Anything Goes

My life just keeps getting more interesting. T-Bird had major oral surgery last Friday. For some reason, following the births of her children, her teeth just started going to pot. Finally, she had all of her top teeth, including an impacted wisdom tooth and a cyst, removed.

(Said in Gollum voice) Creepy crawlies and nasties….

Welcome to my newest nightmare.  I called my claim adjustor Monday and told him that the floor joists under the computer room looked pretty bad and we should probably tear up that room, replace the hardwood, and while we’re there, let’s see how bad it is…

Some of the wood is still damp, there’s mold, there’s mildew, and worse, there’s tar paper.

Wood flooring layed today will have rosin paper or some type of felt between the hardwood and the floor joists or plywood to absorb moisture, prevent squeaking, etc. Tar paper only acts as a vapor/evaporation barrier between the crawl space and the hardwood.

But, if you put water or other liquid over the hardwood, tar paper acts as a barrier to that water or other liquid leaving the hardwood and draining past, in my case, the pine joists. It sits under the hardwood.

 They put so much water into the computer room and hallway that it actually did penetrate, in some spots, the tar paper, causing water damage under the house. 

On top of that mess, are the areas of the flooring that burned completely through the hardwood, tar paper, and inch thick pine joists.

Other places it just burned to cinders and carbon.

Luckily, I have a great insurance company and a great adjustor who just asked that I take pictures to verify blah blah blah, but, it just wasn’t the day to hear, “Yo, more time away from the homestead.”  Just. Not. The. Day.

As I was knelt down in the computer room, taking pictures, the overwhelming weight just sat me right down in the floor, and as Nathan told Ron when he tried to get my attention, “She’s having a moment, man.”

I broke when I realized I was kneeling right over the spot that Napoleon died and when I sat down it was though he was right there with me and then they were all there, one by one. It’s a strange feeling to describe, the sorrow, the comfort, but also and again, the knowledge that life goes on beyond the physical and love never dies.

And a time for every purpose under the sun…

 I finally got some of the pictures taken of the house a few days after the fire.

The source of the fire, my floor furnace. To the left of the grate you can see the hole burned in the floor.

It spread into the computer room, the ceiling, and attic, burning every box, bag, and table, including those in the attic. All of the debris here is a combination of me tossing everything looking for stuff, the contents of that section of the attic, the ceiling, and insulation, plus parts of the wall.  You can see my computer desk and what was left of my monitor in the right back corner of the picture. 

The fire burned through the door of Nate’s room and scorched all of the furniture.

It spread into the bathroom, which was opposite the computer room. It melted the shower curtain to the tub and the heat peeled the shower stall from the wall.

The heat rose in my room, scorching all of the furniture, burning pictures right off the walls and melting my CD holder, which was empty.

 The fire spread into the living room and along the love seat, up the walls, burning my dad’s moose antlers, and a set of paintings my German sister had done.

Across the ceiling

Along the east wall, across the entertainment center, to the curio cabinet and front air conditioner.

A picture of Nate, my brother, and myself was hanging on the wall next to the curio cabinet… It survived with some heat damage.

The heat and fire came into the kitchen from both the computer room and the living room. Melting the blinds, the litterboxes, scorching the cabinets. and causing part of the ceiling to fall.

Yet, a picture of my host father in Greece, which was taped to the inside of the cabinet to the far left beside of the refridgerator, was unharmed.

I found Ozzy a foot from the front door, in front of the air conditioner. Cali was in front of the curio. Marco was lying on the end table beside of the couch, which was against the west wall, to the left of the moose antlers and not visibile in the pictures. Lola was lying on top of the couch.

Napoleon was in the computer room.  He was badly burned and a piece of metal had melted across his body. I dug him out with a shovel, a screwdriver, and my bare hands because I could not stand the thought of leaving him there.  I told the house that he was mine and it may have taken him but it was not going to keep him.

Ireland was in the doorway of my bedroom and Midnight was in the doorway of the bathroom, her favorite place to hide was behind the commode.

 I found Smokey on my bed, right where he was when I left. The blinds had melted and fallen over most of his body. I lost it.

I knelt on my soaked mattress and sobbed into my filty, sooty hands, in my filthy, sooty clothes, in the miserable cold. I remembered the kitten that they said wouldn’t live. Malnourished and so tiny when I brought him home, only to prove them all wrong and live and grow into the 18 lb. patriarch of my feline family.

He sent many a dog packing for daring to sniff a blade of grass of his property, after all, I just paid the bills so he could rule the roost. And even at the age of 11, he still loved to play with his fluffy tail.  He didn’t mind eating your hair, or breathing in your face, or biting your toes or meowing loudly if it meant you waking up and feeding him.

He hated dogs but he was the most tolerant of all the cats with kittens and new cats, as soon as they figured out that he was the boss. When the door opened and Schmo walked in, he was met by his family, even cranky Midnight. Napoleon followed him everywhere he went. The kittens would curl up against his big fluffy belly and he would groom them, just as though they were his own.

