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June 2nd, 1998

So far now, I've had two close calls this year. I didn't realize I was living so close to the edge.

We were one of the 1.6 million people in the Midwestern U.S. without power for several days. The ferocious storms knocked down trees, damaged structures, threw down business signs and billboards, and, generally spread debris about. People were injured and a few were killed by trees falling on houses, and, from downed power lines.

Very scary indeed.

At our house, the storm left a large, dual-trunk maple tree (about 50-60 feet tall), bent over a few feet above its base. It was positioned across the deck and the patio furniture of the nice lady that lives next door. I planted the tree, and others in that edge row the first spring that I lived here. It was one of several trees that were dug up and relocated from the back yard. Seems I have a habit of doing that in either spring or fall.

Anyway, fortunately the mad handyma'am had a father who was a master tree trimmer. Therefore, she knew what she had to do because she had watched him many, many times. She retrieved the pole pruner from the barn, even though she knew that the blade was getting fairly dull. It would take a bit longer than if it were sharp... but, so what. It's only another day of going off the track and she didn't plan on doing any of this shit to begin with. Why not add the additional torture of dull tools while in the midst of this crisis.

The mission was set to begin after she and Laura made coffee in the beloved French Coffee Press. It wasn't christened beloved until this very event. This made the nice neighbor extremely happy, especially since she had no means to make coffee without electricity. Fortunately we have a gas stove and not an electric one - still, if that wasn't the case, we could have made a fire in the woodstove to boil water.

After reaching peak caffeination, sawing commenced. The uppermost parts were trimmed away first. You don't want to cut it at the base because you don't want the weight of the tree falling on the deck.

So there I am just hacking away, cursing the dull blade and begging the burning muscles in my neck and upper arms to forgive me later. Timber was falling and the wind was periodically blowing sawdust in my face. Limbs were dragged into a pile, body temperature rose, and hours went by. Then there was this slight problem...

...there were two large limbs that had been cut and somehow ended up intertwining when the tree attempted to spring upward after losing all the weight. One was about 25 feet long, 13 inches in diameter. The other was close in diameter, but - about 12 feet in length.

What do we do now?

After assessing the situation, I catch hold of the shorter limb with the pruning saw and pull on it. There is a "Y" hooked at the base side and the weight of the longer limb is holding it against the trunk it slipped down to. I'm pulling the limb from the direction of what was, the top of the tree. The pole pruner is now laying on the ground. I can't get the limb I'm now holding in my hands out of there until the weight of the larger limb is relieved.

I yell for my girlfriend to come and help me. I explain the scene and say, "just pull this one up so I can get this one out." My back is to her as she pulls the limb up behind me. I can feel the weight being relieved. As I say, "here it comes," I hear the leaves rustling behind me. I observe that the limb I am gripping is finally free and, it appears to look like a slingshot with a very long handle. The "Y" is halfway down to the waiting ground when I hear a loud CRACK and see that the larger limb above me, the one that Laura was pulling on, is laying on the ground just to my right.

It had bounced off my head from 10 feet above.

In that first moment that I realized what had happened, I thought, "OK, now you've done it. You're dead..." The pain was so indescribably intense right before it got hot and numb.

My girlfriend runs over to me, apologizing and saying, "honey, are you OK... let me see" Well, don't ask me why but, I am in full grimace, holding my head walking away from her approaching and saying, "no, don't touch me, leave me alone..." - you know, the patient from hell routine...

...of course, she didn't listen and soon there was an ice pack on my head and she's talking about doing vitals. All I want is a shot of whiskey...

...my nurse didn't approve but the nice neighbor complied anyway. I drank it much to the displeasure of my counsel. And, how appropriate - Jim Beam, for the beam that just renewed my interest in hardhats.

It always worked for my great-grandfather. But, maybe not that good. After all, he is dead. Rather amazingly, I am not.

It didn't hit any other part of me except my head. Slightly right of the spot where your hair twirls and swirls at its natural part in the back center part of your hair.

As you can see, the mad handyma'am's stunts are occasionally nothing short of miraculous. She didn't pass out. She didn't even fall down when it hit her! Didn't even see stars! It did buckle her knees and her head did swell up quite a lump though. In fact, the right side of her face inflated some. Even her gums on the right side were swollen!

The mad handyma'am is very hard-headed.

Skull intact, she most certainly feels inconceivably blessed...

...but, guess what?!

She is now fluent in Norwegian, is an expert in yodeling, and can play the piano as well as Tschaikowsky... and, she's headed for the Las Vegas circuit...

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yes, of course I'm KIDDING!

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Report on the saga otherwise known as the Big D Update:

In a surprise maneuver, little sis took the kids and moved out. One day I'm talking to her and everything was fine. She even talked about how "we're getting a pool," and then - a few days later, ...she's moved into her friends little old house in the city.

So, what happened THIS time? You wonder, huh...

...to tell you the truth, it not very clear to me what led up to it... but, he apparently got ticked off and smashed the dashboard of the van with his fist. He left visibile damage, there was an area that was cracked up looking. Kind of like the shell of a hard-boiled egg when you give it a tap.

What an asshole... and, in front of the kids, too.

This guy isn't going to change as far as I can tell. My sister has this perennial hope that her miracle will occur, that he will change for the love of a good woman. Well, she doesn't exactly say that but, I know how she is. And I've already been her. I've moved on to the "why take a bunch of shit" phase of my life. She looks every bit as ridiculous as I think of myself then... trying to rationalize his behavior, playing "if only" scenarios in your mind, feeling lost without him - the very person who emotionally abuses you - you cling to. How such an otherwise independent person becomes entwined in this is difficult to understand. Yet it happens all of the time. Yet, I've been there... in what now seems like a past life.

