The Past is Always

I am compelled to find things of my past.  The older I get, the more I seek those images and items that remind me of my childhood.  The more I lose the items and the people I once had, the more I long to see them and be reminded of the feelings of comfort and safety and love and mystery and adventure and potential and of hidden worlds where everything that ever was still is.  A nubbly sofa.  A red, round chair.  A green carpet.  Wood ceiling.  Quietly, they wait inside me.  The feelings bubble up and my Daddy is there.  My Mommy is there.  My home is still Home.

Home Improvement Mystery

The video only had forty-seven views, most of which were hers.  Thea watched it again, full screen, headphones this time.

It was an amateur home improvement channel with a husband and wife, Matt and Claire, who had been posting videos for nine months as they renovated their old house.  Only eighteen videos of the usual: touring, cleaning, finding, fixing, tips, mistakes, stray cats.  All of them were live-streamed.  And then the last video, posted a month ago.

MATT (off)    Yes, we're going.

CLAIRE        (waving) Hello!  We're in the pantry today, fixing the floor, which is why I look short.

The camera pans down to show CLAIRE standing between joists.

CLAIRE (cont.)    My feet are in the crawlspace under the pantry where I have been vacuuming and getting ready for us to build supports for the joists.

MATT (off)       Hey, wait, did you hear that?  Was that down there?

CLAIRE            I didn't hear.

CLAIRE leans down a little to listen.  There is a thump.

CLAIRE (cont.)    I heard that!

MATT (off)        That was it!  What is it?

The camera jiggles as MATT sits on the floor, putting his legs into the crawlspace from above.  MATT turns on the flash and the picture takes a dizzying drop as he reaches down, illuminating the small space below.  CLAIRE'S legs are briefly visible before the camera swings to the left.  There is a stone wall with spaces at the top between joists that disappear into the next room.

There is a growling sound, and both MATT and CLAIRE make startled sounds, the camera swings wildly before the feed cuts off.

  

Tiling is Easy!

We need to tile a 3' by 5' exterior landing and a 7' by 9' interior mudroom.

"Tiling is easy," they said.  "Even beginners can do it."

Uh huh.  Just grab some grout and slap those tiles in?  No.  Let me tell what you really need to do:

Secure your sub-floor.  This means knowing where your joists are and nailing the 3/4" plywood down with decking nails (galvanized because they're exterior) every four to eight inches.  We chose six.  Hit each nail ten times because they're looong.  Hit them carefully because they are "twisty" nails and you don't want to bend them because they were expensive.  Strain your arm putting in seventy-plus nails.

Now what about the end of the plywood that has been out in the rain and looks bent and that isn't long enough?  Take it out, replace it, then realize the masonry at the end causes to it stick up and be angled the wrong way (bad in the rain!)  Realize now that nailing into masonry isn't possible with a regular hammer and nail.  Now that it's half nailed in, you don't want to take it out and ruin it.  Figure out how to chip away masonry.  Figure out how to level masonry.  Be sure the sides of your exterior entry have their gaps closed, so nail in boards from underneath and try your hand at filling with thinset cement.

Figure out how to nail through 3/4" plywood and into masonry.  You can use a nail gun that uses blank .22 bullets.  Yeah, you'll have that on-hand, won't you?  Good luck trying to find a place to rent you this weapon.  Try not to shoot a nail through your foot.

Congratulations, you are nowhere near to tiling yet.  You still have to put on the other layers: unmodified thinset, cement board using special screws that also use a special bit, tape, thinset for the tape and screws, liquid waterproofing membrane (priming layer), waterproofing tape on the sides (fiberglass fabric of which there are many, many varieties), more waterproofing membrane (thicker, but not too thick).  One more waterproofing layer.  Let dry thoroughly in between.  One more thing: be sure you didn't screw down that cement board into any joists because you're just asking for your tiles to crack.

STILL not ready!  Install the exterior door.  How?  Youtube.  Dunno.  Probably shims and screws.

Now you're ready, but not for grout.  You're ready for modified thinset.  Unlike the unmodified, this stuff has latex additive and is more flexible.  Yeah, you need the parts under the tile to be able to shift in weather.  Do you need expansion gaps?  What does that even mean?  It means you'll need exterior-rated silicone caulk that matches the color of your grout.  Leave expansion gaps around the perimeter.  Don't worry, it's not really clear how you're supposed to do that.  If your tiling area is very large (over 12'), make an expansion gap or two...somewhere.  I stopped paying attention since our area wasn't that large.

