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