It's a double edged sword to become emotionally dependant upon a person who can't communicate in an open, mature manner. How can you depend on that? It's only that fairyland thinking thing...

...wishing and hoping for the improbable. A clear pattern has been established and, that's not the answer you want to hear - so, you choose not to listen and wish instead. You haven't yet realized that some dreams aren't meant to come true.

My sis has taken a great big step in moving out. We've helped her move some things and are planning on going there Friday evening and taking them dinner. The mad handyma'am will also be repairing the stairs leading up to the house and, will also be making a valiant effort to cheer her sister up enough to get her mind off things...

...her sister has been a complete basket case. She can't eat, sleep or think straight. She's crying uncontrollably. She's second guessing herself. She's not sure she's doing the right thing...

...I think she is.

Her husband picked up the kids last night for a few hours. He had been asking her on the phone, "why are you doing this?" and whining that he didn't want a divorce. When he dropped the kids off he gave her the ol' middle finger...

Is that the action of a mature and responsible man? Has that got ANYTHING to do with love?

The bullshit gets harder to ignore...

Again I repeat: I want her and the kids to be OK. Despite previous neighborhood rumors, the place she moved to is tiny, but the area doesn't seem to be too bad. It's close to the hospital and police are frequently nearby.

My main concern is not her neighbors at all. It's her husband.

I don't trust him... or, his asinine mentality. That makes this difficult even for me. I love my sister and I am at odds because I can do nothing to protect her.

This guy could snap. It's another scary thought...

June 5th, 1998

My sister is having a very hard time making this transistion after moving out. I spoke to her yesterday and she was sobbing on the phone. I feel so bad for her. So what did I do? I wrote her a letter when I got home. I gave her the letter today.

And, here it is:

Oh, sister...

...where do I begin?

First of all, I want you to know that you are NOT alone in this difficult situation. I feel for you and I empathize with you.

I am helpless in the sense that I cannot take this pain away from you. If I could, I would. Reality tells me that I can't, so instead, I worry like most big sisters do.

I want you to be safe. I want you to have a calm soul. Most of all, I want you to be happy. Your well being and happiness is important to me because you're my sister, and I love you!

I've grown weary hearing about how your husband treats you. You don't deserve that kind of treatment. It's very disturbing to me. You don't deserve bullshit coming from anybody, let alone someone that is supposed to protect and love you. Actually, I have bit my tongue long enough in this whole situation.

Love isn't supposed to feel like shit. Real love builds up, it doesn't tear down. Real love cares about your feelings, it doesn't disregard them.

You've been going through crap with his name on it for a long, long time. And who changed in that picture? Just YOU. Nobody else...

...think about it!

As I said on the phone, and you should know - you do have a lot to offer! But, what in the hell does he truly have to offer in comparison?

The fact is, there IS NO comparison. He has very little to offer you or anyone else. You have so much more! And I'm not talking about things in the material sense...

He's inconsistent. You've provided the stability. What was he doing for you, while you did everything for him and the kids? Your life revolved around his moods and what he wanted - so, you sacrificed yourself in the name of love. He put you down - and, you tried to build him up. He'd say he was sorry, and he'd be sorry again and again - and you wanted to believe in him - and, what's so wrong with you wanting to believe what someone says? NOTHING! Not a damn thing. Don't kick yourself now for that. Move on and learn that words are only ideas until they are put into action.

Saying and doing are not the same thing. You know it's like this, if you go into a bar and sit around the regulars for a few hours you'll hear plenty of people talking shit. They're gonna do this and they're gonna do that. Yeah, yeah... right. The next day or week comes and they're sitting on their asses in the bar again. What's getting done? Lips flapping isn't much of an effort...

You don't deserve this bullshit. You don't deserve this emotionally immaturity. You don't need the stress. You don't deserve his criticism in any way shape or form. You don't deserve punishment and condemnation.

You are a trusting person who made the mistake of trusting the wrong person. So what! Making a bad choice doesn't make you a bad person!

A healthy relationship adds to you, it doesn't take away. It's a gradual addition, not a continuum of loss. It's an endowment over deprivation. A definite benefit, not a disadvantage... because it clears the way for you to explore who you are now and, who you can be. It allows you to bloom wherever you're planted - it's certainly not supposed to make you wish, wait and wilt!

True, mature love wants you to pursue your dreams - not stifle them. True love doesn't suppress you to attain false power through dominance. True, mature love doesn't control anything except the self - otherwise, it simply loves because it loves simply... it's true!

Right now, you need to be true to yourself. YOU need to take care of YOU. Regain your control and find your base. Don't allow yourself to be undermined by him or anyone else! You deserve so much more!

You've been doing everything since you've been with him. Taking care of the kids, doing laundry, paying bills, grocery shopping, fixing things, taking out the garbage, cutting the lawn, planting and tending the garden, cooking, and more. Plus, you were putting up with his continual moody self. Now ask yourself: what the hell was he doing? What kind of effort was he putting forth on the homefront while you were trying to make him happy? What was he doing for you? How many times did you beg him to do things he never did? How many times did he have an attitude for no apparent reason?

Oh yeah, I know. He has a job- he's sooooo tired when he gets home - well, blah, blah, blah. What about you? He didn't even consider you running a day care business to be an actual job! 9 times out of 10, he'd pitch a complete fit if you wanted to get away and asked him to take care of his own kids for a few hours of relief. A truly, mature, loving man would care enough about you to tell you to take a damn break. And, he'd appreciate all of your wonderful qualities, and especially - your incredible drive. You are Superwoman!

