Yes, I'm closed for renovations. . .

July 21, 2011

The weapons of house destruction should be arriving shortly.

Last evening, Emily and I packed up the half of the living room where they'll start this morning.

 

Couch, loveseat, tv cabinet, coffee table, end table, numerous plants, lamps, pictures, shelves, all shoved into the other end of the living room.

Persian rug rolled up.

Not without difficulty.

Frankie and Tikka were on the rug as Em and I were rolling and for some reason they couldn't grasp that rolling it meant that they could no longer stand on it.

And for some reason they were loathe to jump from the rug to the floor.

Honestly.

The contractors just walked in.

Me and Stephen moved from office to kitchen with our laptops.

One, they started in the office.

Two, Frankie is in the crate, letting us know how he's feeling about these new strangers parading through our home.

Company for Frankie = less barking from Frankie.

Tikka upstairs, downstairs, following the contractors, looking for any affection they feel like bestowing.

When I moved to the kitchen, she stood resolutely at the top of the stairs, refusing to come down with me, looking at me as if to say,

Are you REALLY going to leave them up here on their own without my surveillance?

Let the games begin!






It would appear that clearing out half the living room wasn't enough.

At this moment, the two young men taking on our reconstruction nightmare are moving the heavy furniture to the company's storage facilities.

Including the three antique chairs.

But NOT the antique library able.

I do want to stay married and moving that table out of Stephen's sight will result in immediate divorce.

And possibly dismemberment.

The kitchen is starting to look like a small jungle, as what stays in the living room will be covered in cardboard.

Even Frankie isn't immune.

I kind of like all the plants in the kitchen.

Somehow I don't think Stephen will agree.

The two tropical plants inherited from my neighbour have been moved outside, as have all plants I think will survive out there, where they will remain until this is all over.

And everything else is just being moved to whatever free space is available.

Leaving the living room looking quite bare.

The only reason the couch is still in there is because they couldn't get it out the front door.

I know we got in, but how remains a blank spot in my mind.

And Tikka is just taking everything in her stride.

Now that the initial excitement of new people doing strange things in the house has subsided, she's content to just wait things out.

And it'll be a long wait.

The time line: a month.

A very long month.

Just so long as everything is done before I leave for Murray Corner.

Because NOTHING is going to keep me from my week at the beach.

That's the only thing holding me together right now.






All this from one little crack in a pipe.

And, oddly enough, Stephen has managed to miss ALL the moving of things and packing of stuff.

Someone will pay later.

Dearly.






Pookie and Mum's Day Out was a huge success.

We started out with a hair cut from Norma-the-most-amazing-hairdresser-in-the-world-at-Klub-Soda.

That Keith initiated the hair cut request sent waves of joy crashing into my heart.

There was a time, not so long ago, that getting Keith to agree to a hair cut was akin to getting Em to clean her room.

Except now he willing gets his hair cut.

Em is still completely unwilling to clean her room.

However, Keith didn't have an appointment, and when I called Norma, she said,

I can certainly cut his hair, but I need him here now.

So as Keith was heading for the shower, I told him to stop, get himself dressed, brush his teeth, spray on some cologne and get himself into the car.

ASAP.

Ten minutes after I hung up the phone, he was walking into Klub Soda.

And I was trying to parallel park.

Luckily no one had the camera for that.






Keith doesn't so much get a hair cut as a nest trim.

Hair grows down.

Atop Keith's head is the closest thing to a human hair bird's nest I've ever seen.

I call this his 90s boy band look.

And it's misleading.

Underneath his bird's nest cap is a tangle of hair.

Everytime he gets it cut, I'm amazed at what collects on the floor.

And in the end, the effort was worth it. 

Such a handsome young man, my son!






After his ears were lowered, as my father calls it, he wanted to get a pair of Birkenstocks.

He's the only one in house who doesn't have a pair.

So a couple of doors down from Klub Soda is River Valley Footwear.

Where Birkenstocks, all kinds of Birkenstocks, an entire wall of Birkenstocks are available for purchase.

I found at least two pairs I wanted.

But restrained myself.

Or rather, my bank account restrained me.