Are we ready yet?  Well, set those tiles using the modified thinset!  Make sure you don't have weird cuts to do leaving weirdly cut tiles in places where you can see them and be irritated forever.  Be sure you install the tiles in straight lines or else be irritated forever.  Did you already consider what orientation you'll be setting your tile?  Straight, diamond, off-centered?  Yeah, you should have tested that long before this point.  You should also have made double sure you have enough tiles by laying them out on the plywood before you did any of this.  Too late now.

Speaking of tiles, I hope they're not ceramic if you're using them outside.  You're just asking for your tiles to fail.  Do you have the kind of tiles that need to be sealed first?  Dunno.  Too much to think about.  Gotta tile this floor before it rains.

Be sure you know how to put that modified thinset on in a way that doesn't leave gaps.  Use the notched trowel that you have chosen with the correct size notches.  What size is that?  1/4" is the most mentioned.  Trowel on the cement board and smear it around, but be sure you use the notches in the trowel to give a final swipe in one direction.  Do not swirl!  Why?  Because you don't want to leave gaps, do you?  "Butter" the back of your tile, too.  It's what the pros do.  Set in your tile.  Wiggle it.  Not too much!  Be sure you've gotten 90% coverage on the back.  How?  Uh... I dunno.  Cross your eyes and make a wish.

Can we grout yet?  Well, did you get the right kind of grout?  You can have premixed, cement, or epoxy.  Premixed is fantastic...unless you look at the reviews of the many people who vehemently hate it.  It doesn't need to be sealed, but you have three seconds to wipe it off the face of the tile before it sets forever.  Cement is the most used, but you need to seal it (and reseal it periodically) with yet another product and you can't touch the product to the tile or you will discolor it forever.  Cement is also water-permeable.  Epoxy is waterproof and it doesn't need to be sealed ever.  It is also fast-setting, you have to mix it in exact proportions, and it discolors when exposed to sunlight.  Oh yeah, you must also choose the color of your grout in the poor light of your local hardware airplane hanger.  What are the chances we can use the same grout for the tiles outside (green) and the tiles inside (creamish)?  Slim to none.

Did I also mention you need a "float" (there will be at least five choices.  Take the cheapest), a chamois (recommended over a sponge), a giant mixing tool that goes on your drill, buckets, spacers (you must know how wide you want your grout), and a rubber mallet?  Oh, yeah, you need all those, too.

Hold on...did you think about what you do at the end, just above the exterior steps?  Drip edge and a bullnose?  Or did you need "stairnose"?  Nobody's heard of stairnose at the local hardware stores.  Order it and get it in a week or three.  How else will you keep the end from crumbling off?  

Yes, you can grout now.  As long as you followed all the directions on everything and waited the correct length of time for whatever and whatever to set for however.  Grout your heart out.  But read the directions!  It's good to have a partner to help you wipe or else you'll be very, very sad.  Make small grout batches.  Work in small sections.  Get the grout in good.  Get it in evenly.  If you needed to mix the grout, did you mix it the same every time?  If not, your grout color will come out patchy and weird.  Did I mention you want a grout rated for "no efflorescence" if tiling outside?  I didn't?  What does it mean?  Who knows.  Make another wish.

Congratulations: you have tiled.  Wasn't that easy?

Homeless Homeowners

It is possible to own a home and be homeless.  We're about to do it!  Here's how:

We do not have enough money to get a decent mortgage for a decent house.  We were also too poor to carry cash to a city tax auction and compete with contractors and "investors" for dregs.  We are, however, clever enough to dig into the system and buy a city tax auction house outside of the auction so we could prepare and get a personal loan to pay for it.  We are also persistent enough to make it work!  However...

The city said the house was in "normal" condition.  It is not.  The city said they had NO inspection reports, they said they did NOT go inside, and they could not tell us anything about the property.  We can tell them that there is no plumbing, no heat, no doorknobs, a roof that needs complete replacement, and a back porch that is dragging off the back of the house.  We have also found out that the only reason the home was boarded over was because of neighbors begging for it--for years.  Lesson learned: the city knew the condition of the house, they let it get worse, and they had the nerve to ask for any money for it.