If you remember, he resented being "tied down with a family" after his son was born. This distressed you greatly. He wanted to be free to go to the neighborhood bar. He screwed around prior to the arrival of his firstborn...

... and yet, he doesn't trust you! He broke your heart. Imagine that. More than once.

Is mistrust love? He doesn't trust you because he doesn't trust himself. His public displays of jealousy, were displays of ownership over love. He's possessive of you like you're an object.

What would you rather be? PICK ONE: A.) object of affection B:) object of affliction

He wouldn't exploit your vulnerabilities or put you down if he was secure within himself as a man. He wouldn't have to put you down. He would find no pleasure in such uncalled for cruelty. If he were a truly a gentleman - it wouldn't cross his mind, let alone leave his mouth.

Ya know sister, sometimes we have dreams. They don't seem like bad dreams at the time, but, in essence, they are. They're bad in the sense that they're bad for us. Still, what's worse is that we don't want to let them go. Why? Because the bad is familiar... it's what we know... and we clench our nails into the notion that it's gonna change. We don't wanna give it up! Because faith can move mountains. Because our love will change them and they will do it for us. It's all wrapped up in a thread of hope... hope that we breathe life into. And, we end up hanging precariously over the edge...

right up until...

...we let go.

That's the hardest part. Letting go of the dream is often harder than letting go of the person. But, it's absolutely necessary in order to develop further. Otherwise you're simply stuck, stagnant and you end up stinking!!!

From everything I've observed and what you've told me, you are doing the right thing. You're not crazy, and, contrary to his opinion, this has nothing to do with Dad's suicide. That was over a year ago now, and this shit had been going on long before that. Nothing like an attempt to pass blame on to a dead guy...

... oh my God sister girl! Haven't you been through enough already?

The scary darkness and other vulnerabilities you feel will pass. I know they will. You always have to go through something to get somewhere else don't you? Moving out was an act of strength. You'll make it through this. One day you'll probably look back at yourself and see all of this differently... when the pain isn't so attached. It's so damn hard but, I know you can do it for yourself, and, for the kids.

You have to let go, in order to go on. Think of it as an adventure...

...imagine yourself as a lady in waiting...

...your throne is under assembly, being built especially for you - crafted from the finest materials in the world, of course! Yet, you must understand that in building this special seat, it will take time to get it just right. Great care must be taken. The finest craftsmen in the world will be called upon. Enormous patience is required... tons of stamina ...and, time.

...because somewhere, out there - there is a respectable man with a good heart looking for his queen. He won't be in a hurry. You may not recognize him when you meet... by his words alone.

You will notice his heart by his actions.

...unless of course - you notice the chair!

I can see it now...

one day, in the castle... the queen sat down quite content...

Mr. good heart is about to serve breakfast...

You hear that fine Italian leather walking briskly across the marble floor...

He rounds the corner... you see his smile and can't help but send one back...

your heart is a bloomin' onion...

...and you'll be wondering how you allowed that peasant boy to ruffle your feathers so.

June 9th, 1998

I finally talked to the health department official this morning about my septic system permit. The permit has been granted with additional stipulations: the system will need to be raised.

No surprise. Whatever goes as planned? Not much around these parts, that's for sure. The archaic system that exists was constructed during a time period where environmental laws were either lax, or, non-existent. I should have figured... but, NO - I am still terminally optimistic with very little anything of substance to back it up. Today, the handyma'am eloquently annoys herself...

Not only does the entire system need to be raised, but also, the funds necessary... Depending on how much it increases - I may be faced with scaling back the addition project for this year. Shit...

Yet, I've known about the septic problem for years now. I've put it off because there were other things to do. Besides, the toilet was still flushing, and, water mysteriously disappeared down its respective drains.

A septic system isn't something you admire.

"Hey, nice septic ya got there!" "Woah! LOVE that new leach field..." "Cool! Check out those pipes!" "Ooooooo - what an absolutely lovely tank you have..."

Nope. A septic system is something you curse when you have an overflow or a back-up. For the most part, it's only another part of the mostly invisible infrastructure we depend on. Like other similar, yet essentially frail systems that we imagine to be kryptonite-hardy and, nearly invincible!

< OK, slap me then, - because this is where I start digress. > Things like: electricity, cable TV, communication satellites, water, gas... the entire network of items delivered to us daily. The flick of a switch, the turn of a knob, a push of the button - we'd probably even miss those motions if this infrastructure was suddenly taken away.

When we recently lost electricity here, what I noticed most was what I heard. No refrigerator hum or light to greet a peek. No digital clocks... no radio; no TV blaring... no surfing channels or surfing sites... no artificial lighting...

...and, here we were. No damn batteries.

Perhaps we were saved by the fact that we did have candles. Lots of candles - and then some. I found myself resisting a strong impulse to light them all. Yes, I did. My fleeting thought wanted me to arrange them all on the mantel and the table. Every inch of it. A scene from a low-budget Gothic flick with Cher in it...

...but, I didn't. And oh, let me clarify: I was just kidding about the Cher part...

I didn't do it because I didn't like that sharp, cheek-slapping, sobering thought I had next. So, what thought was that?

The thought of that nasty wax build up on my fine furniture, of course.

< Whack! Back on track with a slap... >

This septic construction project will be a major event here and, like any other project, I look forward to its completion. The question remains: HOW will I celebrate this event? It would be unimaginative and crude to invite people over to take a dump - so that's out. Besides, it's the unspoken code here that any guests in need of bowel relief, take relief. You don't need to announce you're going to do it... all of our human friends do. That's how we know you aren't an alien.

