SOLSC 2022 #11 - House and home

It is March 2022 and time for the

 15th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge  

Every single day, for all thirty-one days of March,

writers will share stories.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for creating this supportive community 

of teacher-writers!

Thirty-four (34). Tomorrow. That's how many years we've been married, how long we've lived together in this dear home.

Thirty-one (31). That's how many years ago we added onto our house, creating a new family room/kitchen.

Seven (7). That's how many months it's been since our contractor first drew our attention to the sagging ceiling in our kitchen/family room.

Five (5). That's how many drywall holes that have been cut, as we try to decipher the enormity of work that must be done in order to correct the structural issues in our house. 

Two (2). That's how many times the blueprints have been revised, as the structural engineer and contractor discover more issues. 

Yesterday. That's when the contractor explained in detail the work that must be done. 

One (1). That's how many new steel beams we will be putting in our home. 

That last line is so succinct - wildly oppositional to the grueling mental slog this work has been to date and the work that must yet be done.  Let's be serious: no 'real' work has even started. I hold no false illusions about the future weeks/months of construction being any easier than this discovery phase. 

It's going to get ugly. 

The months that lie ahead will offer lots of great mindfulness practice; I will be an expert by project's completion.

Time to lose myself in a good book!!

284 out of 376 - That's how many pages I have read so far of Sarah Broom's memoir The Yellow House.* What a great read, especially for me at this time. She writes about her family and their home in New Orleans East, and by no means can I compare my situation to this one - her childhood home is completely destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. But throughout the book, Ms. Broom offers such beautiful reflections on 'place' - how the walls that surround us, the ground we walk on, the people we grow alongside, these feed our souls. 

In the midst of my own home falling apart, these words of hers resonate: 

"The family grew into all the spaces of the house: all rooms were multipurpose; all were lived in, the family's traces everywhere. Everything was used; nothing existed solely for show."

"...Mom was convinced. She had grown to believe that the objects contained within a house spoke loudest about the person to whom the things belonged. More than that, she believed that the individual belonged to the things inside the house, to the house itself."

"It could be said, too, my engineer friend told me, speaking more metaphorically than she was comfortable with, that the house was not tethered to its foundation, that what held the house to its foundation of sill on piers, wood on bricks, was the weight of us all in the house, the weight of the house itself, the weight of our things in the house. This is the only explanation I want to accept."

"I said the moment you want to leave is probably when you should try hard to stay."

This poignant memoir is making me think -

I need to write more about my home. I need to write into the emotions that are coming up for me as we do this big fix. More to come! More to come!

*If you are interested in learning a little more about Sarah Broom's The Yellow House, here is a seven minute PBS interview with Sarah Broom. Here, she shares the 'why' behind her work - and offers some insight into her writing and research process.

this is our home

 

The grandkids had spent the night and we were lingering in the kitchen, after a yummy breakfast of Poppa's biscuits and eggs. There were crumbs all over the place, two little faces smeared with blueberries and butter, so many dirty dishes. I thought to myself, this is so divine...will our new kitchen have this cozy, inviting space? Please, let it be! Oh my, when will there actually be a new kitchen? When will we know the full scope of the structural issues with this house?

I think it was October that I wrote a slice of life about our home remodeling, how plans for a new kitchen floor had revealed major structural issues with our house. Well, it's February now. We've had months of thinking and planning, and no real work started. The ceiling has been cut open in two places, to discern exactly what is going on up there - will we need a column for support? Do we need additional beams? The final design of the kitchen is in some ways the least of the concerns - we need to fortify the house structure itself. We have had a "merry-go-round" of the expertise, with our contractor sending varied folks by to check things out. The structural engineer has drawn blueprints; the builder looked at these with skepticism and excellent questions; the kitchen designer has been at an impasse until the need for column(s) is resolved; the contractor has reassured us that the project needs thoughtful, thorough planning, please be patient; more questions have been asked of the engineer; new concerns posed by the builder; around and around and around we go.

Why does everyone come by one by one to talk with us? I lamented. It feels as if "the left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing." This is our home, we need to know what has gone wrong and what needs to be fixed. 

It has been such a frustrating process. 

And then - my prayers were answered.

Just as we were finishing that fabulous breakfast with the kids, the structural engineer called to ask if he could come by again, that very morning, as in, about an hour from now? Our general contractor was coming, too. We weren't about to say "No," no matter the inconvenience. YES! YES! YES! 

So ensued a rapid, unexpected, inconvenient scene change - clear the dishes, wipe down the kids and the counter, ready the baby for her morning nap, let the preschooler watch some television in the back room, get the blueprints, the step ladders, the measuring tape and other tools. Tony and the first guy to arrive took down the plywood panels that are covering the ceiling holes....

