Red on Red, Green on Green, White on White, Black on Yellow

July 13, 2014

After 20 days of hot summer weather, I finally went out and bought a thermostat to replace the old one. It got taken off the wall during the painting of the stairwell, and I couldn't find a thermostat for sale in a brick-and-mortar store to save my life. Sears did not have them. Best Buy did not have them. OSH did not have them.

Could have ordered hundreds online with next-day delivery to the store. Of course, I'd have to drive 20 miles each way to get to the store (Home Depot or Lowes). Then, while online yesterday, I took a chance and just entered "thermostat, pasadena, ca."

Lots of repair and installation services popped up and then, Target.

I am not really big on Target, but I will say that the local store has amazing selection (including a supermarket now) and, by gum, after asking three or four store employees, I actually found the wall thermostats, and the one I was looking for was there.

So I went home and read through the instructions over a sandwich, then took about half an hour uninstalling the old one (which was still wired into the wall) and replaced it. It was really rather straightforward: Pull the old wires and label them with the connection they made on the old thermostat (red on red, green on green, white on white and, for some reason, black on yellow). A couple mollies in the wall, connect the wires to the base plate, screw it to the wall, then pop on the new thermostat.

It's programmable. I searched and searched the instruction booklet to find out how to just turn the damn thing on, never mind programming it for seven days of temperature cycles.

Found out how to do that. By this time I'm sweltering, sweat rolling into my eyes. Finally, I got it to turn on and blessed cool air has been my reward for the last hour. And right about now is when I usually open up the house and let the cool evening breezes take over. But just a little while longer with the cool manmade breeze before I open up.

July 24, 2014

Weeks whip by. It seems just yesterday that Kittie and David were down here helping with the remodel with Dave doing a lion's share of the work. We got all the door handles swapped out, the kitchen pulls installed, most of the light fixtures up, and got started on separating/packing stuff for the final clean up.

Of course, Kittie and David left on Sunday (four days ago), but it seems like only yesterday they were here. They're planning a "ninja run" (down to visit and back in 24 hours) this Saturday not just to check my progress, but also to take in cousin Robin's new play at the Odyssey Theater.

On Tuesday, the stair guy showed up to finish off the stair work. Didn't happen. Still have the upstairs thresholds and the stair edge caulking to finish.

This afternoon the electrician is here, putting in the three-way switches (since neither Dave nor I could figure out which wires went where without a voltmeter) and putting up the pendant light over the kitchen sink.

Then next week, Roni will come by with the "finishing guy," who I assume will take care of all the "little things" that are left. (I don't consider replastering a crack in the office ceiling or repainting the bedroom ceiling as "little," but there you have it.

Luckily, I've had Doug and Bob over to check out the work, and they spotted stuff that I had overlooked, so the finish list has gotten a little longer.

Next Tuesday is my 61st birthday. It would be a nice present to have all this work done and have my house back, so that I can sell it to someone else.

Eradication of an Inconvenience

Marcel the cat in silkier, shinier days.

Marcel the cat had an appointment with the infinite today. I made it myself, coaxed him into the cat carrier, took him over to the vets and had him killed. I have to say it that way in order to connect it with the guilt I'm feeling about it. And all this over a cat that I really never liked and he never liked me.

Oh, I developed a warm spot for him in my heart. But he was a biter and a scratcher, and it had to be his way to no way at all. When he would hop up onto the couch to sit next to me, I always made sure there was an obstacle between us, because even placing a paw on my leg could result in his talon-like claws sinking into my flesh.

On the whole, our relationship was a standoff. I can remember how shocked Steve was when I whacked Marcel upside the head the first time he bit me. "If he wants to find out who's boss," I told Steve, "I'm more than happy to show him. And I'll always win, because I'm bigger and smarter, have opposing thumbs and consumer purchasing power."

It took Marcel about two or three years to realize I was not just an interloper in his world. It took him less time to realize that I, unlike Steve, would not put up with his blitzkrieg of biting and slashing out.

As you can see in the photos, he was once a handsome cat, black fur shining. Those who had encountered him in recent months knew about the matted fur on his haunches (he stopped bathing about the time Steve left the house after his fall last September). And after Steve died, Marcel realized that I was the only human on the planet that gave two shakes about him.

