Home is Where...Part III

We left off with my near-death experience in the attic, as I felt the fumes from the silicon caulking gradually closing up my sinuses.
OK, maybe that's a little far-fetched.
And we did wait for the rain to come.
It did...and so did water through the leak.
All else failed, so I called Phil.
He was up on the roof for about five minutes if that.
It looked like the water might have come through the Gutter Helmet, he said.
More rain fell.  Each time I shimmied up to the attic to check.
So far so good each time.
There are reasons why Handyman Phil does what he does, and why I do what I do.
I don't have ego problems.  I know when I'm licked.
But now that problem was done and over with.
That way, I could concentrate on renovating the half-bath.
Yeah I know, quit laughing.
It didn't have to be perfect, my wife insisted.  No one was going to see it other than us.
But I kind of wanted it to be PRETTY perfect.  I was thinking future resale value (not that we're planning to move), and I wanted to try and rival the performance of a pro if I could do it.
I wanted to keep it as simple as I could.
New sink, new toilet, new lights, and trim pieces.  Shouldn't be too hard.
We had to forego the medicine cabinet after we determined that we couldn't find one that was an exact replacement for our old one.
So we cleaned up the old medicine cabinet and re-used it.  
After all was said and done, everything worked, save for a slight drip in the sink drain, and all was good for hopefully, the next 20 years.
Hopefully longer.
The toilet and sink I removed had its date of manufacture cast into it.  The year...1957.
55 years of service.  That ain't bad.
Especially when the house was built in 1952.
And by the time my daughter grows up, she'll probably be making her own plans on what to do with the house if she wants to buy it.
That'll be just fine with me.
I still remember the years I spent at my paternal grandparents' home, which they had moved into in 1955.  My grandmother still lives there today, after my grandfather had passed six years ago.
It was like a second home to me.
I could go there at anytime.  Just walk in.  No appointment necessary.
Except on Mondays, when Grandma did her hair, and from 3 to 4pm weekdays, because that's when her 'story' (Guiding Light) was on TV.
Looking at it today, one can probably see things it needs.
A dishwasher.
Some kitchen cabinetry updates.
An upgrade to a dual-basin sink.
Replacing the wood paneling that's through most of the ground floor.
Painting the bedrooms.
New carpeting.
Central air.
Cable TV capability.
But I like it the way it is.
Much of my life and that of my family is wrapped up in that old house.  The same house that came with only two electrical outlets when it was first built.  Then grandpa installed several more.
"There used to be two plugs in this whole place," he'd say.  "There's more than 200 now!"
Grandpa exaggerates a little, but that's just fine.
Because it's still a home, nonetheless.
Plugs be damned.


NEXT WEEK:  I'll Explain Later

Home is where...Part II

With my wife going out of town with her best friend and college roommate for the weekend, and an offer by her family to take care of our daughter, it seemed to be the perfect opportunity to get some things done around the house.
And I had a lot to do.
I had written about the half-bath ceiling problem in my last column.  My wife suggested that if we're going to repair the ceiling, why don't we just remodel it while we're at it?
Not having ever done this before, I thought if she has faith in my abilities, why shouldn't I likewise.
This was the biggest of my home improvement project list that I intended to tackle.
Another one was a 70-foot red oak tree that had fallen in our backyard after a rash of heavy rains had uprooted it.  After no timber brokers wanted to take it (they won't come out for less than about half a dozen trees), it's fallen upon me (pardon the pun) to cut it up.
Half-bath.  Tree.  Pruning the walnut tree in the back yard.  Fixing a leak in the ceiling above the half-bath.  Oh, three loads of laundry needed doing too.
The roof project was to say the least, interesting.
After caulking a leak seam in the attic, I saw there was still dripping afterwards.  I told my dad about it and how difficult it was to access the area.
"Why not get it from the outside," he said.
Uh, I am your son, and you've obviously forgotten I have acrophobia.
But I wasn't going to verbalize those thoughts to a former cop and U.S. Army drill sergeant who built his own home.
So I sucked it up and went up on the roof.
I could find no visible place where water could come in easily.  The shingles were tight against the roof, and there were no signs of breakage.
However, I did see a couple of small areas on the roof that looked like they had been treated with rubber roof caulking.  Armed with my own caulk gun, I re-treated those areas, including a so-called 'no caulk' bit of flashing surrounding the attic vent pipe.  I was bound and determined not to let water get into this house.
Even the water well was shaking with fear.
But I was proud of myself.  I survived my fears of a twenty-foot fall and got down from the ladder without getting hurt.
Then into the attic I went, with my caulk gun, but with some new ammunition.
Silicon caulk...the same stuff I used before.
But I done used my noodle!  I had a system in place this time!
Take some netting and put it across the area to repair.  Then apply the caulk to a Bondo putty scraper and apply it to the repair area.
I had forgotten to consider the fact that I was doing this on a day when it was pushing 90 degrees outside, and it was much hotter in the attic.  Can you see where this is going?
If not, I'll press on.
I felt like I was breathing vinegar.  I had forgotten to consider the dangers of vapor on a hot day in an even hotter attic.
Uh-oh.
Not even the attic fan going at full tilt could have aired this out.
I had just made it to the attic opening before I thought I was going to pass out.
Now wait for the rain...