We love our house!  We spent all our first months, from September to December, cleaning out the garbage, attempting to get contractors to give us estimates, and bringing over boxes of our stuff we won't need right away.  We tried to apply for the grant that would get us just about everything we'd need to fix the house and live in it, but you have to live in the house to get the grant.  ?!?  After a HUGE struggle, we got special house insurance for a house that was being fixed up that was cancelled after a month because they said the house needs to be fixed up and we need to live in it.  ?!?

So we're now renting our apartment, paying for a personal loan, and paying taxes on our house.  We haven't been to the house in over a week because temperatures are less than 10 degrees, and, as you may remember, we have no heat.  The struggles of low-income people to make it out of their low-income living conditions is real.  Really real.  Because what happens when we can't afford to rent?  We use up all the money we've managed to save for fixing our house.  We can't move in if we can't fix it.  We can't get a home equity loan or house insurance or a grant until we live in it.  What do we do?

The plan: visit the department that manages the grants and tell them we're about to become homeless homeowners unless they put us on the grant waiting list (yes, there's still waiting!)  We look to rent a scary-cheap apartment in the same city as our house.  We wait until the temperatures go to above freezing, go back, keep cleaning, keep moving, try to fix more windows, try to remediate the basement ourselves, and maybe even try to dismantle the back porch ourselves.  In the meantime, keep plugging along, trying to increase our income.

Homeless with a home.  In 10 degree weather (lows below zero.  Fahrenheit, in case you were wondering.)  How does it happen?  People like us struggle to get up.  How will we make it work?  Through ingenuity and persistence, like we've always done.

If you had nothing in life but a three-inch piece of string, what would you do with that piece of string and why?

It was Hera's last walk-through of the house she and Frank had shared for the past four years.  Her last chance to pick up what remained of hers, if anything.  She had been moving out for months before she even told Frank she was leaving.  He took it stoically, but he took everything that way.  Four years wasn't that long, but it was her first marriage and her first house.  It was up to Hera to sell the house--Frank owed her too much money to have a stake in it anymore, and he signed it over easily.  It was all so easy to leave.

Hera creaked up the wooden staircase to the second floor, looking at the lumpy, pale blue walls.  While she had been occupied doing laundry in the basement, Frank started pulling off the cheap wall paneling against her wishes.  By the time she heard the racket, he was too far along to put it back.  Frank left the panels in the hallway and stopped his unwanted project forcing Hera to pound out the tiny nails, haul the panels to the garbage, and pull the remaining panels off the living room, the parlor, and the rest of the stairwell.  Hera had to repair the damaged plaster the panels were hiding--the whole reason she didn't want them off--before sanding, painting, painting and repainting.

The bedrooms on the second floor were empty and smelling of pine floor cleaner.  Hera had to clean up after the ill-advised housemate Frank invited to live with them, only one year after their wedding.  When Peter had finally moved out, he left a pile of garbage, a cat, and a smell that turned out to be impossible to remove completely.

Hera creaked up the final, narrower set of stairs to the attic where she and Frank had their bedroom.  Her steps slowed as she turned the corner and ducked automatically around the angled roof lines.  The room only ever had two temperatures: hot or freezing.  This early evening was hot.  Hera looked around the now empty room.  Frank had taken the bed.  She knew he would, but didn't realize he had.  Remembering the long day they had choosing the king-sized monstrosity hit her harder than expected.  Hera hadn't cried much over the end of their marriage--after all, she had been the one to ask for it--but this final walk-though was so... final.  Their bed, their marriage bed, was gone.

Hera gasped in the close heat and fell to her knees in the middle of the attic room.  She sobbed until her head felt too heavy and she pressed it to the Berber carpet they had chosen, another pale blue that he had liked so much.  The knobby carpet pressed into her knees and elbows and forehead, leaving an impression.  Hera cried until she could barely breathe and lay gasping on her side.  She stared at the blank walls, at the closed windows, and at the expanse of carpet her now ex-husband had chosen.  Underneath, she knew there was a note to any future person who would eventually tear up the carpet.  It was a note commemorating their relationship, their love, their wishes for the future.  Hera ran her hand over the carpet, rubbing it like a mother consoling a crying child.  At her sideways angle, Hera saw a loose loop of carpeting.  Feeling drained and bemused, she pulled on it, and a three-inch piece of carpet came away.