Keith came out with a lovely pair of Birks just like his mummy's.

Only bigger.

Thankfully, he'd cut his toenails.






Finally, hair cut, feet covered in impressive German made sandals, we were ready for lunch.

Which was good, because I was hungry.

Very hungry.

It was busy when we arrived at M&T.

But we managed to secure a table by the window, and within a few minutes we were tucking in to a Louisiana chicken wrap for me, and a chicken, bacon, Swiss for Keith.

Just writing about it makes me hungry.

M&T is so prepared, they even had a Keith-sized spoon on the wall, waiting for him.

That's service!






After lunch, we headed uptown to the optometrists so Keith could get himself new glasses.

What happened to his other ones is something I promised would not be put in my blog.

But suffice to day an expensive lesson was learned.

And then the movies.

Transformers 3.

Yes.

I had already seen it, but Keith didn't.

And I would have watched anything to spend time with him.

After the movie and Em had finished work, we had to do a small tour of the mall, as Em felt the burning need to spend some of her pay on MORE clothes.

Soon she'll be able to open her own consignment shop.

Finally, having left the house at 11.30 am, I pulled into the driveway at 5.50 pm.

Made a salad.

Said hello to Stephen.

And went back out to visit my mother.

Home at 8.30 pm, packed up half of the living with Em, went out for an ice cream to thank her for her help, and then, blissfully, at 10.00 I was able to crawl into bed.

Exhausted.

And wondering what the hell was going to happen in the morning.



Title Lyric: Closed for Renovations by JP Loughran

Pictures of lily made my life so wonderful. . .

July 20, 2011


Behemoth One, Two and Three are still operational.

Apparently, the contractor called yesterday and this morning but there's so much bloody noise here, we can barely hear each other.

Stephen just called him.

He'll be here within the hour and hopefully he'll take his heat-creating evil monstrosities with him.






Last evening was nice and cool.

I was tense and antsy.

Perfect time for some relaxing picture taking.

So I did.

Wandering around my neighbourhood, I came across some of the most beautiful lilies I've ever seen.

I could stare at these all day.

Honestly.

And not just individual lilies.

Clusters of them.

While I was taking pictures of flowers, I heard a strange sound over my head.

And this greeted me when I looked up.

A woodpecker.

I can't believe I actually managed such great pictures.

After taking all the pictures, something close to 175, I felt much better.

Calmer.

Who knew picture taking could be so relaxing.






The contractor was just here.

In fact, Em and I passed him as she was driving to work.

I grabber her phone, called Keith and said,

We just passed the contractor. Get Frankie in his crate. AND TELL STEPHEN TO GET SOME PANTS ON!!!

He was still when I arrived back home.

Behemoth 1, the dehumidifier, has been turned off.

Behemoth 2, one of the fans, has been turned off.

Behemoth 2, the blower, is still on.

And, it would seem that along with repainting the living room, the entire ceiling will have to be replaced, because he doesn't think they can match the pattern on our ceiling.

Considering the one-day-when-I've-been-removed-feet-first-from-this-house-resale of this house by the kids, I am not having an unmatched ceiling.

This house is our only investment.

The floor has bubbled from the moisture.

My just-put-in-last-year floor.

Although that may just be a matter of taking some floor out and installing new pieces from the box of unopened laminate in the basement.

I certainly hope so.

They begin the process of reconstruction tomorrow morning.

8.15 am.

Stephen will not be easy to get moving at that time of day.

In fact, I'll probably be the one doing the meeting and greeting.

This evening, after supper, we'll remove all the furniture and stuff from the walls of one section of the living room to the other.

None of this worries me at all.

Frankie, however, is another matter.

Perhaps a trip to Mactaquac for Frantic Frankie and Miss Tikka will be in order.

Couldn't hurt Stephen either.

He's been pretty housebound since all of this started on Monday.

And a housebound Stephen results in a VERY difficult to live with Stephen.






Today, our last of freedom before the reconstruction of the living room and office, was planned as a Mum and Pookie Day Out long before this nightmare began.

We're doing lunch, perhaps a hair cut for Keith if Norma-the-greatest-hairdresser-in-the-world-at-Klub-Soda if a walk-in is possible, and then a movie.