NEXT WEEK:  Yes, there is a Part III!

Home is where...

...you work the hardest on your day off from your regular job.
My wife brought this to my attention one day a few years ago.
It's true.  It seems like we work harder on the weekends than we do during the week.
Not that we don't do our jobs at our jobs.
Both of us work in offices, and for the most part, do our work at PCs, with occasional trips out of the office on work-related business.
At home, our duties are much more physical.
Managing a three-year-old daughter.  Keeping the house in decent shape.  Washing the mound of laundry that never seems to end.  Running around on errands to do the things we don't have time for during the week.
Keeping the house in decent shape is the big one.
Sometimes I absolutely hate being a homeowner.  Maintenance is one thing that never seems to end.
The grass needs cut.  Hedges need trimmed.  There's a leak in the roof.  Something needs done about that little knuckle of land between the rear sidewalk and the garage.  That vine needs trimmed back from the chimney.  Don't forget the one going up the other side of the house too.  The walnut tree behind the house needs pruning before those branches touching the roof lift the shingles.  The electric meter socket is slowly disintegrating.  Are we ever going to get the basement remodeled?  The water softener needs new 'stuff' in it.
The kid's play set needs stained.  The jambs on the garage doors need painted.  Oh, why is the garage door opener making that clunking noise, honey?
By my own admission, I'm not particularly handy around the house.  I do try to make an effort though.
But I always tell my wife that I don't guarantee success.
We had an episode where the ceiling over our half-bath was leaking until finally wearing a hole.  Not being familiar with the layout of my house (no longer the case), I was unable to find its source.
We got the ceiling re-done.  Then the leak started back up.
I was told by the previous homeowner that the attic could be accessed in the smaller bedroom.  I couldn't find it before.  My latent rage over this lack of control over such a thing finally got the best of me and I went on a quest, more than ever determined to find it.
I yanked open both closet doors, beating on the ceiling in the first one until I was sure I broke my hand.  No luck.  Then I went to the second one and beat even harder.  I felt something give way that didn't quite feel like a hole caused by my own fist.
It was an access panel.  Eureka!
After icing my hand, I went up to the attic and to the area where the leak was believed to have begun.
I saw where it was situated.  Wait till the next rain.
Then it came.  Back to the attic.
Found it.  And it was a doozy.
VERY difficult to get to.
Got some silicone caulk and smeared it into the leak seam.  Still a leak.
I shoved a board under where the drip was just to get through the rainstorm.
My wife was going out of town for the weekend for the annual trip to Chicago with her college roommate and best friend.  With my brother-in-law's family and my in-laws taking my daughter off my hands for a bit, it was a good time to get some of these things done.
Little did I know that this would be an adventure unto itself.


