement stairway and replacing the hanging unit upstairs with a recessed light. I wrote out the credit order for them, and then they were off.

Excess stuff exiled to the patio.
This left Miguel #3 by himself. He was working on patching and finishing the ceilings up the stairs and in the bedroom. He caught my attention and said he had brought paint samples, which he put up on the wall. About three minutes after they dried, he wanted to know which colors I picked.

I explained that I had to see them in the evening, too, to make a final choice, so I would tell him tomorrow. He shrugged and went back to finishing the entry and living room ceiling (which look excellent) and priming the ceiling up the stairs.

So modern and inexpensive
That evening I went on an Internet buying spree. I bought matching door handles for all the doors (including regular, "privacy" and the locking kind and deadbolts). I tracked down very inexpensive wide toggle switches and switch plates (so they all match, too); turns out you can pick them up at the Home Depot whenever.

For the bathrooms
Replacing the lighting fixtures was the most expensive, but I still have the originals from the 1980s, so it was time to upgrade. I did very well, budgetwise, and splurged a little on the bathroom lights. Then there's the entry, the dining room, the kitchen light, the light up the stairs, the lights in the bedroom and a new ceiling fan, to boot. (I ordered the ceiling fan and downstairs sconce while Roni was here; that way, they will arrive in time to be installed when the electrician comes.)

Light bar for the entry
In the midst of all this, I remembered to call the bank and warn them about the large charge that Roni would be submitting. I also let them know I was purchasing online, too.

Dining room light
After the lighting was all bought, and after a short break, I dove back in and looked for pulls for the kitchen cabinetry. I was actually under budget, so I also splurged a little (see picture). The beading design on the handle matches that of the cabinets. Finding decent towel bars and toilet paper holders that don't cost of fortune is not easy, but I did manage to locate something tasteful.

Antique bronze cabinet pulls
Roni found a countertop granite with a brownish-pink that matches the current finish on the cabinets, so that saved having to repaint them. I had already picked out the sink and faucet for the kitchen, and the counter installers will bring those with them.

Over kitchen sink
Tuesday came and went with no one coming to work. About 6:30 the buzzer for the security gate rang, but I was upstairs on the toilet and not able to leap up and answer it.

Stairwell light
Today no one showed up, either. I did get several delivery people dropping off the lighting and other online purchases. Also, Jessie showed up. I was supposed to get together with her and Karl for a beer or something (Mary's in D.C. and Karl's bored). I begged off on that in order to be here to receive any packages that might arrive later in the day. So we visited and Jessie broke the news that she had been offered and accepted a new job…in Irvine.

Bedroom track spots
Since this is not her blog, I will not go into the particulars. You will have to go to her blog for details on this life-changing decision of hers. This cyber space is all about me.

So I gave her the nickel tour of the place and she was amazed at all that had been done (mostly removal), with junk piled up and dust everywhere as ample artifacts of the workers' work.

Towel bar and toilet paper dispenser
I had dropped Roni an e-mail, seeing what was going on with the project. I was going to give him a call after Jessie's visit to check on the job's progress and schedule, but I got distracted online. Before I knew it, it was 6:30 and the buzzer for the gate was ringing.

It was Carmen with the paint swatches again, and we nailed down what colors go where and picked the final colors for the bathrooms, bedroom and kitchen. I asked her why no one came the last two days. "Because you no pick color Monday, you no pick color Tuesday," she replied. Ends up, I would have chosen the same colors on Monday before the sun went down.

So the gang's going to be here at 9 a.m. tomorrow (Thursday), bright and early, to paint. While that's going on, I've decided to clean out the garage tomorrow, since I have boxes down there from when I moved in back in 2006. Not only do I want to clean the shelves, I also want to make a holding space for donations and storage. I also want to get the new lighting fixtures, in their boxes, down there so Roni doesn't see them and try to convince me to let him install them…at $100 a pop.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

A Willing Victim of Home Invasion

Presently there are three strangers downstairs pulling my house apart. They have torn the carpeting from the stairs to the upper floor. They are moving everything around downstairs, taking the artwork off the walls and hiding it in the downstairs closet. I didn't expect this to occur until sometime next week, but Roni (the one responsible for this upheaval in my home) brought them in today.