Transformers 3.

Keith has been working so much the last couple of weeks that he's not seen it yet.

So this is what we'll be doing.

Before the in-house lock down begins.



Title Lyric: Pictures of Lily by The Who

I'll repair for you all the cracks in the wall. . . .

July 19, 2011. . .11.15 am

9.30 this morning, the insurance adjuster was at our door.

Hello? Hello? was coming through the open window of our front door.

At that's what we hoped it was, as hearing anything in this house right now is a challenge.

The movement of sound is practically non-existent.

The result of the fans keeping the upstairs cool, the dehumidifier/fan combo in the living room keeping things hot, and Frankie's frantic barking, with Tikka barking backup.

And it is very hot.

Especially downstairs.

Normally, heat rises.

But not in our house.

We are subverting the very laws of nature.

Coming down the stairs, just before the front door, you hit a wall of heat that extends into the living room, kitchen and even into the downstairs bathroom.

Even the office upstairs is warmish, the result of the fan blowing hot air into the walls to eliminate moisture.

But the running-all-night-$175.00-a-day-increasing-my-power-bill-by-the-second-dehumidifier/fan combo was nothing compared to the news from the insurance adjuster.

Nothing.



It would seem that the leak coming from this crack. . . .

. . .this little crack. . .

. . .has caused a significant amount of damage.

Damage as in needing to completely remove two walls, perhaps replace the entire only-put-in-a-year-ago living room floor, repaint the entire living room and the office kind of damage.

As in well over $6000.00 damage.

Thank God for house insurance.

If the repairs cost more than $6250.00, we won't have to pay the deductible.

But we do have to pay the plumber.

Who was here ALL morning.

I can't wait for that bill to arrive in the mail.

And now have to think about what color to paint our front to back living room.

A very large room.

Two picture windows, which flood the room with sunshine regardless of where the sun is.

I'm thinking red.

Not a bright oh-my-god-I-can't-believe-she-did-that red, but more of a oh-this-looks-like-a-an-old-English-library kind of red.



Mer moving home and house repairs.

Can this week get any better?

Or even this day?

Because I am meeting Mer at 1.00 to take her grocery shopping.

But for now, to keep my sanity in tact, or at least what's left of it, I am going outside to move rocks.

In spite of the heat.

Sometimes, all that keeps you from a complete mental breakdown is your ability to move rocks.






6.15 pm

The fact that I am here blogging is a testament to the fact that I survived grocery shopping with Meredyth.

Actually, it was a rather pleasant trip to the grocery store.

Keeping in mind that pleasant and grocery store are not two words I put together easily.

She stayed within her budget.

Didn't ask me for any money.

Didn't buy anything she didn't really need.

Success.

I hope this is a good omen of things to come in the next several months.

At this point, I'd take any omen I can get.






We were so hoping that the contractors would return today and unplug the heat-creating dehumidifier and the fans.

Everytime Frantic Frankie ran to the front door barking, Tikka joining the chorus from where ever she happened to be laying. . .

. . .because unless there is actual proof that someone is actually anywhere near the front door, she isn't going to waste her energy moving.

No such luck.

And as it is almost 7.00 pm, it is unlikely that the contractor is going to arrive to unplug the monstrosity in our livingroom.

Further, the adjuster said that it'll have to continue running for a couple of days.

Stephen is likely to implode solely from heat if this continues for another day.

As it was, he slept in the basement last evening.

Our unfinished basement full of all of the things we don't know what to do with.

He claims it was because he was concerned that the heat-creating equipment would cause a fire in the living room.

I think it was because the basement is about 10 degrees cooler.

And while he was certainly cooler, he didn't sleep well.

By the time I returned from the grocery store, he was so tired he could barely remember his name.

I had to fight with him to get up at 5.45 for supper.

Tonight could be a long night.






Supper was chickpea burgers.

Red meat isn't something we eat very much of, and summer just seems to be made for bbqs, especially burgers and steaks.

Chickpea burgers were a chance to try something new.

And to prevent Stephen from eating another meal that included chicken.