NEXT WEEK:  Part II

A Little Past Forty

Yeah, that's what I am.  A little past forty, but a long way from over the hill.
Sounds like a country song, doesn't it?
Am I that predictable?  Good.
Ronnie McDowell.  Not a chart-buster by any means, but a cute little ditty from 1990.
I like to think I'm a long way from over the hill.
However, my body sometimes disagrees with my mind.
Just last week, I turned 43.  "It's just a number," most people tell me.
Not that I was overly concerned about it.  I like to think I don't look or act my age.
But with each passing year, it becomes painfully obvious (pardon the pun) that what I took for granted all these decades is the groundwork for a cruel reminder of my advancing years.
Case in point...though people are waiting until their later years to have children, take it from me...don't wait as long as me.  Keeping up with a very active three-year-old when you're in your forties is hard.
Someone once said "Growing old ain't for sissies!"
The irony in that statement just kills me.
The good thing is, I still have all of my own hair, and my own teeth, sans a few that were 'enhanced' from root canal work, and other than bloodwork for my annual physical, I'm not on any 'maintenance' plan insofar as medication and whatnot.
My class reunion committee met several times since last fall until our reunion earlier this month.  One of the things we discussed was how late to hold the reunion.
Not one of us suggested going past midnight.
Keep in mind, we're all married working parents with children.  But we like to think we're still hip.
We also try to temper that with reality.
One of our committee members said it best when we settled on 11pm as an appropriate time to end it.
"We're 43...what are we going to do?"
That generated a few chuckles, but she was right.  What are these 40-somethings going to do?
Go on a pub crawl?  Go down to the Strip District and do some clubbing?
Too old for the nightclubs, too young for the bridge club.  That's us.
My wife and I (though she's not yet 40) have a hard time staying up past 10 these days.
Despite that, we still do our hardest work before breakfast.
Getting out of bed.
Hard work indeed, but that's what separates us from the young 'uns.
The fact that we still do it.


NEXT WEEK:  Home Front

Class Dismissed

My most recent column dealt with my 25th high school class reunion.
The planning, the logistics, the event itself, and the day after.
Now the aftermath.
Since we began the planning for this event last fall, the five of us on the planning committee, along with others who helped us out, had worked tirelessly to try and put together the best reunion we could, to ensure that our classmates felt they got their money's worth on Sunday, August 4th.
Now that it's all over, we've been a bit reluctant to break up the party.
Once a month, we managed to set aside a couple hours from our busy lives to discuss planning, which classmates we still had yet to round up, and how we were going to make this year's reunion better than those of years past.
Not an easy task by any means.
But we got through it.
And we set aside time just this past week to have dinner as a group, with a couple of us bringing our spouses along...so they could see that the time we were spending was indeed productive and not just a means of escape where we could drink our wine.
OK, it MIGHT have been that too.
But to a lesser extent.  Trust me on this one.
We discussed the outcome of the reunion, through our own observations.  Which classmates really enjoyed being there, which ones wanted to take part, but for whatever reason, didn't, and even a couple who paid for tickets but didn't make the trip in the end.
And what we did with the leftover desserts.
Here's a hint...some made it into my lunch box the following morning.
It was all part of what seemed at times to be an insurmountable task, but nonetheless, one we managed to overcome.
And we're going to be getting back together again probably in the next month or so.
Hopefully all the checks will have cleared the bank and we can talk about the future.
As long as we don't talk about goodbye.
The final verse of our school's alma mater says it all:

"As the graduating class, we promise to uphold all the standards and ideals that we will never let grow old.  Time has come for us to leave now.  Loving sadness fills our hearts.  Slowly now we turn away, sad but proudly we depart."

Class dismissed.