It all started last Monday with a call from a contractor who has been following up with me (us) for about a year now. It was a cold telemarketing call that started it all. Usually I hang up on these guys, but this fellow was so engaging and had such a soft-sell attitude on the phone, I told him we might want to do a little remodeling, and to call in about six months. Sure enough, six months later he was calling "just to check up on your needs." Again, I told him call back in about six months, which I suppose was last Monday, because he called a third time. I said I was interviewing contractors for some remodeling prior to selling the house. We had an appointment set for Tuesday (yesterday) in no time.

Roni showed up for the interview. A 15-year immigrant from Israel, he was friendly, fast talking and enthusiastic without being too pushy. He had an iPhone full of construction shots and video testimonials from previous clients. Most of the work was on a much larger scale than the work needed here, but he said no job is to big or small. In the middle of our "interview," I got a call and used it as an excuse to pop upstairs to the computer and do a quick search of their company. After visiting several sites that ranked contractors, I found the business had a 90-out-of-100 rating on one site and ranked in the top 30 percent of builders nationwide (even higher for California proper, though I forget what the number was) on yet another. And I couldn't find a single complaint, even on the state contractors' website.

I went downstairs and asked to see more of their work. He pulled out a fully prepared folder with before and after shots, obviously photographed by a professional. Roni pushed forward and just started writing an estimate. I noticed his price for the removal of the popcorn ceiling and prepping the walls for paint was exactly the same as the one I had received from a contractor Bob McBroom had recommended. And the cost for painting the place was a little less than another quote.

What really sold me was the fact that Roni would be the supervising contractor, and I didn't have to deal with a number of separate people. "I even bring you samples to the house: you just look and choose." And the fact that his iPhone was filled with so many shots of job sites that even he had trouble locating specific pictures made me realize he was really into what he did.

Stairs and entry before
(with demon cats)
We started with an estimate of $14,250 and, with some wrangling, worked it down to $12,750. I had estimated a budget of $10,500, and I figured the extra two grand was worth it not to have to deal with managing and scheduling multiple contractors. As Roni put it, "You've been through a lot and you need to just sit back and let someone take care of this for you." That made heaps for sense to me. I also reflected on the fact that the two contractors I knew from the chamber of commerce said the job was really too small for them. "If you want to replace the cabinets and appliances in the kitchen, we'd be happy to quote it, but just the countertop; you can find a guy who specializes in that."

Entry and stairs today
So Roni wrote up the contract and I read it over. There was a separate form that listed the specifics of the work to be done. As I read through them both, I realized that there was no mention of the separate form on the main contract. I pointed that out to Roni and he said, "You're right," then wrote down "see attached work order form 1031." He was impressed by that. I think a lot of people sign it without reading the thing.

So, after writing a $1,000 check for the deposit, we parted company, he saying they would come over tomorrow (that is, today) to take a sample of the popcorn on the ceiling to test for asbestos (which they won't find, as it was outlawed before the construction of this place). He said he'd show up at 11 with the project manager, who would be here on a day-to-day basis. Sure enough, I glanced out the window at 10:55 and they were hanging out on the sidewalk, and at 11 sharp they were at the gate, and I let them in.

Upstairs landing looking down the stairs
I showed them the leftover bamboo from the flooring downstairs and Sam (the project manager) said there would be enough there to finish off the floor in the downstairs bathroom. Before I knew it, he was busy ripping up the carpeting on the stairs. Sam said they are now trying to find matching bamboo (or, failing that, matching hardwood) to finish off the stairs. Roni said he was going to a nearby job site where they were just finishing up and bringing back a couple people to begin prepping the downstairs for removing the popcorn and getting ready to paint.

