I Said 3 ½ Tons and Whaddya Get?

Another day older and deeper in debt.

Another summer in St. Louis and a new milestone in my life is occurring this week.

Hopefully by this weekend I will have a new air conditioning unit, plus furnace.

I am quite excited about the prospect of more energy efficient appliances, but there’s also a sort of melancholy that’s mixed in. Why would anyone feel any sort of sadness about an old A/C unit and furnace?

Well, part of it has to do with the fact that with the replacing of those appliances, there’s one less thing in the house that’s attached to my parents.

Living in my parents house results in many mixed emotions – sometimes within the same day. With each passing year since my parents passing, Mom in 2001 and Dad in 2004, things get easier. But as much as I have a hard time with reminders that they’re gone, so I have the same problem when those reminders are removed.

The furnace is original to the house. Dad moved into the house in 1968 and the furnace is dated 1958. A 50-year-old furnace that apparently sat around for ten years before the contractor installed the unit. That in itself is amusing, but who has a 50-year-old furnace in their homes now-a-days?

The air conditioner is only about 25 years old. I say ‘only’ like it’s a young whipper-snapper. But I remember the girl who lived across the street coming over after it was installed and how we spent hours (okay, 15 minutes) talking into the unit while it was running, fascinated with the echo the blades caused when it was running. I also remember my poor mother dragging the old ‘landing pad’ that the original A/C unit sat on – which was actually in two equal pieces – from the middle of the back part of the house to the corner of the yard and painstakingly digging out the ground to set the concrete squares into.

Damn if she didn’t get them level, too! This past summer when we were putting a patio for our wedding, several of us dug out and found them. The level was out for the retaining wall bricks we were using and someone checked the concrete squares Mom set so many years ago.

Not bad for a woman who had had two massive strokes. Team Betty all the way!

So I suppose feeling bad that I’m replacing two antiquated appliances is silly, but since I live in a house where I’m surrounded by memories I think that embracing a little nostalgia isn’t TOO bad. After all, I’ll be lucky to get 10, maybe 15, years out of these new units. To channel both of my parents, they don’t make ‘em the way they used to.

But don’t think that I’m not a little giddy about getting new heating and cooling system. It almost makes me feel like a grown up.

Almost.

Maybe I'll feel a bit more mature when the check clears.
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Lost Weekend...

So tired. So weary.

So short.

My posting, that is.

This past weekend I worked a special event at a new hotel downtown that raised an astronomical amount of money for the non-profit agency that employs me. Saturday, I worked from 8:30am to 1 in the morning, thus obliterating any chance of a normal weekend. I got home ‘round 1:30, too tired to be chatty, but too wired to fall asleep… so I jawed Barry’s ear off for about an hour. I was finally able to drift off at 3am, after I was finally able to shut my mind down. But after being ‘on’ for so long, it was tough switching gears. Barry couldn't have been as tolerant as he appeared.

The event was go glamorous and luxe that even I was impressed... and I was working the event! A lot of it had to do with the surroundings. The outside of the hotel is rather hideous, but the inside was amazing. The guest rooms looked like a bedroom and the public areas were just as soothing and clean. Very modern and sleek and Asian-inspired. Loved it. And so did the event-goers. I think it helped them open up the purse strings.

Sunday morning came very early yesterday when my dogs woke me up before 7am. I nearly became a ‘cat only’ household when Lance, my ‘good’ dog, kept pestering me. Mid-morning brought an attempt at a nap, during which I must have fallen asleep – though I can’t remember any dreams. Since I don't remember them, I deny any sleep happened.

I rose from bed a little over an hour later, much more tired than I started out. That made me really mad, but Barry said that naps weren’t always refreshing. But they did help ensure that you slept better at night. Which I did. In fact, I was asleep by 9:15 last night and slept like a babe.

While that won’t happen tonight, I do plan on going to bed once this is posted.