Is it better to be good or lucky?

Back in the days of dark brown wood stain and harvest gold wall ovens, when I was young enough to be too short to reach the upper cupboards in the kitchen, I would climb up on the Formica counter in order to peer into the shelves that held the best goodies: Ho-Hos, Oreos, Cheerios, and other various "o" foods they made to entice children.

Normally, when I was done perusing the factory-made food choices, I would sit back on the counter and slide the smaller journey to reunite Zips with peel-and-stick linoleum; however, one day I forgot the routine.  I stood on the edge of the counter, having already set down a can of Spaghetti-Os, and wondered, "Do I sit and slide off, or do I jump?"  I couldn't remember.  Both seemed plausible.  Not wanting to delay and risk being caught on the counter again, the scales in my head tipped to "Jump!"  So I did.

I squatted slightly was in mid, irrevocable thrust when I realized this was the wrong choice.  While my brain knew I chose poorly, my muscles wouldn't get the new message in time and I found myself hovering in the air.

If an alien came to earth how would you show it love?

For more than a week, the nights had been sweltering, the air thick with humidity and not a hint of breeze.  The evening news kept predicting blessed rain, but always at the end of the ten-day forecast.  No matter how close the days crept to the prediction, the rain stayed out of reach.

Naomi wheeled her TV cart to her farmhouse's front window and sat outside to listen to the gentle babble over the sounds of crickets and peepers having sex in the fields and woods that surrounded her for miles.  A gentle stream would usually be heard, but that had dried up close to the start of this unholy summer.  She lay back in the hammock strung from the house to a pillar of the wide porch and wished for a breeze.  Tonight would be another night out here, she thought.  Is it ridiculous to drag out a fan?

The thin, white, over-sized shirt she wore for pajamas was already clinging to her back and chest.  Living alone and so far out in the countryside, her house not even visible from the little-used road, Naomi thought maybe she'd go without, but her natural modesty wouldn't let her stray any further than the already daring nightwear.  She decided on a bowl of ice with a washcloth plus the fan.

Just as she swung her bare feet to the wide-planked porch boards, her television flickered and went out.  Naomi stood still to take stock.  The light in her kitchen was also out.  Conclusion?  She thought in her careful, scientific way.  No fan for me.  People with air conditioners loved to hog electricity, despite the warnings of brownouts and blackouts, and now look where it puts the more environmentally conscious.  In the dark.

Naomi let her eyes adjust.  She plotted out her route to her favorite flashlight, to the linen closet for a washcloth, and finally to her freezer for the quick removal of one tray of ice.  And a metal bowl.  She'd set it on her chest and absorb the chill until she had a bowl of water, but at least she might be able to sleep.  Before she implemented her plan, she was lured off her porch and on the dry dust of the path before her house.  The stars, without any light pollution, were brilliant, and she could see the long, dusty arm of the Milky Way.  It fascinated her as it always did, even though studying the stars was a part of her job.

Pageant Question: Do you think more doors have been opened for you or by you?

"How could you not have explored your entire house yet?"  The dinner party was Gretchen and Hutch's housewarming.  They had bought the house sight unseen, and discovered it had been left full of the previous occupant's belongings, plus quite a few rats and an enormous wasp's nest in the carriage house.  It had taken them three months just to make the bottom floors livable and Hutch, considering himself to be quite the handyman, was planning to gut and replace the ancient kitchen himself.  In celebration of clearing their living room, dining room and twin front parlors, they invited over eight of their closest friends.

Gretchen shrugged her white shoulders in her sleeveless silk jumpsuit.  "I don't know.  We just haven't.  Every room we opened, I've cried over.  You've seen the pictures.  Horrendous!"

"Yes, but Bennett's right," agreed Jessica.  "I couldn't live in a place I didn't look over throoughly.  I mean, what if there was treasure?"

"Or a body," added Marty a glint in his eye.

"Or more rats," said Hutch, opening another bottle of wine.  "I, for one, would like to let sleeping rodents lie until I'm done with the work I have already on my to-do list."