Maybe we'll have a bathroom themed party. We could easily decorate the Outback Inn with toilet paper streamers. Party favors like those disgustingly over-scented toilet freshener cakes. Yuk! Especially that nasty rose scent... HEY! We could get a new toilet and fill it with ice for cooling certain party refreshments. Adorn everyone with a paper toilet seat protector. Crown "shit" the word of the night. Write on the outhouse walls. Exchange bathroom humor. MAYBE we could go as far as to convince a certain manly friend to entertain the late crowd with his gastrointestinal prowess ...that is, if he's not already booked.

I can see it now. Beans, beer, Bill and a Bic... stand back.

No polyester or nylon allowed.

OTHER STUFF: My sis is hanging in there; although it changes from day to day, hour to hour and minute by minute - she was doing OK the last time earlier today. We did a number on the yard there last week with her and some friends.

We hauled and arranged rocks. The stones were stacked along the bottom edge of the rolling lawn, where it rolls down to meet the brink of the sidewalk. The work made a tremendous difference. Sis caught herself smiling, but, I'm not sure if she noticed me noticing... it was great to see her smile...

...even if it was kinda concise where smiles are concerned.

...so anyway, five of us were sitting on the little porch gabbing away as it got dark. Sis was tired and needed to rest. We left about 10:30 with another friend who was following suit. Who do you think knocks on the door minutes after we leave?

Well, you're so damn smart you should be on Jeopardy! Right. It was the estranged husband. Hands her a box of her son's soccer fundraiser candy. Shuts the door in her face muttering something about the party she had...

...and leaves.

He was watching us. Waiting for us to leave.

I didn't like the feeling I got when I heard this. It makes me feel... I dunno, ...like itchy or something. Itchy internally, ya know? Makes me want to purposely look for him next time I'm there... solely to sneak up on him and pop up out of nowhere, get directly in his face and say, "HEY! WHATCHADOIN'?"

He was over there again last night. Drunk at 2 in the morning. He said things like, "I'm not giving up. You can't rip my kids away from me. I love you. Blah, blah, ...etcetera.

Is this a serious try at reconciliation? The dialogue sounds like a Sunday night movie that was made for TV, I don't mean to laugh but - puhleeeeze! How predictable. Come to think of it, almost everyone I know would have reacted similarly - except for the drunk and 2 am part - what else can a person say?

This means that every person I know is a candidate for TV movie of the week. In real life, the mundane overrides the dramatic, but - if you took out the mundane things, think of it! You could reduce a part of your life to a TV movie of the week. Maybe a mini-series.

ON TO THE CHICKENS:
Errrr...how do I say this? The chickens were transvestites. Sounds like a Jerry Springer show... but,

...Chicken Noodle is really Brewster the Rooster and versa-vice. They seem to be adjusting quite well to their chicken gender. Gosh! It's almost like they never knew.

OK. Easy enough to do isn't it? You buy ‘em for 60 cents each and they are golden fuzzy little quivering things. How can you tell?

CHICKENS II:
I don't have to build a chicken coop - or, knowing me, a chicken cooperative with special chicken amenities. WHY? Because the chickens told me not to...

...they are sleeping in the ground floor of the double decker doghouse in the Outback Inn, with Cozy the Golden Retriever! A spayed female we're convinced has a stick or a ball for a brain... she doesn't seem to care much about the chickens. A surprise for a bird dog such as she...

...if there was a season on sticks and balls, she'd get the limit every time.

Except if ya had to shoot them out of the sky. Then she'd be in hiding; shaking like a hairy leaf that drools.

June 12th, 1998

I'll start off with a bang: the Big Divorce update...

She moved back in with him. Oh, sister - can YOU believe it?!

And, guess what? She's now taking responsibility/blame for what ails them. Said she "shouldn't be talking about her relationship- not to other people." She feels like she needs to give him another chance... among other things...

...< insert deep breath >

Do ya think this guy feels lucky today, or, does he only feel clever for getting his way?

...< insert deep breath > < insert lengthy sigh >

OK, so now ...how long do you think this will last? Days? Weeks? Months? Years?

Is there more than a hairsbreadth of a chance this will change for the better? Could it become a working, self-sustaining, healthy relationship... ?

... you tell me.

Because...

...I don't know anymore. The situation is tiring... SOOoooo draining...

Yet - I promise never to tell her

never ever

not even in a whisper

will I say

I told you so

never ever.... I won't

because she already KNOWS

If she needs me, she knows where I am.

I don't want to admit...

I hate to say it...

the parts i try to forget

please note:

The mad handyma'am is currently in recovery to repossess her life. She is having a project crisis of immense proportions.

The truth is she is sick of working so much. She is weary from planning and re-planning, thinking and re-thinking, ...tired of trying to figure everything out. She is tired of spending the majority of her money at lumber yards and home fix-it centers.

...you see, all she wanted was a simple life.

Yet "simple" is something she is unlikely to attain within the confines of her lifetime.

Today she fully realized that unfortunate fact and has become VERY mad. "Simple" is nowhere to be found wound up within her complexities.

There you have it. The very mad handyma'am - single cell amoeba wish-she-could-be.

June 17th, 1998

Trying to catch up on some things today. Things like my breath...

After 4 ½ hours of sleep 2 days in a row, it was off to the office today for the customary 10 hours. All I can say about that is, some things work better on paper than they do in real life. But wait! There IS something else I'd like to say, ...and that is: 10 hours can be a very long time.