Now, the weekend wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t fall on the heels of a long Wednesday. It was the day that never ended. I got to work at 5:30 to set up for the Board of Directors meeting, worked a full day, then headed over to Tom’s house to change for the baseball game. We won. 6-1. Houston. I think. Again, tired.

But the seats were awesome. Barry got tickets through his employer and gave up his seat. Tom and I enjoyed the company box, complete with a buffet of all-you-can-eat hot dogs and nachos. Hot dogs make me happy and ballpark hot dogs… Doesn’t get much better than that.

So… good company. Good food. Good weather. Great game. A damn long day being downtown – 5:30am to 10pm for all intents and purposes – but I had a blast at work and after. Not something I’d recommend on a regular basis, that’s for sure. But I wasn’t about to give the tickets to someone else just because I had to wake up at 4:30am.

I just don’t think that I’ll ever be inclined to do two uber-long days in less than a week. But for free hot dogs and a good cause, I’ll do what I have to do.

And then recover. Lot's of recovering. 10 years ago, this wouldn't even be an issue. Maybe not even five.

The next few nights I plan on being boring. I’m so excited about that.

But not too excited to sleep.

I hope.
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Watching Paint Dry...

As I write this, it’s about 6:30 in the morning, a little late if I were to be rising to go to work, but not by much. The smell of paint fumes no longer registers, as it’s all I’ve smelled the past few days. The ground is saturated with rain from a sky that has been relentless the past few days. And I am sore in places I didn’t know existed.

Compared to next weekend, where I have work a special event for work on Saturday from 8am to sometime past midnight, the past few days have been almost relaxing.

And no, I’m not living for the weekend of the 7th, where I plan on doing nothing – why do you ask?

Barry and I have been wanting to paint our dining room for months. Maybe even months upon months. But there were a couple of stumbling blocks. Namely, time was a factor. We wanted to knock the room out and not work at it over the course of a few weekends. But there was also the fact that my Mother had put in a small extension wall in an attempt to enclose the kitchen. All it did was create a bottleneck when we had people over and cause delivery persons to curse us when anything had to be brought into the basement. The wall had to go. No sense painting the wall, only to tear it out later.

I tore out the drywall in the extension wall last weekend. Okay, so Barry helped. But I figured, enough talk. But the light switches – and the terrible wiring that went with it – proved to be more than either of us could handle, so we had to wait until this past Friday when Barry’s dad could help. He ever helped Barry take the wall frame out.

Let me back up a little and say that sometimes it’s cool to live in the house I grew up in. Sometimes it’s not. And sometimes it’s trippier than Hell. Coming home Friday and seeing the wall gone – the wall that I have known for about 20 years – with the original linoleum showing… Well, it dawned on me that having super short hair was appropriate because that’s the look I sported before the wall was put in. The more things change and all that.

Saturday came me painting the ceiling and Barry repairing the drywall. I hate painting ceilings, but who doesn’t? But the room is large and connects with the kitchen, so I had to add that to my painting dance card. Thank God, I wasn’t painting the kitchen walls, too!

I now have blisters on my hands and my wrists are still throbbing. Barry couldn’t paint the ceiling because he had neck surgery last September, but I think I have undiagnosed Carpel Tunnel. Barry suggested several times that we should invest in a sprayer, but despite my bitching, there’s something primal about painting. How often do I do physical labor of any real magnitude? While I won’t go so far as to say that I wear the blisters and blanket of soreness across my shoulders as a badge of honor, I will say that it’s satisfying to know that I can see the fruits of my labor every day. So yeah, worth it.

The dining room is now a soft grey. The kitchen, royal blue. The family room, brown, red and rose. The office, green and purple. The bedroom, aqua. I feel like I somehow am going in a new direction.

But the reason for the muted color choice was two-fold for me. I wanted something soothing while I was eating and we were also wanting to do something more architectural with the room. Sleek and mod and all that.