I fed him and watered him and cleaned his cat box and brushed him (but only the places he wanted brushed) and made "his chair," where he spent the majority of his time, a soft and comfortable place. When he started peeing and dumping just anywhere he wanted, I was concerned. During the remodel, I dragged the litter box up into the office, along with food and water, so he would not be disturbed by the workers. Then he started throwing up his food about 50 percent of the time. I would chalk it up to all the hubbub of the remodel, except they were rarely upstairs. On top of everything else, it seemed like Marcel was beginning to unwind.

I keep mulling the decision over in my head: Did he really have to die? Well, no cat rescue place I called would take him. The Pasadena Humane Society wouldn't take him because he wasn't adoptable. No one I knew wanted him. He had spent his entire existence being a feline island unto himself, and at the end of his life his isolation was complete. Even Patty, the younger cat, was hesitant and cautious around him, because he would lash out at her (especially since she's getting the attention and affection he wants but I am unwilling to risk proffering).

When I filled out the authorization form at the vet's, I noted that Marcel's birth year was 1997. I was floored. That makes him 17 years old. I've never had a cat last more than 14 years. It made me realize that he'd had a good run, and it was all the more reason I could not drag him a couple thousand miles in the car, cooped up with Patty, and expect him to survive with any sanity left.

On the throw that protects furniture from those claws.

The biggest problem with Marcel, though, was shedding. Especially since he had stopped grooming himself, clumps of fur would fall off him, even though I brushed him daily. I could vacuum the entire house and, within an hour or two, the clumps of hair would start showing up, clinging to the carpet, skittering in a puff of air along the bamboo floors. How could I show the house with cat hair and the smell of fresh cat excrement and urine permeating the air? I'm still rationalizing the death. I'm still asking Steve for forgiveness.

Marcel's favorite hobby was to eat this own hair clumps off the floor or off the rug. He would not take the time or effort to clean himself, you understand, but once he had deposited hair in his environment, all of a sudden he was preoccupied with it. It really bugged me, too, because Patty has taken up the same behavior. Maybe I'll get her some cat grass (which Marcel loved because it made him puke on the spot).

So now I can unfurl the PetTube I purchased for Patty's ride in the back seat to Wisconsin. When I opened it up the first time, Marcel immediately went inside it and pissed all over, then went and dumped in the corner of the bedroom, then pissed all over the paper the painters had put down to protect the carpeting. That, I believe, was my breaking point; that, on top of the stress of having these PEOPLE wandering through my house, leaving the doors wide open, flies buzzing in and out.

We couldn't have the remodel in the autumn, winter or spring, when opening the house doesn't mean having a sauna to live in for the next four weeks. That kind of misery only happens in the hot summer months. And here they are. I just hope this doesn't end up with me trying to drive cross country in the winter months. That would not be fun.

In any case, my most unpleasant chore of the process of selling this house is over: Marcel is with his maker and, if you believe in animal souls, is up in heaven clawing and biting Steve, both of them happy to be reunited again.

Gees: Do I Follow the Light or Not?

"Poltergeist" was on the other evening. I started watching, to count the number of times they say "Carol Ann" in the movie (it's a lot). And as I watched, I realized poor Carol Ann has the same dilemma I do: Do you walk into the light or do you stay away from the light to get where you're going?

Certainly, there's a light at the end of the tunnel for the remodel. After a three-day weekend to decompress from the daily home invasion, I'm feeling much more centered. And Roni came over this morning and went through the house with me. I pointed out stuff that needed touching up/correction, and he was very adamant: "After all is through and the kitchen is in, we go around and fix every little thing that's not right."

So the overall impression taken away from our meeting this morning: The painting will be done this week (I would think in the next two or three days). Then, next week, the kitchen countertop, sink and faucet are installed, then the walk-through with the finishing crew, who will make everything pretty and shiny new. Hopefully, this will all happen before Kittie and David come down for the weekend, so I can employ them in handy tasks around the house.

From out of the blue, the company wanting the newsletter design dropped an e-mail today with lots of stuff for inclusion in the first newsletter. It's all about power grid system control software, so I have absolutely no idea what they're talking about. It's kind of a challenge when they're expecting me to find pictures and graphics to complement the copy. I'm putting something together for them, and I'll have it to them by Wednesday, for sure. It does feel nice to be working on something new and refreshing, even if I don't understand the content of the piece.