And they've been down there for the past four hours. I went downstairs earlier and offered them (Carmen and Miguel) some cold water, since I was getting some for myself. I'm not sure how long they will be here, but I just realized that I have to take down all the vertical blinds before they start prepping the walls for paint. I'm pretty sure I can manage that myself, but thought I had the weekend to get it done. Carmen (the one with the English, I think) just came up to say they had finished for the day. "We be back tomorrow at 9 a.m." I thanked her for the work, which was substantial: the entryway and the living room are cleared, floors covered and ready for work, with everything piled up in the dining room and out on the patio.

Roni said the entire job would be done by July 14, and at this rate it will probably be earlier, which means I can get the house on the market for sure by the end of July, once the cleaning crew has been through and all the donations are out of the house. He warned me, though, that once they started they would be here from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. every weekday until the job was completed (save the July 4th holiday).

I'm so grateful for all this, no matter how surprising this jump start is. One of the things that made Steve and I such a good couple was that I have a tendency (just like my father) to put things off, to just hang out in the house and procrastinate. Steve was the one who kicked me in the ass and got me moving on things. I think he saw me sitting here and decided to send Roni to kick start my plans and get my life moving forward at a healthy speed.

Now the big question in my mind is: where will I be spending Thanksgiving and Christmas this year?

Friday, June 13, 2014

Resurrection: NOW!

I watched "The Loved One" recently. You might think it would be a rather insensitive film for someone who's grieving, but if that someone is in L.A. with an insight to "the business" that my tenure at the Hollywood Reporter gave me, it's a cathartic laughfest. Steve and I could put each other into fits of laughter by simply working "Mom's Big Tub" into the conversation. If you haven't seen it: See It! If only to get the title of this entry.

Things are plugging along. I'm starting to get quotes on all the work to be done on the place and on the costs of the move. I keep up on the comps' sales prices in Pasadena and the home prices in La Crosse. When I get a quote on the work or the move, I crunch the numbers against my estimate; then I get another quote and recrunch the numbers, and it always turns up the same: This is going to work, with lots of wiggle room left. I'm safe, at least financially. And it looks like the move is going to cost as much as the remodeling to be done on the house. I'll pack the house contents when it's time, but I'm paying someone to do the shlepping.

And I'm contemplating just what's worth shipping. I look at an object, from Furby to furniture, and ask myself two questions: 1) Do I want to take the time to pack this; and 2) Do I want to go through unpacking this at the other end and finding a place for it?

The second question seems to carry more weight than the first, though I'm not sure why. So far, I have a nice haul for Out of the Closet (the local AIDS thrift store chain) to pick up. There's an Ethan Allan corner shelf unit, a desk, a desk chair, a standing paper screen, an end table, even more books, quite a lot of framed artwork and hundreds of CDs and their storage cases.

Another thing I'm not attempting to move is Marcel, the pig-headed 14-year-old cat I inherited from Steve. He sheds worse than a cheap feather boa and he hasn't washed himself in over a year. He's also arthritic and totally deaf, so all he produces are long, loud banshee-like yowls: I communicate with my own sign language (a wave for "hello," flipping the back of a hand for "go away" or "stop"). He's also taken recently to regurgitating his food once he goes upstairs, and on several occasions he has crapped completely outside the litter box.

No one can touch him to do something so wicked as untangle the hair mats that cover his entire hindquarters: he bites hard, and for keeps. Don't attempt to touch his paws, much less trim his talon-like claws: he does not scratch, he rends flesh. He's never liked me and I've never liked him. Since Steve died and I've become sole provider, he's invoked a sort of grudging glasnost. I daily pet his head and brush his back and upper sides (the only regions I'm allowed to brush) and make sure he has food and water, a litter box and two very nice nests, but I have no trust or love for him at all.

I will try to get Pasadena Humane to take him, as they're a no-kill facility; failing that, it's euthanasia. When Steve and I contemplated retiring to Eureka, we both assumed Marcel would have departed long before we made the move. Still, I feel a little guilty not caring for his horrible cat until its last gasp of breath.