Pageant Question 15: If I were to visit your hometown for one day, what would we do?

The kids in the neighborhood called them "The Fields", but it wasn't just fields; there were trees and creeks and even small hills.  It was Joelle's favorite place to play, with or without anyone else.  Although it was against her parents' wishes, she would often go out to The Fields to play alone, exploring, spying, listening, imagining, building.  While there were many improvised "forts" in the woods, they were group activities.  Joelle was proud to be building one of her own, and she called it her home base.  It was from this base that she intended to do further exploring.

To a nine year old, The Fields were huge, quite possibly never-ending.  Joelle wouldn't connect the fact that they lived on an island with the idea that the woods could not possibly go on forever when there was a river surrounding their town until she was ten, and by then, she had discovered a secret about The Fields no one else knew.

355

It was a complete accident that we were among the first to leave and, therefore, one of the elite group who managed to grab a huge chunk of prime land.  We had so much that we even sold some to a carefully chosen few who we knew would help protect our new acreage.  We were generous enough with them that they didn't turn inward, and they were possessive enough to arm their outward borders.  I was lucky that I knew at least a little about land, and was able to claim some with source water, instead of merely downstream water.  Natural springs would stay clean, but downstream could be blocked, diverted, or even poisoned.

333

The grey spring skies swirled with fast-moving clouds and it was the perfect day to test the Mylar balloon tube.  The tube was six feet long and ten inches across and it would inflate with the strong wind, crinkling and filling until it pulled itself free to sail through the suburban backyards.  Kate ran after her balloon to inflate it again.  No one stopped the eight year old from running over their grass, and there were no fences except for two, much further down the block than she would travel.  Kate snatched up the balloon to fill and release it again, but she paused to look around.  Though not exactly the same, the houses were similar and gave Kate a similar feeling of quiet.  The trees had yet to unfurl leaves, but the grass was a brilliant green.  Dark grey and light grey swirled above.  She felt excitement and adventure around the corner.

313

Imagine a city where more than half its population has left within the past forty years.  The people who remain cannot afford the upkeep of their houses, nor do they even wish to keep them at all.  If a family still lingers in the city, they will dump their home at the first chance.  A house, for example, in the middle of what had been a thriving part of the city, was dumped for $12,000--more than $50,000 less than assessed value, which was already tens of thousands less than what it should have been.  The house was snapped up by professional landlords and stuffed with tenants, including a family of ten in an illegal apartment in the attic.  The attic burned.  The house emptied.  Although it was salvageable, who wanted to invest in a partly burned home on a street where anyone could easily purchase crack?  Windows were broken and the house was pillaged of materials.  Eventually, the grand, 3,500 square foot house, built in the 1800s, was torn down.  A weedy lot remains.

Now, put a natural wonder nearby.  So nearby that in the quiet of the night, from that weedy lot, you can hear the thundering waters of nature, cascading over a mighty cataract.  Welcome to Niagara Falls, New York.

305

They say you can never go home again, and I never believed them.  I thought you couldn't go home only when the place had been plowed under, like my place eventually was, but I couldn't go home a long time before that.  Home had changed.  Okay, I suppose I had, too, but not as much as home had.  I wanted the avocado green carpets.  I wanted the harvest gold appliances.  I wanted the nubby black sofa with the square arms and the squashy throw pillows.  I wanted it to smell like dog.  I wanted the rotary phone to ring and ring and ring.  I wanted it to be the home I remembered, but it wasn't.  It changed, but I wanted it to be the same.

299

Jesse had a thousand dollars in cash in a small fabric purse tied around her neck and tucked into her camisole under her shirt, under her sweater, under her jacket.  She knew she shouldn't keep touching it, announcing to every thief where she had her valuables, but it was almost all the cash she had in the world and she had to keep reassuring herself it was there.

She walked to the convention center from the parking ramp and recognized that most of the people on the street this early in the morning must be going to or coming from the same housing auction.  Nearly all men and nearly all dressed like contractors.  They talked in groups and laughed and stole looks at Jesse as she hurried by.  Jesse imagined all the cash that these people must be holding.  Every person at the auction, pockets stuffed with cash.  More money than she had ever had, carried in fat leather wallets.