Carmen and Miguel Angel are here today. They put a second coat on the bedroom, and I'm hoping that Miguel will get to the kitchen ceiling before they leave, as I'd like to see it once it's taped and mudded and ready for primer and paint. Also, once they get the kitchen painted, things are pretty much finished in the paint department, and I can start putting up the new lights and switching out the hardware. Also there is separating out what goes to storage and what goes into staging the place.

One thing I have finally done is schedule an appointment to kill Marcel. I've tried softer descriptions such as putting him to sleep, putting him down, but my emotional response (and my guilt levels) require me to be honest and say I'm killing the cat because (fill in the blank with any of a dozen reasons why he cannot be a part of this next phase of my life). It's very sad that he had only one person in the world that would tolerate his crap, and to all others he gave no quarter. When that person left, Marcel didn't quite know how to approach me. Now I had to be his friend, because I provided for him, and he knew I wouldn't put up with his bullshit. But I don't like him and he doesn't like me.

So the two of us developed a pact: I fed him and made sure he had water and a clean litter box. I petted him when I could and brushed him when he let me. But, beyond the shedding and yowling and arthritis and filthy matted fur and deafness, I just don't want him in my life. And when he started dumping and pissing anywhere he felt like, a line was crossed: Hard to sell a home when there's fresh cat shit in the corners and the rugs smell like cat piss. So Thursday, 2:30 p.m., Marcel goes in for his final shot.

But I'm feeling guilty because Steve left him behind, and I feel like I should take care of him, no matter how old he gets, how much pain he's in, how unruly is he or how much he drives me up the walls. But I must realize: I did not marry the cat.

Also, I realize that Steve had no allusions about my lack of affection for Marcel, or Marcel's lack of affection for me (for the first two years I lived here, he would lope by and look up at me with an expression that said, "Haven't you left yet?"). But, for me, Marcel's absence is going to make keeping the house clean and tidy so much simpler. And when I think of trying to take both cats cross country in the car, I realize there's no way I want to attempt that; traveling with one will be more than challenging for me.

Speaking of traveling with the cat, I have been scouring the Internet trying to find a back-seat cage for Patty. I don't want her to spend three days in a carrier, so I was looking at alternatives and found this amazing PetTube. It expands to fill the entire back seat, so she'll have lots of room. I unfurled it to let the cats have a look at it, and Marcel had pissed in it within an hour. After I cleaned that up, I collapsed the tube flat and won't bring it out until it's just Patty here. I want her to get use to it as a playhouse type structure (toys inside, maybe hidden treats), so it's not so threatening when she's inside it in the car.

I hear cleaning and packing up behavior below. Carmen and Miguel Angel are taking off now. The bedroom look fabulous. She apologized for not getting to the kitchen yet, but I told her not to worry. They do good work, and as long as all the work gets done well, I'm a patient man.

So the afternoon/evening is mine from here on out. I'm almost at the point where I'm going out and purchasing a new thermostat so I can install it and turn the air conditioning on! But the day is cooling off back into the upper 70s, so there's no immediate need. Maybe tomorrow.

I must remember to give Marcel some tuna Wednesday evening, as it's his favorite (tuna, nor Wednesday).

Holiday Heart

It is a puzzlement. Consternation turns to elucidation.

Carmen left about an hour ago. No work for three days. Quiet. Solitude. Hot damn! I feel as good as the place is starting to look.

The bedroom is done. The office is done. The upstairs bathroom is done. The stairwell is done. The entry is done. The living room is done. All is still disarray and gypsum dust pervades, but there is a quieting voice inside me: They will never be in your bedroom again. They will never be in the office again.

From here on out, it's all limited to the kitchen and numerous DIY projects I am fully capable of doing. The disorientation, anxiety and frustration of the last week have started to melt away as the new look emerges. And it's really cool. I wish Steve could have seen it.

I churned up some soda ice water with my SodaStream and sat back on the not-half-as-cluttered-today patio, as it is cooler outside. I've been living without air conditioning for two weeks now; it started as a hassle, but as long as I have a fan, I'm good. So, I lean back and wait for Roni.

I called Roni this morning and arranged to have him drop by to discuss the unfinished stuff on the job (and also the second payment is due). During the call, he said the sink I wanted wouldn't be delivered until the 14th or 15th, which is just fine with me (to his surprise, I think). He said he'd drop by as soon after 5 as he could.