I was looking at my calendar today and realized that I have numerous things, both social and realty, listed this month. My insomnia is improving: some days I'm asleep by midnight, others I'm up until 3 or 4 a.m., but don't see the sunrise before going to bed anymore. And the mornings when I wake up in thick depression are fewer and fewer.

I'm coming out of this dark sad place and suddenly realizing I'm semi-retired and that's just fine! As a grieving widower, it's my duty to be in this horrible, lonely repressive place, but I've spent enough time there. I'm ready to be done. Just like I can start beginning (see entry for 05/25/14), this new life chapter, I can also finish ending the last one. The grief needs to be put to rest, the sadness embraced as another texture in my being alive.

Wow. I think I'm emerging from something, like an Addams Family chrysalis cliche.

The one last list that I'm making for the move is the stuff that I don't trust the movers with; stuff I want to take in the car with me. Currently on the list are Patty the cat (who will not harm you), the art glass (including my 80-pound phallic paperweight) and a gathering of the more precious Christmas ornaments. What route I will take or how long it will take to get there I haven't even begun to calculate.

Oh, and Steve's leftovers box will ride along with me, of course.

He always did like a road trip, especially when I drove .

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Do You Want Vindaloo With That?

My emotions are going in so many directions right now I can hardly see straight.

You may or may not know that yesterday was Steve's birthday. I spent the day doing things that Steve would have bugged me to do: get a haircut, get the shopping done, restock cat food and supplies and get the hell out of the house for a change.

I did all these things and felt very good about it. Then, last night, I had a very disturbing nightmare; the first one I've had since Steve died (at least the first one I remember vividly). It had to do with theater and cats and Steve somehow coming back as a kitten and bonding with our cats, all happening in the house area of the theater. There seemed to be Serlingesque overtones to the reincarnation, but nothing upon which I could put my finger. Doesn't sound very scary, I know, but it was terrifying to go through it.

In the dream, Steve fell down a flight of stairs and died, and some folks thought I had pushed him. Part of the banister was lodged in my right side, which was somehow proof that I didn't, but I couldn't convince some people. Oh, my: get me to a therapist, stat. It was also the first time in months that I really sweated in my sleep, almost like I broke a fever, and perhaps that's not too far from wrong. And I'm wondering, did Steve have a hand in this? The whole experience was meaningful in some abstract, symbolic, spiritual way. Somehow, I feel progress has been made somewhere in my life or my soul. (We humans are such a superstitious lot.)

I had my first contractor coming over this morning around 10, a drywall guy recommended by Bob McBroom (Steve's ex and one of the few people to really be there for me all these months). He was a drywall guy, so it was a fairly quick tour of the house: Pull down the popcorn on the ceilings, finish off the tray ceiling in the kitchen, patch a couple cracks in the bedroom walls. (I just got his estimate by e-mail: $2750, including closet ceilings.) I guess I'm going to have to get used to strangers tramping in and out of the house for the next couple months.

Before Kevin (the drywall guy) showed up, I got a telemarketing call for Steve. I have a love-hate thing going on with telemarketers these days. They call and ask for Gary (none of his friends ever called him that) and I say, as coldly as possible, "Gary's dead." Then on of three things happen: 1) the caller expresses their regret at my loss and hangs up or; 2) they offer condolences and ask if I'm the new homeowner, then go into their pitch or; 3) they just hang up.

This guy, obviously calling from the dark subcontinent of India, started asking when he died, said he was a friend of Gary and this was a personal call. I started confronting him about the information he wanted and asked what the call was about. He asked my name and I said it was Mark. Then I asked his name and he said "Dwayne." Yeah, Dwayne the hindu. Dwayne the global telemarketer. Dwayne the bathtub, I'm dwowning. Dwayne the asshole (and is there a more universal human state than that?).

Usually I play a bit with these telemarketers, much like a cat playing with a cornered mouse, then hang up. This guy was obnoxious. This guy got me. I was fuming when I hung up the phone. I guess cruelty in any form or degree eventually comes back to bite you in the ass. And I realized our call had been just like a colonoscope: fiber optics with an asshole on each end.