I began answering accumulated e-mail < NOT finished yet >; once home, I attempted to organize my construction project desktop < in vain>, and, haphazardly tore through the pile of snail mail that had formed on the table < once again >. I threw the Smithsonian and Movieline magazines received in the magazine stack and wondered when I'd ever have time to read. Then, I made a phone call to yet another contractor to get an estimate on the foundation, and, am waiting for him to call me back as I type.

The new septic field should be installed by the end of the week. The utility companies were out earlier this week, flagging and marking with spray paint. The total outlay agreed upon was $3,700. The cost is a little higher than usual because of fill that needs to be trucked in to raise the system, and, the addition of a culvert pipe for the ditch that will provide vehicle access along the east side of the house and to the backyard.

I decided to get another access point after he told me that he was going to temporarily fill the ditch with dirt to get his heavy equipment into the yard. That way, he wouldn't tear the whole front yard up. And, when the job was done, he'd take the dirt back out of the ditch. I had thought about getting a culvert pipe put in before, so, I saw this as an opportunity to get it done now - while everything is tore up. Beside that, there is a practical reason because the addition will block off the usual access from the driveway side < we prefer to wash vehicles in the back yard and also, it will provide necessary access in the event of a fire >

After the septic is done, I'll probably be calling around about hydroseed and praying for rain. Or, I'll take on the grass seed job myself, depending on how much needs to be seeded.

The foundation for the addition has to be ready in another month... and, I've changed my plans once again. In fact, they are still in a state of flux, as the final building design is concerned. Originally, the plan was larger. It would have basically required two foundations. Foundations which shared 4 feet of a common wall with the smaller of the two attached to the back of the house.

I decided I couldn't do it. It was too much all at once. Especially with Laura working afternoons. I needed help to do it - a lot of help. More help than I would want to impose on anyone.  Much more work than I want or need to burden myself with.

Therefore, the revised plan is to build a 12 by 24 foot addition off the back of the house. It will meet the house where the back door in the kitchen is now. The back yard slopes up somewhat from there. The furthest 10 feet of the 24 feet out, will be raised and you'll step up into it. That 12 by 10 foot space is where the kitchen table will eventually go, with a wonderful view of the garden and the arbor. See... I do plan on sitting down one day.

We may end up with a raised slab foundation. Having a cement floor would cut back a little bit on the construction time, and, it would provide a perfect surface for that terra cotta tile I've had my eye on.

The house smells like polyurethane. The poly-stench is coming from the bathroom. The first coat of marine grade finish was reapplied to the wood walls that surround the tub and shower. The touch ups have been done. Finally, I even put molding up around the skylight over the tub. I wonder what I was waiting for...

- I know -

The handyma'am is at the beginning stage of gathering information for the budding handyma'am in you <and, of course: handygentlemen, too>... < and NO in case you're curious - I don't hate men because I'm a lesbian... that's ridiculous anyway... did you ever wonder, how many heterosexual women out there are the way they are because they hate their own sex?" AND - did you ever wonder if that nice straight woman you know is the way she is because she hasn't found the right woman? >

I am what I am because I am...

< in the midst of it all it looks like she's fallen off the track again. >

> > the telephone rings < <

I leave and return < you would have never known >

It was Steve, the foundation contractor. He'll be over tomorrow evening between 6 and 7. He even said he'd call if something comes up and he can't get here - I couldn't believe my ears < could he get the job because of that statement ? >.

June 18th, 1998

I arrive home to wait for Steve. I'm feeling some nervous anticipation. It's imperative I get this foundation thing settled for my mental health.

I've been dealing with or, I should say, trying to deal with another contractor regarding the foundation job. He was out here last Friday - I liked the guy and could have worked with him except for the ugly fact that he doesn't return his calls. While it might be a little thing to him, it makes me think he doesn't need the job. Add that to the experience I had when calling him to begin with. Now, what's that about? Well... I call the guy at home. He was recommended to me by another contractor I know. I call there and his wife answers the phone. I ask for him. In an extremely snotty and suspicious tone she says, "well... and WHO is THIS?" After giving her my name she responds with a disbelieving "OH?" Then I begin talking VERY fast and say, "look I got his name from another contractor. He says he's the best and he happens to live a few miles away... blah, blah, blah..." Finally the guy comes to the phone. He said he'd stop by the following evening and he did.

I swear to God this woman was acting as if I wanted HER man! If he would have got the job I expected this woman to come barreling over to check me out. She definitely has some damn problem and it isn't good for his business. It's people like her that make me want to scream, "look lady, I'm gay - your man is completely safe."

I must say though that I do suspect that she may be the very reason I'm not getting a call back, he may not be getting the message.

Oh, well...

> > the phone rings < <

It was Steve. He can't make it tonight, his Dad is in the hospital. He apologized and said he'd try to make it Friday after I get home. No problem for me because, at least he called...

Once I can get the costs down on paper, it's building permit time and dealing with the building inspector. Haven't met him yet. Haven't been able to reach him and he has no answering machine. I do know that he is a contractor himself, and, has worked in the township. I asked the clerk at the township if it wasn't a conflict of interest and her reply was a stone-faced, dumbfounded look and a sentence: "nobody has ever asked that before..."

My brother will be here the first week in August. I'm counting on him to tie in the roof. I hope to have the job started before he arrives. There is so much to do...

Other Stuff

the Crash dog update: < thanks to Michelle for the reminder ! >

We found another Vet to treat the big old blackie dog. Laura has been trucking him off 30 miles away 3 times a week for treatments. The vet is unconventional by the usual commercial vet standard - the one we went to anyway. His approach to Crash and his heartworms costs less, but it wasn't about the money. His treatment makes much more sense. He injects the dog with a lower dose of the arsenic compound for about a month, 3 times a week.

