Fences and Walls

I talked to the contractor plumber guy yesterday as they were pouring concrete. “Are we gonna make it under the figure you quoted,” I asked. If we go over budget I’m gonna be in trouble — all I have is a loan for the amount they quoted me… And they’d already done work that wasn’t included in the bid — my retaining wall was back in place already.

“Yeah, we’ll make sure we’re on target,” he said.

“Um… How much would it be for you to put my fence back?” I asked, looking at the retaining wall, thankful they moved the railroad ties into place with their backhoe — it would have been miserable to try to lug them into place by hand.

He paused for a minute, shovel in hand, and wiped the sweat from his head. “I was planning to put the fence back for you anyway,” he said. “It’ll only take us a few minutes while we have the tools here.”

“Oh, THANK YOU!” I said. “I’ve been worrying about this stuff. I simply don’t have the tools to do any of this. It’d take me days to put the fence back using nothing but a trowel and a broken Phillips screw driver. I might have a hammer somewhere, but I think the handle fell off it a few years ago…” Three cheers for Tri-State Plumbing!

So, the way it looks, all I’ll have to do is rake and reseed my yard, and plug my little Blue Spruce into a hole somewhere. The plumber/contractor people are supposed to be back later today to take the concrete forms out, put the fence in, and level my yard… Unfortunately it’s supposed to rain the next few days (it’s getting cold out there — highs in the low-mid 60’s are a shock from last week’s mid 90’s) so I’m not sure if they’ll be able to do much work. I’m not looking forward to the mud.

In any case, I really, REALLY appreciate Jody’s offer/idea in the comments of my last post, but it looks like things are going well — MUCH better than I had anticipated, in fact. I’m not sure I’ll need any help at all, but rest assured that I’ll holler loud and long if I do! And it feels wonderful to realize that there are people out there who are willing to lend a hand! I very much appreciate it!

Neighbors

Throughout this whole ordeal I’ve been referring to “the neighbors.” To be honest, they’re really good people. This whole thing started when their plumbing started acting up. They called the landlord (they rent, you see), who ignored them. They called him again a few weeks later. No answer. Finally they convinced the property owner that they really needed someone to work on the plumbing… That’s when all my problems started — the contractor cut my sewer line whilst working on their plumbing.

But it’s not their fault — the neighbors rent, the contractors were doing what they were paid to do… The guy who actually owns the house could have stepped up to the plate and offered to chip in and help me out a little, but it’s not his obligation to do so.

The neighbors themselves are really good people. The lady is in poor health and works as much as she can. The husband works (I believe) at the local packing plant — a hard job. They have an extra room, so they’ve taken in a homeless man and have “adopted” him — they call him “Dad.” They’re truly a family, bloodlines notwithstanding. When the house across the street from them was burned by an arsonist, they took in one of the “refugees” and let him live with them for a few months for a very small stipend — enough to cover his food.

I get a good feeling when I set out a 12-pack of empty cans for the local homeless guy to cash in. These guys gave a homeless guy a home, even though they don’t have two nickles to rub together themselves.

Yay!

We’re back home again. The plumbers got the sewer hooked into the main last night, so Dagmar and I got to come back home… They’re still here, though, the plumbers. They’ve gotta fill the trench back in (they got a start on that last night), backfill under the street, pour a new patch and curb in the street and pour new concrete for my sidewalk. I hope they fix the sidewalk from my house to the garage, too, but I never specified that when I talked to them…

It’ll be interesting to see what they fix and what they leave. The main plumber guy was quoting some really high numbers when he started the job, so I found myself saying, “just tear out the fence, I’ll fix it later,” and “I’ll get someone to fix the retaining wall next year.” That did drop his price by several thousand dollars, but now I have to find someone who can help me put my fence and retaining wall back in sometime… And I gotta reseed my yard and replant the little baby Blue Spruce we’d planted just days before all this happened. I hope he survives.

My cousin Moriah commented a few days ago on how well we’re taking all this. I have to admit, that’s entirely Dagmar’s fault — she’s taught me how to put things in perspective. In the long run, this is just an inconvenience. We’ll be fine.

Funny Stuff

Hey, watch this if you get a minute…

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A real quick update — we found a contractor that will do the work for half the price, and we managed to get a couple loans to get the needed $$… So we’ll be okay. We’ll be living at mother-in-law’s for the next week or 10 days (though I’ll still be working out of this house during the afternoons so I can have Internet access), and we now have a bit more debt burden, but we’ll be okay…

We’ll be okay.

It’s still a shock to that yesterday everything was fine, then this morning they’re threatening to tear my house down… But we’ve got it figured out.

We’ll be okay.

I’ll be offline for a while, sadly.

Our neighbors had problems with their plumbing and ended up calling in a backhoe to redo some pipes. While that was going on, they cut OUR sewer line.

Okay… So, they cut our sewer line. They’re gonna fix it… Right?

Nope.