Well, enough of that. Next comes painters, then comes flooring guys, then comes movers. Estimates and quotes and finally a budget, hopefully to take me through escrow, which I have an ugly feeling is going to hit just about in the dead of winter (not a problem here, but a definite factor on the Wisconsin end of things). Whatever happens happens. I just want to take it a day at a time and pray everything unfolds as it should.

As for my Days to Deal With, next up is our anniversary in August, then the anniversary of his death in October. Will the house be on the market by that time? I hope so. Once escrow closes and I'm flush once more, I'm sure I'll know what to do next. There are lots of steps between here and there, and I can only deal with them one at a time.

But things are good, considering. As the vanity license plate on the car I inherited from Steve says, "OK TODAY."

Friday, June 6, 2014

From Here to There and Back Again

Visiting on the Central Coast is so confusing. And wonderful. And a tiny bit sad.

I drove up to visit, among others, my sister Kittie and her husband David. I stay at the Motel 6 when I'm up there because it's cheapest and I'm not on vacation, so the surroundings while I sleep are not of too much concern to me. And it's cheap.

Arrangement of objects with no apparent function
It's only fair. Kittie and David have been coming down to Pasadena every other weekend since Steve died. At times, their arrival was the only thing that saved me from insanity, I'm sure. (Well, maybe just delirium). I have promised the first opportunity, I'd come up. They were having a stay-cation last week, so I visited from Sunday to Wednesday.

Even though I wasn't staying with them (the house is small!), I did spend the majority of my time with them. It's a neat place; an old "beach cottage" from the middle of the last century, from its looks. They have a corner double lot, which means a big back yard and lots of room in the garage and storage shed for David's STUFF. Some folks might look at it and say he was a hoarder, but this is not so: he spends too much time maintaining and organizing it, and he utilizes stuff when he needs it.

Back yard fountain
The back yard has fruit trees complemented by a lawn of native biomass (a nice way to say well-trimmed weeds), but with this drought gripping everyone, when those with a manicured lawn are paying through the nose to water it, just so it dies slower, their natural approach seems smart to me.

Inside and outside the house, there are things that catch your eye, almost like strolling through a museum of modern art. You have to suspend analysis, intellect and judgment and just encounter the pieces all around you.

From old tanks to temple bells
There are the wind chimes in the front yard fashioned out of old acetylene tanks that strike deep tones reminiscent of a large Japanese prayer bell. They interplay with the tenor tones of the wind chime on the back porch. Then there are things seemingly scattered that, upon closer examination, have been arranged in some eclectic abstraction.

The inside of the house is likewise stocked with an overflow of objects, but arranging the collections makes them valid as collections: there are no piles. The walls are covered with a wild assortment of artwork and the innumerable shelves hold groupings of a dozen different collections: dragons and shoes in every form (from small reproductions to the handles of canape knives), just to mention two.

A line drawing of a woman
done in pipe cleaners
Each and every thing has a story behind it, from the very first gift Dave gave Kittie (a monster pedestal candle) to the dozens and dozens of coffee mugs that hang on the walls (and ceiling!) of the kitchen. The longer I stayed, the more I saw, the more questions I asked. It was really fun.

So after checking into the Motel 6, I drove over to their house, and we ended up ordering Chinese and watching "Cosmos," which we are all following with dedication.

Monday morning Kittie and I went over to visit our nephew CJ and his wife Renee (who I had never met but have been following for several years on Facebook). Unable to join us, David had to go into work (on his vacation) to rebuild the forklift. (He works at a very large printing business). It was obvious he was not happy about this, but my suspicion is saying "no" was not an option just then.

Renee is a very pretty woman with three dogs. This has made it difficult for them to find a place to rent, but she put it out there on Craig's List and landed a roommate situation that seems to be working out nicely. The three dogs are a pit bull (and the sweetest dog ever), a German Shepherd (warm-hearted, with the biggest ears I've ever seen on a dog) and a little rat terrier/chihuahua mix that loves to wear sweaters.