Crash is nearing completion of this intensive treatment for heartworms. The nasty ear infection he had is gone, too. In a couple of months we'll know for sure if the heartworms are gone.

Whatever the case, he sure seems to be a very happy dog lately! Unfortunately though, he has another predicament, one he has had for several years - a tumor on his chest.

Several years ago, we asked the vet about the tumor. He felt it and said, "I wouldn't worry about it." He sort of brushed it off and went onto the next thing during the examination.

Initially, I had worried enough about the lump to check out a veterinary medicine book from the library. From what I gathered there and upon my examination of Crash, I concluded that it was attached to muscle or, an organ. The worst kind, as it eliminated a simple fatty tumor. I had Laura check it out and, she didn't think it was attached.

When we went to the old vet and he said he "wouldn't worry about it" - unfortunately, I didn't say a word. After all, the vet is the authority in my mind. It didn't seem fitting to challenge anything he said - so I didn't.

The new vet the dogs are seeing is so different. I told him about the tumor and that I thought it was attached. He quickly examined the dog and, much to my surprise, he agreed. I told him what the other vet said and he just shook his head and said, "they said that because there isn't anything they could do about it..." and, "it's all about money for many of them, they keep you coming back."

The tumor Crash has is encapsulated. A biopsy is out of the question because breaking the capsule could possibly release a malignancy into his bloodstream. He's not in any pain and the quality of his life is pleasant today. That's what is important to me.

We've faced the fact that we don't know how long we'll have him. While death can be elusive, it is an eventual certainty for all living creatures. We love his royal hairiness now and we'll love him long after he's gone. It makes little sense to worry about his demise at the moment.

June 19th, 1998

Tonight, I've got my fingers crossed for the meeting with Steve.

June 22nd, 1998

I couldn't believe how tore up the yard is from the new septic field. An unbelievable mess. It looks like a battlefield. Definitely beyond a little grass seed. Been looking at it all weekend and have not adjusted to the view. We have been enjoying the gawkers driving by the house trying to figure out what's going on here though... oddly enough, I barely pay attention to what everybody else in the neighborhood is doing - maybe because I have too much to do.

And guess what? Today the county public health inspector comes out to check out the job. Clad entirely in brown polyester, he carries a notebook and a pencil. His balding forehead is glistening with beads of sweat. Beads of sweat that are rolling down his face, and some into his mouth, as we speak. He asks if I have a level. There are 5 people doing the same job as he and they apparently don't have enough equipment to go around; pathetic, eh?! So, I retrieve a 4 foot level, and without asking, he demonstrates for me how a level works. I let him go on about it but resisted the temptation to fawn over this display of knowledge. Then Mr. smarty-poly-inspector-dude decides he will "red tag" the system.

Seems It ain't done quite right.

This isn't something that concerns me as I haven't paid the contractor yet and I'm not the one doing the job. I'm sure he'll fix whatever needs fixing. The inspector will make them get it right. To think it cost a mere 50 bucks for such an advocate!

Finally, YES, Steve the foundation guy stopped out and perused the job site and looked over my drawing. He's a very amicable guy with huge breasts. As he sat on the back stoop we talked about the plan and I noticed his ample cleavage. The dogs were all over him - Crash doing the "pet me" - "pet me" pushy thing, and, of course, Cozy with a saliva soaked stick, poking him in the back.

Steve asked me if I was doing this myself, and, it didn't phase him in the least when I said yes... some guys have been known to freak out and look at me wide-eyed and say things like, "REALLY!?" or "NO SHIT!" and sometimes they still think you're joking.

Hammers don't care who's on the other side, so they don't care if you have breasts or not. Probably a lot like the foundation and cement. I doubt it if Steve's tits would get in the way of that either... no doubt he is aware enough to keep those babies from getting pinched between rows of cement blocks...

...a thought that personally makes me cringe.

But, Steves breasts are not the deciding factor here. I like his demeanor. He's been doing this kind of work forever. His Dad taught him. He's licensed and insured. What more could I ask for?

...

On Sunday Steve had the bid together. It fell about where I thought it would at 3,600. On Saturday, we located the space heater for the addition at a local place and will be picking it up on Tuesday. Oddly enough, the exact one that we wanted was available on warehouse clearance < still not cheap > but they had only ONE in stock! . A Vermont Castings Stardance natural gas ventless cast iron heater. Nice - nice, baby...

Went over to the Township office and got my building permit today. 181 dollars later and I'm back home. An old friend of Laura's is coming into town this weekend and, right now, everything is in disarray... so you can figure out what I'm doing.

Yesterday, < father's day > I went to my Mom and Daves for a picnic < and oh, how I miss my Dad... it's unbelievable. I'd give anything to have him around today and every other day... anything and everything... > I bought Dave a bottle of Asti and a fat cigar, thrust it at him upon meeting & greeting and said,

"Happy Father's Day Dave! I know you're not my Dad, but after all - you ARE sleeping with my mother!" and I gave him a hug.

My Mom's bio-Dad had just entered the room and was cracking up ( yep - Mom was adopted ). We proceeded to make small talk and soon were seated around the table outside for the picnic. About halfway through a thunderstorm drove us indoors to reassemble around the table. After eating we gathered in the living room, talked and laughed some more. After I left and drove home, I discovered I had a flat tire. The right front passenger tire.