Turns our our sewer line was built 90 years ago and had originally tied into the neighbor’s sewer line, then both went out to the street into the sewer… Fine and dandy, except they changed the city code a few years ago, and now each house has to have it’s own sewer line.

Okay… Now the city inspector is involved.

“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “Yesterday we were happy, now we have no sewer. What do we do?”

He told us that either we reroute our sewer line or he’s going to have our house red-tagged for demolition. “Okay,” I asked, “how much will that cost?” He didn’t know, nor did he seem to care a whole lot, but the figure $8,000 to $10,000 kept coming up in conversation.

That’s nearly a third of the value of our house.

Needless to say, we can’t get a loan for $10,000 — I just quit my job last week. We don’t have that much equity in the house. But if we don’t get the money, they’ll tear our house down.

Dagmar’s sobbing right now.

Thank God Dagmar’s mother is willing to let us stay in her basement (which is really nice).

So… Our neighbors had some work done in their yard, now we have to move until the situation is fixed, find $10,000 in the next few hours, and there’s a very real possibility we’ll lose our house.

In any case, I’ll be without Internet for the most part for the next couple weeks. I’ll probably leave my computer hooked up here at the house for the rest of today, but then we gotta move.

Gosh, I never knew I was THIS popular!

You think THIS guy’s gonna be good for the economy?

Senator John McCain, Republican presidential candidate, recently said that if you make $4.9 million per year, you’re middle-class. You’re not rich unless you earn over $5 million a year, in McCain’s mind.

Boy, I can’t wait to be middle-class!

If Republican Senator McCain didn’t seem to be out of touch with THAT remark, how’s this… In the economy today many people are having trouble making their house payments. Foreclosures are happening all over the place. Things Are Not Good. Hard-working, honest people are losing their homes. (I almost said, “middle-class,” but I guess I’m not sure what that means any more.) In the midst of all this, McCain (R) was asked how many homes he owns.

Turns out he owns so many houses even HE doesn’t know!

I have nothing against rich people being rich, but if you’re rich AND in power, you’d best quit voting to deny benefits to veterans, don’t tell people that in your world $4.9 million a year is middle-class, and don’t forget how many houses you own! Especially when they look like this:

I’ve worked hard all my life, went to college, got a degree, served in the Guard and was fortunate enough to find a house I could afford ($40,000). I hate to say it, but John McCain will never understand my situation, my point of view. He’s too insulated from us average people. And by “average” I mean those of us making less than $5,000,000 a year. Sure, the “Country Club economy” is working for him. Is it working for you?

Well, I gave my notice at the print shop today. I told ’em I’d work part-time until the new lady gets up-to-speed, probably three weeks… Then I’ll be on my own.

Gosh, I hope this works out! I’m scared spitless right now.

Teeth

I went to the dentist the other day. Not because my teeth hurt or anything, but because he said I had cavities. Invisible, painless cavities that urgently needed attention RIGHT NOW. Probably because the dentist’s child is headed off to college in a few weeks and needs the money…

Anyway, so I go. “Hi Chris, come on back,” said the assistant lady as I walked in the door, “you’re right on time.” I followed her through to the torture room in the back and sat on the uncomfortable Chair of Much Pain. The dentist was there, rubbing his hands in glee. “So, are you having any problems with your teeth?” he asked.

“No, I answered, leaning back in the Chair of Much Pain, “but you must have problems with ’em — you’re the one that told me to be here.”

“Yeah,” he said, sharpening his meat hook, “when you had your teeth cleaned last month we noticed a few cavities. You really should quit eating and devote all your time to brushing. But we’ll get them fixed right up for you. Now lean back…” I lay back and stared at the ceiling. Eggshell, with no texture. “Open wider, please.” The dentist stuck a wad of cotton or something in the side of my mouth, and jammed a giant Q-Tip in there somewhere. The assistant lady stuck the sucker hose in the back of my mouth, “Sccchllllluupppph.”

“Okay, you’re going to feel a small pinch,” said the dentist, waving a syringe the size of a football in my face. “Gnuggga wom na,” I said. The syringe went into my mouth. “A small pinch,” I thought to myself. “Just a small pinch. No problem.” That’s when the fire shot down my neck. “WAAAArraaaaHHHAAAA” I yodeled through my nose. I could feel the needle probing around. Near as I could tell, the dentist was trying to numb my jaw by inserting the anesthetic directly to my brain — he had that needle jammed about sixteen inches into my face…

But a mere six hours later (in “patient years”*) the dentist pulled the needle out. “Thank God we’re done,” I thought to myself. “Okay, we’re ready to start,” he said. “Gnufff” I answered.

I stared at the ceiling. Eggshell, with no texture. The dentist started doing things. Whiny things, with a drill. “Wheeeeennngggg wheeeeeee weeeeeennnnnnggg.” The anesthetic worked, though, and I really didn’t feel anything, though I marveled at the cloud of tooth dust floating out of my mouth. Could have been smoke, I guess. Hard to tell. The dentist and the assistant fell into a routine, alternating with the drill and the sucky thing. “Wheeennggg wheeeeeen wheee… Sccchllllluupppph. Wheeeereeen whee wee weeeeeee…. Sccchllllluupppph.”