I swear a beak is starting to form just above his upper lip.

Unfortunately, my chickpea burgers were more like hummus with a binder.

They were okay.

Stephen was a trooper, claiming they tasted fine.

I didn't think they didn't taste fine.

Just dull.

And I've made them before.

Years ago.

I recall they were much better than they were this evening.

So if anyone has a recipe for tasty chickpea burgers, please, please share.



Title Lyric: I'll Repair for You by Weird Al Yankovic

I'm comin' home, comin' home, tell the world I'm comin home. . .

July 18, 2011


9.00 am

Plumber standing at the door.

We knew he was coming sometime today, but really, when does a plumber, phone company repair person, cable person EVER show up at 9.00 am.

Ever.

But there he was.

Frankie was put in the Frankie Hut, for his protection.

Ours.

And the plumbers.

Tikka wandering all over the plumber, saying, "Hi. My name is Tikka. I'm 13, and like long walks. . . ."

Me and Stephen in our pjs.

An auspicious start to what it turning out to be a challenging week.






A few days ago, I noticed a small pool of water in the basement, around the main pipe in the house.

I mentioned it to Stephen.

He called the plumber.

And there he was.

It would appear that the small pool of water was actually indicative of a much larger problem.

Extending from the top of the house to the bottom of the house.

From the upstairs bathroom, through to the office, down to the living room and into the basement.

Something about a pipe that connects to the main pipe and it's cracked.

Apparently its been that way for some time.

Maybe since the house was built.

And for some reason unbeknownst to us, this leak has decided to make its presence well know.

Including introducing us to the damage rampant throughout the house.

At least in the wake of the leak.

Mould.

Rotten insulation.

Holes in my walls revealing the skeleton upon which my home is built.

Our office.

The living room wall.

And of course, Frankie was  being Frankie.

Uptight.

Territorial.

Defensive.

In his crate.

I hate putting him in there, but because of his behaviour, we don't really have any other choice.

And he loves it.

Goes in there all the time.

And if he wants to go in there, and the door is shut, there is always holy hell to pay.

Because he makes it well known he wants his Frankie Hut door opened.

Now.

His food, lots of ice cubes, toys and his tartar buster bone bigger than both my hands put together were included with him.

Other than the strange man wandering around the house, he was a happy boy.






The insurance company has already been contacted.

I went in personally, after my Simply for Life appointment (no loss . . .holding too much water. . .just call me Sponge Dawne) and opened the insurance claim in person.

Wanting everything done as soon as possible.

Within a couple of hours an adjustor called us.

And a couple of hours after that, a repair person was at the door.

After assessing the damage, he left and returned again, with machines like I've never encountered.

The biggest dehumidifier I've ever seen.

As well as a couple of fans.

Something about removing any moisture from inside the walls to prevent the floor. . .my just one year old laminate floor. . .from buckling when they replace the wall in the living room.

And this monstrosity has to run all night.

Selfishly, all I can think of is my power bill.






My mother was skilled at many things.

Including gardening, which included houseplants.

When at the house yesterday, I rescued the last remaining houseplant.

Because while my father is well able to clean and cook, look after the yard, etc., he is not as gifted with plants as my mother.

Nor is he as interested.

I have coveted this plant for ever.

Knowing my father didn't want it, and my mother couldn't have it, it seemed only appropriate that I bring it home with me.

So I did.

Now I just need to find a spot for it.

Because it is rather large.

I just wish I knew what it was.

Mum doesn't even remember.






As it is hotter than Hades today, the kids decided they would head over to Mer's apartment for a swim in the pool.

Stephen and I were desperate to go, but with all the activity around here today, it didn't seem apropos that I leave Stephen in the midst of the chaos to deal with everything, dogs included, on his own.

Just for the sake of a long, cool, relaxing swim.

Although I haven't really been much help.

I don't like the heat, it makes me lethargic and tired.

Miserable even.

I'm still worn out from the emotional roller coaster that was yesterday's visit to my parent's house.

But it's probably better than swimming.

I'd be more than likely to get into the pool and sink to the bottom from exhaustion.

So, the pool.

Keith and Em were bored, hot, cranky.