Finally, we all put our heads together.

I'm exhausted yet excited - truly. This is as hopeful as we have felt in months. EVERYONE together, everyone looking at the same things at the same time, discussing what to do, and creating a common understanding.  

We take a step in the right direction - we are figuring out this mess of a project TOGETHER. 

That's Tony on the left, totally hands-on

___________________

It's Tuesday and I am participating in the

 Slice of Life.  

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for creating this supportive community 

of teacher-writers!

Home Work

These past few months, we've been living in a rather sad version of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, with one simple home improvement idea (hey, honey, let's get our wood floors refinished!) leading to - unearthing, really - a host of other issues. Isn't this always true of houses? Of teaching? Of any work? One sweet idea and the next thing you know, you are immersed in something tangential, then something else, and else again, on and on.

I've been surprised at how sad I am about the discovery that we have major repairs to make to the existing structure of our home. Yes, truly sad. Quite unexpectedly. 

Here's how I know: when the contractor shared impressive, clear, careful details of the work we must do, I burst into tears as soon as he left our house.

A good friend suggested that I am perhaps feeling a sense of grief, a sense of loss. The more I think about it, I think she is right.

We have an older home (1938). I like to say - "old enough to have problems, not old enough to be anything extraordinary." But, we have loved this home. It's been my home throughout our marriage (my husband bought it before we married) - some 33 years now. It's full of our fixes, our repairs, our "make do's." As one little example, let me share a photo of the kitchen "backsplash" that I painted 25 years ago, because we couldn't afford tile: 

I have been so content with this painted backsplash through the years! Ha! It makes me smile.

Our remodeling will begin any day now (we are waiting on blueprints...). I feel like a young child on the verge of a tantrum when I say: I really don't want to think about the innumerable details of this new work! 

But it is work that must be done. 

These structural repairs mean that a lot of the little, personal touches we labored on through the years will vanish. (Yes, the backsplash, too. I know - the time is past due. I hear you.)  This is why I am feeling such a sense of grief - it feels as if we're tossing aside memories, erasing our life.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I am making peace with the reality that the timeline will be long, inconsistent, unpredictable - as is true with most remodeling projects, but especially during this time of pandemic when every contractor is in hot demand and working on several things at once.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I remind myself, it's a good life, right? We are so blessed. Change is always, change is constant, change is needed.  

Of all the unforeseen and unfortunate problems in the world, this is a good problem to have. Quit my bellyaching!

Breathe in, breathe out.

Realizing I am feeling grief, I decided to work my way out of my blues. Action is needed! We "popcorned" ideas about things that need to be done around the house that are NOT this structural issue, that do not require a professional, that we can do ourselves. We came up with quite a list, big and small things. (Think - painting projects, culling belongings/extras, donating furniture and other items we no longer need.) Now, we are chipping away at these - and it feels WONDERFUL. Seriously. It helps to be accomplishing something.

This past week, we repainted four radiators (before the onset of cold weather). Here's a 'before and after':

BEFORE

AFTER - 

(Yes, there is a goof of paint on the tile above the right corner. 

Thank goodness for "Goof Off"!)

It also helps to write poetry - ha! Just yesterday, EthicalELA offered the inspiration to write an "Abecedarian" poem. I thought about our house and its overwhelming but necessary repairs, and an A-Z poem just flowed out of me. I love it when writing just tumbles forth, as if a release valve has been opened. Yes, it was truly a release. 

I guess the truth of it is, remodeling doesn't soothe my soul...I'd rather be writing.

Falling Apart Alphabetically

Absolutely excited to 

begin home improvements, the

contractor was summoned to

develop a plan of action.

Emotionally unprepared I was

for his first question,

Goodness, why is your ceiling sagging?

How is it that we never noticed?

I have asked this many times since.

Jarringly, it is all we see now.

Knowledge is sight, I suppose.

Lamentations aside, we have

mustered courage (though

nerves and tears still rule on many days) and we’re

opening ceilings

paying for blueprints

querying engineers contractors designers websites friends 

rapidly learning about beams and 

structures and foundations.

Things fall apart. Yes, indeed.

Unexpected challenges and loss, it is said, may also reap

very real opportunities, silver linings, transformation -

wisdom I should print on index cards or

xerox and post everywhere, reminding, as we

yearn for this work to be done, it simply

zigs and zags, ebbs and flows, starts and stalls.

___________________

It's Tuesday and I am participating in the

 Slice of Life.  

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!