NEXT WEEK:   Lower Forty

Class Act

It's hard to believe it's been more than two and a half decades.  I cringe just thinking about it.
But hey, it's reality.
Last fall, I answered a mass email by the planning committee for my 20th high school reunion.  The members were soliciting classmates to join the committee for the 25th reunion we would hopefully have.
Knowing that there would be planning meetings for this, and addressing the challenges of handling a then two-year-old child alone, I asked my wife if she would object to my joining the committee, if they would have me.  She told me it was all good.
We discussed feedback from classmates about the last reunion, the costs of putting it on in 2007 compared to today's costs (which we would later learn to be quite a huge gap), what was a reasonable cost for putting on another reunion, and what ideas we could bring to the table to keep costs under control, while not appearing 'cheap' to attendees.
For those of you who have never done this before, it might not sound challenging.  But for the five of us, all business-oriented people, it seemed apropos that we held most of our planning meetings in serving-alcohol establishments.  The logistics of it all would drive anyone to drink.
I probably spent more on wine than I would have liked at these meetings.
I was a bit concerned, because the date we had chosen was competing for another event, and the turnout didn't seem very high.  I had read an MSN article not long ago that social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace were supplanting the high school reunions of the past, with many graduating classes choosing to forego the typical in-person brick-and-mortar reunions.
Who can blame them?  They're cheaper, and in an uncertain economy, that ain't bad.
Nonetheless, we pressed on.  This was a silver anniversary reunion for us.  Our class held the distinction of being the twenty-fifth that graduated after the district's official formation in 1962.  This year marks the fiftieth year of the district's existence.
We were determined that we were going to give something back to our classmates other than just a nice meal and an opportunity to get out of the house with our spouses.
We had discussed travel mugs, but replaced it with zippered pouch-style stadium blankets instead.  Most coffee cups and travel mugs usually clutter cupboard space, and most often get broken after awhile.
The blankets fold easily, are out of the way if not being used, and in my opinion much more useful.
And one of our members managed to get them 'at-cost' from the manufacturer.
Another member kept track of our spending, right down to the last penny, and wrote the checks.  Two others did the majority of tracking down classmates and went through responses like 'lose my address', 'not interested now or ever', or were downright rude.
The biggest push came in the last month.
Being in charge of entertainment, I put together a playlist for background music, as well as a slide show of pictures from the past.  With ten classmates who have died since graduation, three were especially difficult to find since they were pictured very little throughout our tenure in high school.  One of those three was nearly impossible.  I had to settle for a fishing photo taken of him not long before his death in a boating accident in North Carolina.  He and I weren't friends, but friend or not, I was determined to see that he was remembered properly.
I had my work finished the day of the reunion.  Not because I was slacking, but I went through two rough-draft presentations before the final cut.
Another member scoured every business she could possibly think of that was willing to help for gift cards and certificates as parting gifts for each classmate.  So that everyone would leave with a gift that said 'thank you for attending our reunion.'
We had about 60 people attend.  Not a huge number, but it was still a great turnout.
I say that because there was room to move around and mingle with everyone.  There were plenty of opportunities to take pictures, everyone got to talk to one another, even if only for a moment, and nobody got drunk or disorderly.
And we had a few that traveled quite a distance to be there.  The reunion would not have been the same without them.  Especially one now living within the Chicagoland area, a married mother of three, who brought her best friend from western Indiana to not just this reunion, but our 20 year as well.
Her 'plus one' is now facebook friends with half the class.
We've informally adopted her, despite her being two years younger.
I'm going to enjoy these next five years of quiet.
But I'll have plenty to keep me busy in the interim, I'm sure.


NEXT WEEK:  Class Dismissed

"Wood" You Like Some of This?

After weeks of hot and dry weather, that all but turned my grass brown from green, we received more rain than we could have ever hoped for during the last week of July.
As a newscaster for a small-town radio station, I have a police scanner in my office that keeps me informed of what all is happening with emergency fire and rescue crews.  Thursday night, July 26th, was particularly busy.
Downed wires.  Basement pumpouts.  Flooded roadways.  Trees and utility poles falling.
Never in a million years could I have been prepared for what awaited me when I heard the text tone on my iPhone.
It was from my wife, telling me that a tree had fallen in the back yard.  I didn't think it was that big a deal until  I got home.
It looked smaller in the picture she texted me.  Much smaller.  With the rain still falling, I didn't go out to investigate.  Since we had a handyman coming in the following afternoon to fix the ceiling in our half-bath, I didn't make it outside until late Friday afternoon after my wife came home.
She and I, along with our three year old, made it to the back yard by the property line.
The tree was probably sixty feet in height, and had a trunk of about two and a half to three feet in diameter.  The base of it, along with the uprooted soil, had to be about ten feet wide.
I looked at the ground.  the impact of the tree put several small craters in the back yard.
My mother-in-law urged us to call our insurance company and claim it under our homeowners policy.
The only problem with that was a $500 deductible.  Uh...no.
A much cheaper option and an idea had formed in my twisted little mind.
My best friend has a camp outside of Erie.  He often has to buy firewood on the way there, usually at $25 for a cord.  Not a bad deal, but why not make lemonade of this lemon?
So I called and left him a message on his machine.  He immediately called me back.
He said he wouldn't make it out for probably a few days, but he definitely wanted some.
Have at it, I told him.  It'll be here for awhile.
My next-door neighbor also stopped over.  He knew some people that might be willing to help cut it up if I would let them have the wood.
Uh...yeah!
I began to think that maybe I should have held a tree-cutting party.  Bring your own chainsaw and keep what you cut.  I wouldn't charge anyone for it.  That would be like asking money from people who would be helping me.
And I'm sure the word will spread.
The neighbor on the other side of me rents the house there.  The real-estate company that owns the house recently cut down a dying tree that would have tumbled onto my property and left the cut wood there.  They let me have some for my firepit activities.
And I was curious as to how long that wood would last.  Now I have more wood than I ever would have imagined.  Or wanted.
The bright side to all this is, there's less grass to cut for now.


NEXT WEEK:  Reunited