So their leaving for a couple of hours to swim, before Keith works at 5.30, in the midst of all the homefront chaos was a good thing.

Plus, they need to take the opportunity to use the pool while they can.

Mer is moving into the house for September 1st.

This was the decision that has taken so much time and energy for the last couple of weeks.

On her part and ours.

When all was said and done, all options examined carefully and critically, the pros and cons weighed and weighed again, the bottom line was the same every time.

Mer, and Jasper her cat, need to get out of the rut they're in and the only way to do that is to take the money pressure off Mer for a little while.

Until the spring.

And then we'll reassess things and see where we are.

There are conditions

They must be met.

Consistently.

This was not a decision we made lightly.

In fact, it was a decision made with a lot of discussion. . .some of it not always pleasant.

On both sides.

Because, in part, it wasn't an easy thing for Mer to ask.

At all.

What 21 year old girl who has lived in her own apartment for the last three years is excited about moving back into her parent's house, with her parent's rules?

Exactly.




What September to May will be like is anyone's guess.

But I know this much. . . .

It will be an adventure.



Title Lyric: Coming Home by Diddy

I felt warm but all alone, once upon returning home. . .

July 17, 2011. . .11.00 am.


My mother is a man magnet.

Yesterday, my mother was spending her morning in her usual manner. . .watching the birds grazing at her bird feeder outside her window.

She finds this mesmerizing.

Loves it.

Squirrels and birds provide her with hours of entertainment.

She often says its better than television.

Perhaps I'll get her binoculars for her birthday.

Up close and personal.

When her bird watching reverie broke, she decided it was time to go the bathroom.

She turned her wheelchair.

And saw a strange man sitting on her bed.

Which was shocking enough.

With his pants down.

More shocking.

And my mother, the bird watching man magnet, simply looked at him and yelled at him to GET OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He did.

Never saying a word.

Seems bird watching is happening all over the nursing home.

Inside and out.




Late last evening we saw the final Harry Potter film.

Late for me. . .10.00 pm showing.

As with all the other films, it was very good.

Too short to cover the intricacies in the story, but films are noted for their ability to stay close to the book,

Of course, I bawled like a baby.

A lot.

Mer was even worse than I was.

And some people clapped during certain parts.

I won't say because I don't want to spoil it for those who have yet to partake.





Consequently, I am DRAGGING myself around this morning.

We arrived home around 12.30 am and by the time I was able to settle and fall asleep it was after two.

By the time Stephen settled and was able to sleep it was closer to 4.30.

Meaning from 2.00-4.30 I merely dozed.

Adding to my being completely knackered today.

Of all days.

The day I am taking my mother out to her house.

For the first time since she was initially hospitalized almost four years ago.






7.20 pm

Just arrived  back home from our Sunday adventure.

There are several routes to my parent's house, and we decided to cross the river and through Maugerville.

A route motivated by my desire to stop in at the Big Potato.

Yes.

This is a 20 foot potato.

I think.

Remember, measurement challenged.

The giant potato has been a part of the riverside landscape for as long as I can remember.

And each summer, we shift from buying our produce from Victory and the Superstore, to making the once a week trek to the Big Potato.

Today was our first visit.

Salad cukes, field cukes, radishes, new potatoes, red peppers, yellow peppers, peas in the shell, lettuce, onions, yellow beans, green beans, sweet potatoes, carrots and more, all ready and waiting for me to fill my cart and haul out my cash.

And my mother?

She remained in the car, but, did request two field cucumbers and a red pepper.

We purchased so much delicious, fresh produce that I was eating lettuce leaves as we continued the drive to my parents.

The Big Potato was a welcome diversion, however, it was just that.

A diversion.

And the only thing left to do after we were finished ooohhhhing and aaaaahhhhhing over new produce was to do what we started out to do.

Take my mother home for the first time in almost four years.

I was not without reservations about this trip.

Okay.

Lots of reservations.

Tons.

But it didn't matter how I felt about it.

My mother asked me to take her to her home, the home she raised me in.

And I was going to refuse her?

I think not.

As we drove off the Burton bridge, heading into Oromocto, she became more subdued.