The auction was crowded, and the men gathered at the list on the wall, comparing their notes with the properties still remaining.  Jesse only had one house on her list, and she hoped it was enough.  Of all the thousands of homes and properties up for auction, Jesse had painstakingly narrowed it down to this one.  Not idea, certainly, but so much better than where she was.

297

There was no warning.  The front door exploded inside with the force of the battering ram held by the two police officers on the front stoop.  A stream of black-clad officers flowed into the house, spilling into every room.  Amber had been drawing upstairs when she heard the splintering boom and felt the house shake.  As the men were shouting directions and updates to one another, Amber scrambled into her closet, pushing aside clothes and climbing the shelves like a monkey.  She shimmed up the last bit, bare feet pressing one side of the closet, her back bracing on the other, as she shoved the attic hatch open with her head and fingertips.  Amber climbed inside and slid the wood square back into place.  Wasting no time, she scuttled on her hands and knees across the loose plywood over the floor joists, past the tubs of Christmas decorations, the boxes of old tax documents, and the black plastic bags with baby clothes and forgotten linens.  She could hear the men shouting on the second floor now, and she kept pushing further back to the far corner where she knew there was a hidden door behind more boxes, even older than the rest.

287

The house was dark and smelled of mold, but the board over the side door had been loose, so it would do for a night.  Had to be extra careful entering a house at night; not because there might be someone in it, but rather because the floor might be rotted out.  There wasn't anybody in a house on this whole, toothless block.

The floor was solid in what had been the kitchen and still solid into the dining room, living room, and, what, front parlor?  The house was actually rather large and might do with some exploring in the day.  The downstairs would always remain dark, though, because of the boards.  The floor was soft, not because of rot, but rather because of carpeting.  Probably was holding in a lot of the mold smell, too.

275

The Lewis family had lived on Bindle Place for all of Claire's life, plus some years before.  It had undergone many changes since Claire had been brought home twelve years before, but so had she.  She had even grown to complain when a new house was added to the end, eating away at the fields and trees that had been the neighborhood kids' playground.  Not that the kids were quite kids anymore, nor did they play in the fields as they had, though Claire still did.

244

While it wasn't the house they had wanted, it was a house, which seemed a great step up from apartment living.  Despite the lack of running water in the first floor kitchen and the boarded windows across the front, that is.  The pipes had been stolen from the kitchen for the copper, and, like closing the barn door after the cows had left, the city finally secured the windows with plywood shortly after.  Luckily, in this one instance, the robbers had ignored the fact that the house had been converted into a triple.  In all ways, it was bad for the house, excepting that it meant there were two working kitchens.  The home had once been grand, as had the neighborhood, but had been passed from uncaring person to unlucky person to unskilled person through the decades and it was now, like the neighborhood, a shameful wreck.

229

While you love vacation and hating having to leave, it is a relieved return to your heart when you come home again.  As you get closer and closer to home, you note all the small changes that happened while you were away.  The doughnut shop got their new sign.  There's a new convenience store that opened.  The grass in the fields is so long.  It is late in June, getting on towards evening with the sun still setting, red and orange painting the western sky, the air still warm and the crickets and peepers playing out the day when the thrum of the engine finally cuts once you're safely parked in your garage again.  The hard part is unloading the packed-to-the-gills van after being so tired from the trip, but emptying is faster than packing.  The wood floors creak and pop, not having been stepped on in so long.  It smells warm and dusty and like home.  Finally home.

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Your house is a mess, and it depresses you. What are you doing about it? Maybe you want to move, and think that will solve your problems. WRONG! You will simply bring with you your #1 problem: YOU.

Real Living Secret: it doesn't matter where you live. You could be in a cream suburban dream, a hipster's flat, a gleaming mansion or a cardboard box--your life will be exactly the same unless you get to the source of your problem.

There are thousands of books on cleaning up clutter, energizing your house, feng shui-ing the heck out of the cardinal points, detoxification, taming paper tigers, but those are temporary solutions. If you want permanent change, change yourself.

Good News: reading this book is your first step!

Bad News: reading this book won't mean diddly if you don't absorb the information. Stop reading now, and simply reflect on your situation for a day. Reflect on the knowledge that it doesn't matter where you live--YOU will always be there.