Every few minutes I would consciously force myself to relax. My hands were clenched together on my belly tighter than a three-year-old’s grip on a piece of candy. My stomach muscles ached. Several times I thought I could pick the chair up with my butt cheeks, they were clenched together so tight. I’d lay there on the Chair of Much Pain, forcing myself to relax, knowing that in three minutes (patient time) I’d be all clenched up again, even though the anesthetic was working fine.

“Think of something else,” I told myself. “Relax.” So I thought of other things…

I thought of my childhood dentist, a gentle man who never caused me any pain at all, and somehow never had to use anesthetic. He retired early and moved to Chicago to play piano in a jazz quartet.

I thought of the time in the mid 1990s when I told my boss at the print shop that I had a dentist appointment at 8 a.m. the next week. “Okay,” he said. “But Mr. X (our biggest customer) is coming in at 9 that morning to talk to you about a brochure. I need you to be here. And don’t be all goofy on painkillers or anything either.” So I went to the dentist — a guy I’ve never been to before — and told him to do what he had to do without giving me anesthetic. “I have a business meeting in an hour. My boss told me I have to be coherent and able to talk.” So the dentist did his drilling and filling and whatnot without giving me a shot or anything. Talk about pain! I was covered in sweat by the time he was done, but I endured it. I ran straight to work, making it to the office right at nine, my mouth throbbing, the memory of the recent pain VERY fresh in my mind. “I’m here,” I said. “Where’s Mr. X?” My face felt bruised. “I’m ready for the meeting.” My boss looked at me. “Oh. I forgot to tell you. He cancelled the meeting last week.”

I came back to reality. Eggshell. “Wheeeeenggg whe whee wheeeeeennn…” What else can I think of to distract myself?

I thought of the time I went to yet another new dentist in my hometown in the late 90s. I was laying back, listening to the sound of the drill, enjoying the root canal best I could. “Wheeeee wheeeeennggg wheeeUUNK.” I looked at the dentist. His eyes were real big. I looked at the dental hygienist lady. Her eyes were real big. “Uh oh,” said the dentist. He rummaged around a bit, picked up some other instrument of torture and went back to working on my teeth. I forgot about the “uh oh” as he kept working. When he was done I decided to stop at the store for a few things before I went to work. As I walked about the supermarket I noticed that everyone kept their distance from me. No one would make eye contact. People in the store were very definitely nervous for some reason… I made my way through the checkout counter, where the clerk stuttered and stammered to me, ringing my items up as quickly as he could. When I got back to my car I happened to look down. The right side of my shirt was covered in blood. I looked in the rear-view mirror — the right side of my face and neck were covered in blood. I drove home and checked things out… It was obvious the “uh oh” was the dentist dropping the drill in my mouth. I had a nice gash on the inside of my mouth, and a very thin cut from the corner of my lip down my cheek, bleeding like a stuck pig. Oddly enough I went back to that dentist two or three more times — he was the only dentist in the area that would take payments.

I checked back in to reality. Eggshell. Relax. “We’re just about done,” the dentist told me. “Gnurf,” I answered. He motioned to the assistant lady. She set the sucky thing down and handed the dentist something. “Okay,” he said, “this is just sandpaper. It’ll just take a minute.”

“Sandpaper?” I thought. “In my mouth? What the…” I could feel the dentist shoving something (sandpaper, I assume) between two of my teeth. He started yanking it back and forth. “Kzzzt, kzzzt, kzzzt, kzz-POP.”

“Uh oh,” said the dentist. “Um, hand me the orthorefractohoojometer please.” The assistant lady handed him a pair of pliers. He reached into my mouth and started yanking on something. “This will only take a… well son of a…” yank yank yank. My noggin whipped around like a bobblehead doll on Steve McQueen’s dashboard. “Can you give me the dentoforcepectomentordealy,” he said to the assistant lady, who handed him a pair of vice-grips.

By this time I’ve got both hands in a death grip on the Chair of Much Pain. My butt cheeks are holding onto the cushion for dear life. My eyes are crossed. The doctor grabs onto something in my mouth with the vice-grips and starts yanking. “Whang! Whang! Whang!” goes my head against the back of the chair. Finally, “Kzzzzt…” “Got it!” said the dentist. “Sorry ’bout that. The sandpaper got stuck between your teeth. Happens sometimes.”

Within minutes he was done and I was making my wobbly, numb way to the door. “We’ll need to see you in a few weeks to get the rest of the work done,” said the dentist. “See you then!” I shot him a dirty look and slinked out to my car.

This was all well and good, and to be honest I’d kinda forgotten about all of it (it’s good to blank some things out you know) until this morning. I was flossing. “Zip zip zip… Zip zip zip… Zip zi.” Stuck. Damn.

*One patient year is roughly equivalent to forty-two “real” years. Therefore one hour in the Chair of Much Pain is equivalent to 42 hours in the real world.
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