The closer we got to Haneytown, which is actually where my parents live, but it's just easier to say Geary, she moved from subdued to morose.

Once in the driveway, I turned to her and asked her if she still wanted to do this.

That we could just turn around and head back to Fredericton. 

No harm.

No foul.

But no, she wanted to go inside.

Needed to go inside.

And as with everything else, once she wants something, there is little that will stand in her way.

I understand.

I really do.

She worked to provide that home for my father, brother and me.

My dad's work history, once he retired from the military (the worst decision he ever made. . .I know, this coming from me).

Which put much of the financial burden for our little family squarely on the shoulders of my mother.

Only now, as a mother myself, do I understand what this meant for her.

For all of us.

And I also see the repercussions of her working as hard as she did.

Perhaps what kept her going was the knowledge that one day, when she retired she would be able to relax and enjoy the home she worked so hard for.

For some, a bungalow in the middle of nowhere.

For my mother, home.

And now one she is no longer able to live in.

Absolutely unfair.

That she cannot live in the home she provided for everyone else, while my father can stings in a way only such irony can.

Going out there, for her, was something that had to happen.

She had to see her house.

She left in an ambulance with a broken hip, and never returned.

No official moving out experience.

Just being shuttled from here to there, her small pile of things accompanying her.

But she has a home.

And she wanted to see it.

No matter how bad it felt.

As soon as we got her into the house, and sitting in the kitchen, she burst into tears, repeating over and over again, "my home, my home."

My dad and Stephen went into the living room, while I stood there holding her while she cried.

When she calmed down and everyone was sitting around the kitchen table, where we always sat for family visits, the epicenter of our little family, I went outside with the camera to take pictures of things I had already taken pictures of but it didn't matter.

I needed to be outside for just a few minutes.

While I was outside, my brother arrived, his canines in tow.

My first thought was, Thank God! The dogs will give me something to do with my hands.

I did try to get pics of the dogs, but they're little firecrackers and don't hold still long enough to even pee.

They just keep moving as they do what they need to do.

Once the initial shock of being home had subsided, we were able to sit around the table and just visit.

Talk.

In spite of the emotional turmoil, there was a semblance of the way things were.

But the fact that my mother was unhappy at being home, unhappy at not being home, unhappy with the way her life has turned out was never far from the surface.

She sat in the kitchen for most of the visit, until she needed to go the bathroom.

Once in there, all she said was "I don't have it in me to tackle the bedroom today."

She's already planned her next visit.

In the fall.

When the leaves are in full color.

Shortly afterwards, she announced she wanted to leave.

Was ready to head back to Fredericton.

But there were more tears.

Many more tears.

And as we drove out of the driveway, a few things that she had wanted in the back of the car, she was resigned, I think, to knowing that she wasn't able to live in the house with my father, just the two of them.

A harsh reality to accept.

I knew I didn't want to leave her on her own.

That she wasn't ready to go back to the nursing home.

Stephen and I had planned on going to Swiss Chalet for dinner.

Nothing major.

More of a the-kids-are-all-working-and-we've-had-a-rough-couple-of-weeks-so-let's-do-something-nice-for-just-us.

I asked Mum to join us, because it seemed more important to make sure she was okay than it was for me and Stephen to eat club wraps and Caesar salad alone.

At first, she refused.

So I did what any good child would do.

I pulled out the big guns.

French fries.

My mother loves them.

She told Stephen I must really want her to come with us if I was resorting to bribery.

It worked.

She joined us.

And over dinner we discussed the afternoon's events, about her worries regarding my father, and with me promising to go to the house once a month to make sure that everything out there is alright.

I see him often.

But at the nursing home.

Different from seeing him in his natural habitat.

I left her around seven pm.

She insisted she was okay.

I think she just wanted to be alone, think about the day, reflect upon things.

So even though I didn't want to, I did leave.

I'll call her shortly.

But I'll call my dad first.

Because this was just as hard for him as it was for her.

Both had visions of their retired lives.

None of what they're experiencing now was part of that vision.

But really, when you think about it, how often does what we plan mirror what we have?

Title Lyric: Returning Home by Sammy Hagar