CJ had to leave for work at 1 o'clock, so we got there early enough to visit a little and then have Uncle Mark take them out for breakfast (at a place called Huckleberry's). Good breakfast, great company. But like all visits, it was too short. We dropped Renee and CJ off back at their house, and then checked in on our potential afternoon visit with my longtime friends, Bob and Vena Norton.

Vena has had health problems and was getting adjusted to a peritoneal shunt that she had installed (replaces the need for dialysis but can be tricky to balance out). We called ahead to make sure Vena was in the mood for visitors, since Bob had said the previous night had been a little bumpy. Vena said, sure, come on over, and so we hopped into the car.

When we got there, Bob was almost on his way out the door, having numerous errands to run (it was obvious he was taking advantage of our visit to get them done). Vena looked a little on the tired side, and I could tell she was still adjusting to the shunt, but she was in great spirits.

We spent a long time catching up, since I hadn't seen her for almost five years. I had wanted Vena to officiate at our marriage, but with Prop 8 looming over us, there was no time to coordinate a full-on wedding ceremony. We had said that, when the Supreme Court rules, we would have a real wedding. Unfortunately, the ruling came just after Steve's terminal diagnosis. Sometimes timelines just don't work out.

Heading back home, we took a chance and stopped by the bakery in the village that makes the best chocolate eclairs ever. There was a parking space! They were still open! They had five eclairs left (and we only needed three)! I bought a couple monster macaroons to nibble on watching TV at the motel.

Kittie was talking about putting together a tomato-basil pasta dish at home, but I talked her out of it (it's her vacation, for goodness sake) and took them out for some really good Mexican food at Old Juan's in Oceano. Afterwards was hanging out and visiting (I think "The Big Bang Theory," Kittie's favorite program, was also part of the evening) and eating those wonderful eclairs. Around 10, I headed back to Motel 6. The macaroons were just awful.

Tuesday morning I headed out for another visit, this time with almost-as-longtime friend Lisa Woske. Lisa had sort of been adopted by my mother and Aunt Kit, and she's been a family fixture for years and years. She's also just a really sharp, no-nonsense person, and I always feel energized and grounded by my time with her. Does that make sense? No matter; she is very special to me: My precious. (Well, I had to get a "Lord of the Rings" reference in somewhere or the post title makes no sense!)

We got together at the Budget Cafe, which is a good brunch place, though not as "budget" as it once was, since it's prolonged popularity brought slowly climbing prices. Still, you get really good food, and that's what you're paying for, after all.

I dropped by Kittie and David's in the afternoon and, once again, David was working on the forklift. He popped in and out a couple of times, having to stop and shower and change for a 3 o'clock dental appointment, then returning, putting on the sweaty work clothes again and heading off to work. He was not a happy camper.

Kittie and I just relaxed in the back yard and visited, talked about their efforts to sell their property, along with development plans, to a spec contractor; pulling their equity out and getting a multiple unit building for income in eventual retirement; my plans for selling my house and the process of getting it into shape to show.

Tuesday evening Kittie finally got to do the tomato-basil pasta (which simmered most of the afternoon). It was really-really good; perhaps a tad too much olive oil, but still delicious. Around 10, I said my farewells, as they were going to San Luis Obispo the next morning, spending a day as tourists and staying the night at the Garden Street Inn bed and breakfast. I was heading out by 11 a.m. to beat the rush hour back in L.A.

The drive back on Wednesday was not daunting at all other than being fast (75mph) and crowded. The cats were glad to have me back. I was glad to be back. I nuked a frozen dinner and flaked out. Thursday I slept late, recovering from the stress of re-entering the this-is-not-a-war zone we call L.A. Today I've been reassessing all my lists and plans in light of Realtor Jan's comments and suggestions.

Now I'm looking at everything and asking two things: "Do I want to ship this to Wisconsin?" If the answer is "no," it gets donated. If the answer is "yes," then I ask "Can I pack this away and still live in the house comfortably?" A "yes" answer means I have to start packing for the move.

Box Store, here I come again!