Thank God I was home. The chintzy jack that came with the car looked more like a toy than a tool. After much finagling with the jack, and locating a longer crowbar to obtain enough leverage to loosen the lug nuts, the tire was removed. The spare was one of those donut tires. It was the cheap, undersized hurry-and-buy-a-new-one tire that irritated me upon discovery.

I'd have to find a way to get over it... shit always happens. I should be used to it. But, I'm not.

June 23rd, 1998

I am nearing exhaustion, guess I'll have to slow down before I fall down. Worked hard over the last 3 days and today the cumulative effect hit me. I feel the need to get away from this workplace I live.

Laura headed out for her morning dentist appointment and picked up the new stove and my repaired tire < she dropped it off yesterday afternoon in between patients >. How appropriate for the handyma'am - it was a nail.

...yet, it didn't cost a dime to be fixed! The tires were under warranty and if a repair could be made it would be done without a charge. What a surprise relief that was. Before dark today, I'll be putting it back on the car, jumping on the crowbar to tighten the lug nuts. After driving it, I'll check it again. Losing a front tire while you drive down the road should normally be avoided.

The Public Health Inspector was back out this morning. The septic contractor was there, too. The owner of the company met the inspector, none of the 3 scraggly looking dudes that did the work were there. The inspector had his transit level and he determined that the entire drain field needs some adjustments.

The plan is that the crew will return on Thursday and it should be filled in by the weekend. They have to remove the drain field, regrade and reinstall it to the inspectors liking. The last time he had to do this was 3 years ago, so it's not something that happens often < like my entries in this journal/diary ! >.

Steve the foundation guy is planning on starting work Monday. The plan has to be entirely finalized by Monday and there will be no turning back. The window specifications have to be made by Thursday. Things ARE coming together... I'm trying hard not to think about the debt this project is racking up - especially since I'm putting so damn much work into it. Being exhausted is one thing, while being broke and exhausted compounds everything...

I need some REM stage sleep soon. Hope that tomorrow allows me a few moments to answer my mail and pay some bills...

June 26th, 1998

Another day. Another 2 cents from the mad handyma'am...

The damn mess from the septic job isn't completed as I write. The last I heard they'd be out on Thursday to rectify the problem < a.k.a.: please the inspector > and fill it in. No word Thursday. Nothing today either... so when?

Saturday morning of course! Bright and early I'll bet, too. Guess I can forget the idea of sleeping in. It won't happen... not with a backhoe, a bulldozer and several loudmouth workers bellowing back and forth above the engine noise.

While we won't miss the mess, Chicken Noodle and Brewster the Rooster will miss their playground. That's where they've been every time they are released since it happened. Watching chickens climb hills and boldly jump over open trenches is at least, mildly entertaining.

Steve the foundation guy < Mr. Big BazOOms > will be out Monday early. So, it looks like the best chance for sleep will be Sunday. The foundation should be complete by the end of next week - that is, if everything goes as planned...

...something which would be a minor miracle if it is so. There will be no finger crossing this time out.

The windows were ordered yesterday < expensive >. Within the next 2 weeks I hope to have a completed list of materials. Well, maybe I should leave the word completed out. There will always be something that is forgotten, not anticipated or, found to be otherwise absolutely necessary to complete almost every job I've done so far <more money - more money >.

ONCE AGAIN it's the big Dilemma update...

Sis called me yesterday morn at the office. Seems the Mr. fell off the honeymoon wagon after about 10 days... he was back on another name calling streak as of that morning. Apparently, he got drunk the night before and couldn't find his glasses before heading off to work... and for that, my sister again takes the proverbial wrath. She's every name in the book because HE can't find HIS glasses...

I knew that jerk couldn't keep the performance up. It isn't him. Unfortunately < I repeat >, the ability to father children does not make you a man.

She is totally embarrassed by this. She said she didn't want to talk to anyone else right now < and look - here I am telling you... >. I told her that it's OK and that I understood < entirely >. She wishes she wouldn't have moved back so soon, she should have given herself more time. I reminded her that he told her what she wanted to hear: he'd go to counseling, he loved her, ...blah, blah < you know > EVERYTHING she wanted to hear. There is nothing wrong with WANTING to BELIEVE < it shows faith and trust >. And, it says more about her than it does him.

Wait a minute there baby. Lip service doesn't require much beyond itself. The effort to say the words without the action and time necessary to achieve any results, is NOTHING much to begin with. Track records do count for something. They have to because bad habits are hard to break. His record sucks.

My suggestion to her was to keep < ! > a journal of emotions and keep it to herself. She said she started one already - and YES, it's in a good hiding place.

She wants to get an outside job, in the evening after he's home from work, then he can watch the kids. He's already thrown a complete fit about that notion, of course. Oh, she doesn't NEED to do that, and he doesn't want to be stuck with the kids. I told her to go for it. She needs the distance from him and she needs more outside connections < exactly what he fears >. She needs to break away from his attempts to control her and she knows it. He will not make this easy on her and she knows that, too.

June 28th, 1998

OK. Confession time. When was the last time you did something really stupid?

Laura worked today. We have company < her old pal Julie - who is a very nice person! > staying here from out of town. Julie arrived back at the house from visiting with her older brother in tow about 6 o'clock. My sister had just pulled out of the yard from a 3 hour solo visit < for her nothing has changed except the date >. The phone rings and it's Laura's Mom. She's coming over... I warn her the place is trashed... she says she doesn't care < why do I? >...

...meanwhile - I'm cooking dinner and realizing I am getting nothing done that I wanted/needed to do. I've got the foundation crew coming out early tomorrow and I need to dig along the side of the house to further expose the foundation - so a straight line can be obtained to line up the addition foundation square to the original house. If I don't do it tonight I'll be getting up at 4:30 a.m. for a morning dig. Laura's Mom is in the living room making crosses to hang from everyone's car mirror. I'm running between the kitchen and the living room. The phone rings again...

