Of Homeownership, Recreational Burning, and Neighbors...

7/18/08 – Friday
[I wrote this before we had internet at the house, so I wasn't able to post it]

Well… we own a house, and we’re living in it. I decided to write again, and after dusting off my blog, I noticed that it has been just over a year since I last blogged on my blog (I really hate that word…see my first blog ever).

I haven't had all that much to talk about, really. I know, I know, being married is worth talking about, right? And school, right? Yeah...well...ahem...

I'm writing again because I've now got an ongoing project to record. It is more exciting than the day to day humdrum, although, don't get me wrong, my life is super exciting all the time... It's just this house project is more along the lines of my 13,000 mile motorcycle trip (chronicled in archived posts), in that each day, or week, something new is bound to happen and be worth remembering, at least to me.

On June 24, 2008, Sara and I signed the tower of papers and became 'owners' of 3391 N Brett Ave. For the both of us this is our first house, and as such it has been quite a learning experience. After having been snatched up, munched upon, partially digested, and spat back out by the real estate world, it is no wonder that the housing industry (and mortgage industry) is in the dire straits that it is in. Of course Government bailouts and all that nonsense doesn't help the situation... but I digress.

We've learned that not all real estate agents have a pressing urge to be truthful, not all that glitters is gold, and trusting God during stressful times is like having a good set of needle-nose pliers in your toolbox; handy when you think you 'don't' need them, and indispensable when you do. The whole experience has served both of us well by forcing us to depend more on each other, and then together on our awesome God.

Some of you have seen pictures on Facebook of our house already, but the details are absent. It is a ranch style home with around 1500 square feet, three bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms, detached two car garage, and it sits on a pristinely flat three quarters of an acre. We've got a few oak trees, a black walnut tree, a gum tree, a couple of maples (one of them is over two feet in diameter), and an assortment of others, including conifers. Our lot is a corner lot, well shaded by our canopy of green. Even when it is really hot, our lot is a few degrees cooler and pleasant. The house stays cool, almost like it has natural air conditioning. That is until it gets humid… then it is not pleasant. Not in the least. But that’s okay.

It is a fixer-upper, the most glaring blemish being a defunct septic system. As I write, the drone of a backhoe fills the air. We’re getting the whole system replaced. No more wincing every time the toilet flushes, hoping that that was the last time we have to see that again. We were originally going to wait until the septic was finished before moving in, but one thing kept delaying another, and we finally just moved in (our stuff was already moved in) this past Monday evening. Sara's parents were our hosts for the two weeks of transition. (I think they keeping thinking…wait, wait, wait...I thought once the kids leave the nest, they aren't supposed to come back...)

We've owned the thing since the 24th of June, and here it is nearly the middle of July. I've barely scratched the surface. I've got excuses... I had mono. Yes, mono. I was out of town for Jordan Niednagel's wedding. It's been raining...er...I'll think of more later.

Regardless of delay, I've now begun the biggest project of my life (besides my wife...I'll get punched in the arm for that one), and I am thrilled to my very core.

The house has been vacant for a good while, so the yard was slightly overgrown, my gutters were gardens, and my grass a jungle. There was a large pile of brush and sticks in the backyard that needed to be disposed of, and my garage roof is leaking like swiss cheese. With the three inches of rain in the past week and a half or so, the last item is rather concerning.

The plumbing in the full bathroom was a near disaster...still is, actually, although I'm in the process of the remedy. The shower/tub and the vanity sink were both disconnected under the house. Yes, the showers and face washings of the previous owner ran freely down to the soft and sandy soil in the crawlspace. If it wasn’t unintentional (I hope), then it would be akin to sweeping the dust under the nearest rug, then soaking it with the hose. In the past couple of days, I've descended twice under my subfloors, and wallowed in the putrid muck. As my father-in-law aptly stated, "Plumbing projects are always longer than you mean them to be." So true. The important stuff is working now. That bathroom will be getting a facelift fairly soon.

Although I really like the guy who is working on my septic, he scores low on the ‘communication’ scale. If you don’t pester him with phone calls then he simply forgets to pass on important info…like, hey, I’m here this morning at 7:15 to do the work now. Oh. Today was one of two possible days he’d come, so I wasn’t too surprised. Still, it would’ve been nice if he had called last night and let me know for sure. Anyway, due to his efforts with the normally cranky and obstinate health department I don’t have to install a more expensive system, so I can’t really complain.

To get the yard ready for him to work I had to deal with the large pile of brush (which was right in the way). One of my neighbors, Keith (or Mr. Nosy, as Sara suspiciously calls him), informed me of a pleasant loophole in the city's burn policies. "Just call the city and tell them you're having a weenie roast...a recreational burn." He talks lackadaisically, and a cigarette is usually slowly burning in one hand; a coffee mug warms the other. Although Sara doesn't like his questions and curiosity, Keith has turned out to be one of those old fashioned, good neighbors, whose nose finds him out all sorts of useful and helpful things.

While we talked Joe walked up, grinning his completely toothless grin, his fat dog Rosie in train. Joe and I have talked since, while I was having my 'weenie roast', and I still can't understand but a small fraction of what he's talking about. Makes sense to him, I guess. He's friendly, and like everyone else, offers help when needed.

Ubie is a nice guy. He lives around the corner. Bob Walker is directly across the street north of us, and he has been a deep well of info on the previous owners of our house. Evidently, there has been some drama in our house's past. I won’t bore you. I will say that it felt quite weird to be talking to my neighbors. I’m nearly twenty-five, I’m married, I now own a house, but I just don’t feel old enough to be talking to my neighbors as equals. It just seems weird.

The other day I finally got around to mowing the lawn in its entirety. Three-quarters of an acre is a lot for a twenty-one inch push mower. My father-in-law is going to let me borrow one of the riding mowers that the church used to use. It needs some TLC to get it working again, but anything is worth cutting down the two and a half hours, and three gallons of sweat it took with me pushing. Mostly, I just don’t like taking time away from the more important projects, such as the kitchen, which I’ll get to later.

So, I’ve been initiated into homeownership. Cleaning out nasty gutters. Clipping the overgrown bushes. Mowing the lawn. Neighbors. Plumbing. The facts of life these days.

Regards,

Jonathan