The grey looks amazing.

It’s also kinda cool to have an actual dining room. The house is a three bedroom ranch with a kitchen and two rooms that I grew up with as a living room and family room. Now, I see no difference between a family room and living room except the level of formalness. So not formal. The front room has a chandelier in it and our dining table always sat beneath it, used only when I did homework. It was designated a living room and had dated custom drapes that my Border Collier ate and dated green carpet that I tore out on a whim, only to discover gorgeous hardwood floors beneath. Not so gorgeous now with two dogs, but that’s not the point.

The point is that I got rid of the dining table and after many, many, many furniture arrangements, we now have a very comfortable family room where a room that was barely used once sat. The room that used to be the family room left us with a bit of a conundrum. I got rid of my dining table because I never grew up using it. Now, it seemed like a good idea to get one. To eat at. To have friends over to eat with us. To have friends over to play board games. To set things down on and walk away.

And a dining table would be perfect in the room that now had no purpose. Well, I guess it now had a purpose, huh?

So a little trim work today and some rearranging and we’re in business.

We’re just trying to figure out why the largest room in the house, give or take, has no ceiling light. So almost in business, but that’s a project for another weekend.

Until then, floor lamps are our friend.
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On the Threshold

I’m addicted to home improvement shows. I think it’s because I like to live vicariously through people who have actually taken the step of either demolition of their living space or at least have taken steps to make their homes more livable. Call me a weenie, but I think I would rather rearrange my living space than to make the final leap into altering my physical surroundings. Gads, but I love to rearrange furniture.

However, I see-saw back and forth on being gung ho about doing home improvement or wanting to bury my head in the sand about things that need to get done. Namely, I hate doing projects on my own – except when I don’t. When I had first met my now husband, I was in the process of ripping up the hideous green carpet in the front room. He came by one night after work – he was working until midnight in those days – and we talked for what seemed hours while I slowly peeled back nasty carpet and padding thicker than some mattresses on the market these days. Thank God the hardwood floor beneath was absolutely pristine. My grandmother must have put it down the day she and my father moved in.

Let me clarify…

I inherited the home I grew up in. Yep, the same room that I sit in now, typing away, is the same room where I learned to walk. And where I used to do indoor Easter Egg hunts when it was raining. And where I studied at the dining room table, despite it not really being a dining room. And so many, many more memories that I won’t ramble on about.

And it’s f-ing hard some days. But other days, there’s nothing more awesome than thinking about raising kids in the same house I was raised in. Plus, it’s paid for. I suppose I am very lucky in that regard. In today’s housing market, I don’t have to worry about a house note. And the house is pretty nice, although five animals and two reluctant homeowners make for a less than showcase presentation.

But it’s a three-bedroom ranch-style home that butts up to a creek on the back side of the property. Meaning, no neighbors behind us. Which ROCKS! Not to brag, but I don’t think I could have done much better if I had made the attempt myself. My father bought the house in the late 60’s. I think I recall him telling me that the realtor showed him three houses and he picked the cheapest. Regardless, I’m near major shopping, Intersecting interstate highways, and while I didn’t enjoy my tenure in the school district, it nonetheless is highly ranked. Someday the housing market will improve and I think I’ll do well if we ever decide to sell.

But only if we update the bathrooms and the kitchen. I have gold-flecked white Formica countertops and faux wood grain Formica cabinets in all three rooms. Be not jealous.

Tonight, I recovered the seats of the two bar stools that go with my kitchen table. I suppose it’s really the cats’ table, as their food sits high above the dogs reach. But the fabric that covered the seats was extremely light in color. And solid to boot. So any stains were very visible.

Not any more.

And while it’s certainly not going to increase the value of the home, it is but one step in the right direction of making this place Barry and my own. Someday, we’ll truly – and literally – carve out our own niche here. Until then, lots of little changes can, over time, add up to something big.

Or so I keep telling myself.

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