The delay on the kitchen doesn't bother me: I wanted to have a couple of days to clean up and sort, once again, through donations, things to be stored, things to be tossed, and now, things to be used in the staging of the house (and then shipped with the stored stuff). With the house pre-staged, it will be easier for the cleaning women (the Gang of Four, I call them) to make it sparkle once the kitchen install is finished. And I splurged on a really nice white-and-beige rug that will make everything pop.

So I'm sipping my seltzer on the patio and Roni calls: traffic is horrible, he doesn't know if he can get here, can we get together first thing tomorrow morning and meet about this (are you kidding?)

I told him what I told Carmen as she left: No work on Friday (Independence Day!) She told me her boss was pushing them to finish today, and that just wasn't going to happen. There is significant drywall work on the kitchen ceiling before they can paint. Roni (like Carmen did) asked how about Saturday? Sunday? These new immigrants: they just don't get the concept of the three-day weekend holiday.

The electrician came today, which had been foretold by Sam. I'm guessing the guy is Russian or Lithuanian, not just because of the accent, but he and his assistant had that dour East European fatalism toward everything and everyone. He put the new ceiling fan in the bedroom (which I've done without since Miguel #3 broke the old one over a week ago). The electrician also installed the safety plugs in the kitchen and bathrooms, and the stairwell light, which is about 12 feet above the landing floor.

As for the sconce down the garage stairs, he checked and would have to start tearing open walls to rewire the circuit, so that was nixed. I also decided to forego the recessed light, and leave the simple white cylinder pair presently hanging up there. With the clean white ceiling, they fit in with the new look of the place. And it saves money, too.

So although I have three days ahead of me, digging through piles in every room and closet in the house, cleaning each thing as I box it, I'm feeling happy. I've been wanting to start the process all week, but the piles just migrated from one room to another. Dusting has been a non-concept up to now. Hopefully, it is now an emerging possibility.

So consternation turns to elucidation, and for the first time in days I feel like I will survive this. And with the DIY stuff, it's all puttering kinds of things, so a few at a time is not a problem. In fact, I'm coordinating a DIY day for a weekend when Kittie and David come down to visit. I've invited Bob McBroom over, as well, and hopefully the two handyman heavyweights, along with their sincere assistants, can tear through most of it in a single day.

So here I am and it looks like my goal of getting the house listed the first week in August is still a very good possibility. This is getting more real by the hour.

Happy Independence Day. Blow up something colorful to celebrate!

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!

(Obviously, this post was written this last Sunday.)

It is Sunday, the day of rest. Even though the temperature hit 90° today, I am not attempting to turn on the air conditioner. Like most other disruptive things that have occurred in recent years, the remodel is happening right in the midst of summer, and I'm bracing for the 100° days that will follow this week.

During work on the house, all the windows get opened up. I have had to sit in the office or work in the garage, because these are the only two places in the entire house where the dear little worker munchkins have not overrun. And the day is quickly coming when I'll be kicked out of the office so the de-popcorning and refinishing of the ceiling may take place.

For now, I'm enjoying my one day of solitude, as the days of the previous week were stressful, so say the least.

On Wednesday evening, Steve McCuen left a voicemail inviting me to join him and Roberto, Jeff and Chuck on Saturday evening to see "Citizen Kane" at the old Orpheum theater in downtown L.A. I jumped at the chance, as I haven't been out for an evening with the boys in nearly a year. I left a voicemail saying I'd love to go. Then Thursday came.

The paint crew (sans Carmen) showed up a bit after nine (as they are supposed to per my request not to start before then). They were just getting started on the painting downstairs when a crew showed up to install the bamboo on the stairs. All hell broke loose as they started arguing in Spanish with one another. Miguel comes up to me and says they can't do the stairs while his crew is painting or the wall finish will be ruined with all the dust of the stair installation.

All of a sudden, I'm supposed to make a decision about a situation I can barely understand, as none of the workers are fluent enough in English to explain (though I got the gist of the conflict). I told them, "You have to call Sam [the project manager] and have him sort this out." Miguel dials Carmen (the lead for the paint crew) and chatters at her, then hands me the phone. She repeats in slightly better English than Miguel that the stair people have got to go. I repeat to her, "You have to call Sam. He's paid to take care of these things." I then give Sam a call myself and explain the situation.