...it's Laura. She'll be running late tonight. Picked up an extra patient on the nights schedule. Asks me if we have beer and tells me she has no money. We'll have to get some for her. She asks if I got anything done and I tell her no, but I am making dinner. I tell her that I need to dig but think it would be rude to do so. She says, "do it anyway - just tell ‘em..." and, so I did.

It was 8:30 and I begin to dig with the trenching shovel. There is an inch thick piece of styrofoam up against the foundation block. I am digging down to a depth at which it will be cut back. The soil is dry and hard in spots. I am spearing the shovel into the dirt to loosen it. Suddenly, I am engulfed in water spray...

... I busted the exterior faucet halfway off the pipe.

I run into the house and enter the water heater closet where the main shut off valve is. After clearing debris, I find that the tool to shut it off with is missing from the closet. Sprint to the garage. Can't find the right pliers on short notice so I grab the needle nose pliers, run back into the house and the closet. They won't do the trick. Shortly, I find the channel locks in the junk drawer in the kitchen and get it shut off. The house is now without water. There was no shut off valve on that run of pipe I broke.

I go into the garage and pull out some of Dad's old stuff. Lots of miscellaneous plumbing stuff, none that I was looking for. There's one more place to look... upstairs in the knee wall storage space. Big gray bin full of more miscellaneous plumbing stuff. I pull it out and tear through it hoping to find what I need. Aha! Found something to possibly rig up...

...OOPS! Wrong size. Too small. And, I put away all of the stuff, too. So - I trudge back up and haul it back out.

Tear through and locate another possible part to rig up. Found one. A leftover shut off valve from the previous kitchen plumbing project. All I need now is the PVC glue to attach it to the pipe I will have to cut back... saw some in Dad's stuff so, I head back for the garage...

... only to find that every can of plumbing stuff he had was dried up and empty. SHIT again... and back in the house. Finally, I find another can in the closet. YES! But first, I have to cut the pipe.

The pipe is in a strange location. Not enough room to cut with the hacksaw. I grab a serrated kitchen knife and hop down into the crawlspace hole to get at the pipe. The knife doesn't work that well but still, I managed to get it started and cut about halfway through after much cramped effort. I look down and see several spiders crawling on me. I fought the urge to drop the knife and scream for help. I have a job to do and, we need water tonight. The remainder of the pipe was cut with the hacksaw blade removed from the hacksaw. I sanded the burrs off the end, applied glue to the fittings and subsequently saved the day...

...the mad handyma'am surprises herself again < and everyone else >.

Wow... dinner was even ready when Laura arrived home.

June 30th, 1998

The septic field is being worked on at this very moment. They were supposed to have showed up on Saturday and didn't. When I talked with them yesterday, they said they wouldn't be here until Thursday...

Steve < that busty foundation guy > and his crew are here again today. They excavated yesterday and poured cement into the trenched footings this morning. They are currently mixing batches of mortar and laying the first course of blocks. The floor will be poured later this week. Steve and his crew are VERY productive, precise, and courteous < all-around nice people > ... a rare find. What a relief it is...

Another truck pulls into the yard. Look! It's Mr. Polyester Public Health Department Septic checker... quickly whipping out his transit level. He looks like he dressed for a day in the office, with his shiniest shoes on. The disheveled septic crew of 3 are standing there staring at him as he climbs in and out of the drain field bunkers. His transit level emits the most annoying audible chirp. He's got a plastic pocket protector full of assorted pens. His glasses continually slide down his nose and he habitually < or ritually > shoves them back into the starting position with his middle finger <intent or innocent ? >.

I amuse myself by wondering if his lingering maneuvers are a power play as the 3 staring guys sweat < 2 with big beer guts, 1 of which is fully displayed >. I wonder if he feels most fashionably fit sashaying around with beeping accouterments and armed with assorted ink colors. Or, is it simply the power of the red tag that has prolonged this investigation...

...while we'll probably never know, we will be happy when the system gets the green light.

YOU WROTE. Each and every one of you know who you are...

OK then... enough already > > > I hear you. You could be right you know. Maybe I am crazy, perhaps even functionally insane...

...maybe < so what are you? >

Sheesh... I've received enough e-mail illustrating that point to actually wonder about it < for a good 5 minutes anyway >.

...all I can say is:

if I could do everything, I would try.

First off, I'd stop this global warming thing including El Nino and the rest of the family. All new prison construction would be integrated and centrally located within solid waste containment areas, the methane produced would be systematically piped into the death row chamber as deemed necessary. Education would be mandatory but free. Sidewalks would move on conveyor belts Monday through Friday from 9 to 5. I would own a device that would make the light turn green as I approached. Only one aspirin would conveniently fall from the bottle when tipped. A band of elves would do my Christmas shopping and wrapping. Bread would stay fresh longer. Clothes would fold themselves and know exactly where they belong. Ignorance would be against the law. New purchases would never contain missing parts. Crime would be non-existent - everyone would be well-adjusted and happy. Maps would fold themselves. Nobody would go hungry. Psychic hotlines would be against the law. Friendship and love would last. Food would be genetically engineered to increase our intelligence and stamina. Animals tell us what they think. Vehicles would magically stay clean inside and out. There would be more hours in a day...

... etcetera.

The very first thing I'd do is invent think-mail. I'd think it and you'd get it.

...because if you were privy to all of my thoughts...

...then you'd know