And, he survived Nate. Not bad given the fact Nate actually tried to nurse on him when he was a baby. If a cat can give you a “look,” well, he definitely gave me one that day. And when those who have been to my home heard of the fire, they didn’t ask of the cats, they asked of Schmo.

He and I weathered many storms together and I always said he was the most faithful man I ever had. I miss him.

Let’s start with my frisky felines… Macy and Hermione.

When Macy joined the family, she hid under the couch.

Then she decided being a lap kitty wasn’t so bad…

But really, she prefers belly rubs…

which Hermione finds hilarious….

The house is coming along…

This is the kitchen during early rebuild…

Kitchen with new walls and vinyl…

Bathroom during early rebuild…

Bathroom with vinyl (walls are there, just not real visible)

I also have a new bathtub, vanity, and mirror (which was obviously placed by a certain tall someone who doesn’t realize what it’s like to be short… ahem!)

Then there’s some new stuff I’ve purchased…

My Egyptian paintings…

and some new curtains…

And then there’s the hailstorm for you natural disaster lovers….

Oh, and the mirror, mirror on the wall… almost

And Nate’s new chest…

For you NASCAR fans…

Then, there’s always something going on at the shop, like NASCAR, like Stacy Compton’s new development driver from WEST VIRGINIA, Derek Kiser. Ya’ll say hi to Derek…

We made Derek’s t-shirts. Here he is with Rich and Nick, oh, and Bob in the background.

So, we all got to go to the big media announcement and get our pictures taken with Stacy and Derek and to see Derek’s #46 car.

And, that is all.

After a restless night and little sleep, the alarm went off at 6 and Jeff called me at 10 after to inform me I needed to pick Nate up for school, which I had previously been unaware of. So, I drug my exhausted ass out of bed, picked up Nate and was at the house at the butt ass crack of dawn. I know this because sunrise was 7:30 and I was there before then and I was there directly at the crack of dawn, again.Okay, call me obsessive.Then, I dropped Nate off at school at 10 til 8 and I was back at my house at 8 a.m. on the dot. And luckily, so were they.

1,000 t-shirts later, I’m exhausted. My body didn’t have time to become re-acclimated to the rigors of shop work and I’m feelin’ it and I’ll feel it again tomorrow when we do the left chest on the same 1,000 shirts.

Is at my old blog… http://blackpunkin.blogspot.com/2007/03/partial-pictoral.html

We had a hailstorm yesterday evening. I mean the real kind, not a Peach Storm. I took pictures… and I have pictures of my house… and the re-building of said house…. and the ceilings and a great story about that… but… no time at the present.

I promise, this weekend, a pictoral.

The second day after the fire, the morning of the afternoon of Asshat, I had a dream. It was one of those short yet powerful psychotic episodes.  In the dream, it was though I was speaking to myself. I was dressed as I had been since the fire… camo pants, a black insulated jacket, work boots, and the Steelers toboggan that Aimee got me for my birthday while we were in Pittsburgh.

 My hand is criss-crossed with two big blue bandages to keep my blister from popping and getting infected. I am covered in soot from head to toe, my nose is red, and I have that lost look. I have a picture if Stacey would just send it to me.

 The dream started from my own perspective and I was looking at my hands, which for some reason, I did a lot of during this time period in real life. Then the perspective changed and it was though I was looking at myself.

 I said, to myself, “Look at you! You shouldn’t be here! This is why no man loves you.”

 I woke up, hurt and angry, ready to fight anyone. And it still hurts.

 My mind took that dream and ran with it all day. When I looked into my yard, I saw other women standing there, with their arms crossed against the bitter cold, but clean and fragile. They were watching their men do what I was doing and all they had to do was stand there and look pretty.

 The mind plays tricks on you. I’ve been hurt a lot in my life, but I don’t think anything has wounded me as deep as that dream did.

 I know I do what I have to do, regardless of gender role whatever because if i don’t, it won’t get done.  My friends and family helped all they could. I wouldn’t let my dad come down because he has asbestosis and silicosis. I’m a two pack a day smoker, now, and it hurt my lungs and my eyes to be in some of the rooms, especially the computer room. I wasn’t about to let him come down there in that mess.

My brother, fuck, he didn’t even call me, my sister-in-law did, and he still hasn’t spoken to me, regardless of the fact I was at his son’s birthday party this weekend. Steve, Stacey, and my cousin helped the most right after the fire and then when they got the burned out stuff cleaned out, my dad came down and hauled a bunch of stuff away (fridges, washer, dryer, etc. for the metal).

 But, the majority of it, fell to me. And wouldn’t it? I’m the one who knew where everything was. I knew where to look for the pendant that Troy bought me, the photo album from Germany, the prayer rug, etc. etc.

But, let’s be honest, that dream was nothing more than my own deep fears that I am truly just not loveable. Not feminine enough and unwilling to take on a fragility that doesn’t exist out-ward-ly. And also my fears that no man will ever give two shits enough to find the fragility underneath and if he does, well, Steve, need I say more?

 It was a dream of a loss of faith. I told my Lady the other day, “I don’t know why this happened, but it had better be good and worth it.”