Within five minutes, everyone seems to be on the same page, and the flooring guys leave, saying they will be back tomorrow (Friday). Peace returns to the house.

Now it will come as no surprise that I'm still suffering from insomnia. On a good evening, I'll head to bed at 1 a.m., but 3 and 4 are just as likely on any given day. Since the bedroom is a shambles, there is no light in there, no way to relax with a good book before sleep. Everything is crammed into the closet, which makes it next to impossible to retrieve any clothes, much less the laundry basket to do the wash.

Friday morning, about 20 minutes before my alarm is to go off (I'm using the iPhone because my regular alarm clock is stowed somewhere in the closet), the gate buzzer starts going off. I leap out of bed (not to mention a deep REM sleep) and grope around for some clothes to put on, all the while the buzzer bleats downstairs, complaining and demanding. It was the stairs crew, and I said, not too kindly, "You're supposed to show up at 9." They looked like I had whipped them and drawn blood: "No," one replied, "8 o'clock." "Well, get to it," was my unhappy reply. And so they did.

Carmen showed up a bit later, turning her nose up at the flooring crew. She began doing wall prep for Monday, when this rabble doing the stairs would be gone. She also moved a good deal of the furniture crammed into the dining room and crammed it into the living room. The stair guys left around 3 p.m., telling me they would be here on Saturday morning at 8 a.m. to finish the stairs.

The most frustrating thing about this process is the lack of real communication. Like every freaking day, again I have to remind Carmen that all the blinds come down and get tossed: "Everything off the walls and ceilings, no holes or bare spaces underneath lighting fixtures or curtain rods." At one point, she came to me and showed me the valance she was taking down in the dining room. The screws to remove them are hex-head screws with a slot for a screwdriver. This screw has a hex head but no slot. I tried attacking it with needle-nose pliers, but to no avail. Carmen tried pulling it out ("We just patch the hole), but it's drilled into a steel window casing. So now the valance hangs by one screw (because she patched the holes for the other screws and I couldn't put them back in).

These are little things, I keep telling myself; nothing to worry about, they'll be resolved. I expect to have about a dozen little fixes when all is said and done. But right now they seem like traumas to me. I think it's because I can't turn anywhere in the house without seeing disassembly and disarray. I keep trying to envision the end product in my mind's eye. I also reminded myself: tomorrow I get to go out on the town.

Saturday morning, I set the alarm for 7:30 and was up and ready to greet the crew, but they didn't arrive at 8, like they said. Or 9. Or 10.

Around 11:30, Steve McCuen called and I had to back out on the Orpheum outing that evening. If the stair guys show up now, I wouldn't know when they would leave.

They didn't arrive at noon. Or 1. Or 2. Or 3. Then, at 10 to 4, the gate buzzer sounds, and there they are with sheepish grins. With open dismay, I let them in and they get to work.

They are also putting bamboo flooring in the downstairs bath, and I'm thinking to myself, "They'd better take the toilet out first, and not just install the flooring around it"; this is how much I distrusted these guys.

To make a long story short, they left here at 8 p.m., so I was wise to cancel movie night, but I'm feeling really cheated by these assholes. Not only did they steal what I had planned be to a day of rest and leisurely chores, they also ruined my plans for that evening.

After the last ceilings are scraped and the painting is finished and the new counter and sink are installed; once everything is back in its place and stuff gets moved downstairs for donation or storage; when the DIY projects (lighting, switches, handles and some trim painting, etc.). I will feel very good about all the crap I went through to get the place tip top.

Then comes the house cleaning ladies and then keeping the place pristine. It will be like living in a display case while we have open houses and appointments.

(I'm posting this on Wednesday, but wrote the copy above on Sunday evening.)

This week had been just as disruptive as the last. Presently, the painters are up in the office, scraping the ceiling and prepping it for paint. The cats are hiding in the office closet, though their litter box, food and water are in the bedroom. Hopefully, they can hold out until 5 p.m., or they will make the dash to the bedroom and hide in that closet until the hubbub is over.

There is more to tell, but I will leave that for the next entry and get this tome online now.

This is all worth it. This is all worth it. EGBOK. EGBOK.

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.

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?