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Posts Tagged ‘basement’

Husband may have to go.

There is nothing on earth, that I hate as much as crawly things without legs.  (Opps!  That did not come out right.  I don’t mean to say he is a crawly thing without legs.  He just likes to ignore things that need to be done.)  Now, my hatred does not include larger things, like snakes, which are also crawly and without legs.  Although, after I found a snake in the basement, it did take me about six months to stop searching the basement floor for snakes everytime I went down there.  I am quite sure they know it is me descending the stairs and they then hide behind the washing machine, or on a more evil note, the toilet so as to scare the holy s__t out of me.

But, show me a maggot and I will become a quivering mass of jelly.  A quivering mass who will sit on the couch for days making sure I do not have one of those things on my skin or in my hair.

So, the other day we had tiny little fruit flies; LOTS of tiny fruit flies.  Husband took out the inside garbage and hosed the can down inside and the lid and also did it to the outside cans.  He did not tell me he had found maggots in the lid.  The lid which I put my hand in and brush the top of.  So, this week those same flies are everywhere.  I tell husband, that’s it, the garbage can goes outside (the inside kitchen one.)  I was refusing to use it.

He took the can out, bleached it, did not wash the outside (I have no idea why that bothers me, but it does) and then proceeds to come in and tell me that the whole domed  lid was covered in ::::::::::   MAGGOTS.  OMG, MAGGOTS.

Freakin, I stuck my hand in that lid.  I felt the warmth and humidity and probably touched them.  OMG, MAGGOTS.

I’m off to shower now, for about five hours.

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Today, I have a bruise.  No, that is not a joy of aging, that is a natural result of being clumsy, and it is an integral part of our story for today. 

 

Before my mother moved into an apartment, she stayed with us in our finished walk-out downstairs.  I don’t like to admit my mother lived in the basement, so I say downstairs.  It sounds cruel.  However, the first family (no, not the Obamas) the family who built on this property, lived in that basement, as a house the whole time they lived here.  It wasn’t until they sold the property, that the next owner built an upstairs to the finished walk-out basement. 

 

While mom was living here, she had her dog (Irritating Little Chihuahua) with her.  Chihuahua weighed about eight pounds at that time and is definitely a lap dog.  She would rather walk on your legs and lap than on the floor.  Now, mom’s skin is getting thin and she is very sensitive to touch and I would constantly hear mom yelling at Chihuahua about stepping on her legs and hurting her.

When mom moved to her apartment, she decided it was best to leave Chihuahua here.

 

Lesson for today:  

Do not judge another person’s pain until you have walked a mile in their shoes.  Or, in this case, had a 7.2 lb Irritating little Chihuahua walk on your bruises.   

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After much hassle and more money than I ever dreamt any move should cost, we closed on our house November 7, 2003.  I promise this will be the last house post for a while.

As rumor has it, the first owner lived in a trailer, while he built the basement and then moved into that. It had a low sloped peaked roof on it, and a bucket affair for a septic system.

The second owner then built the upstairs, without removing the original roof or replacing the bucket.  We have twelve inches of ceiling, roofing and flooring between the first and second floors.  It is very soundproof, except for the central stairway, and, there is no sneaking around in our house as it has the squeakiest floor on the planet.

We did, when spring broke, get a real septic system, paid for by escrow money.

When, the foundation was put in, there was no gravel added, so the side that is underground, is having wall seepage problems. Mom used to get little rivulets of water down the wall. We got a repair estimate and, ever since, I have been threatening to buy more shovels for our four strapping boy. They are strong and limber and I would not have to take the porch off if they got under there and dug it out.

We had twenty-two separate propane leaks to fix. After the fifth propane leak was found, I called the propane company out. They declared we were leak free.  That was sixteen leaks ago. One set of leaks was because the previous owner built a box around the propane line and then used a nail gun, not on the edges, but right on the middle, to nail the cover on; thus, nailing through the propane line; not once, but twice.  You never saw a disabled man move so fast in your life as when my husband pulled that cover off to check.

The plumbing is another constant battle.  Husband recently fixed the kitchen drain leak for the third time. And, the downstairs bathroom has so many leaks that our water bill has doubled and the bathroom is looking like a permanent site of remodeling.  As the last repair left a square cut out of the bathroom wall and the cut-out piece leans in place.

One leak that has been repaired previously, and he tells me it has “healed itself,” is by the water heater.  I go check and report that the bucket is overflowing again.  And, he says he thought it was fixed. Apparently, he is holding an invisible plumber hostage down there.

Then there is the infamous leak in EMT boy’s bedroom from an original leak that, when husband repaired it, it flooded my mother’s room, right above her computer.  Gaffer and I grabbed empty Rubbermaids and tried to catch the waterfall flowing above mom’s computer station. It was “Abbot and Costello meets Niagra Falls.”  I recently discovered, the hard way, that it is still leaking.  EMT boy’s room had to be dried out, yet again.

 
 

 

The house did not just come with problems either, some were created after we moved in. 
Husband had a good mind, at one time; I think that twenty years of COPD has caused oxygen deprivation, as most intelligent people do not check for propane leaks with a match.

I now have soot on the wall and a large hole from a fire he started in the wall behind the kitchen stove. He has also, when putting shrink wrap on a package (he shrinks my drawings) melted the carpet in one room.

Don’t get me wrong, I love it back home in Indiana. We have four acres and a pond (30 feet deep x 30 feet x 100 feet) and the boys ( we have four living with us now instead of one) use it all summer. Recently, they built a fire pit and use that constantly too. 

The wooded property is beautiful and, each morning I take a walk with Chihuahua, weed, pick vegetables and take pictures. The last thing I do at night is let Chihuahua out, and step outside to listen to the crickets and frogs, and spend a few minutes just staring at the stars and watching the tree tops sway.  

I think, if I lived in a tent, I would be very happy; colder maybe but dryer.

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