Thursday, February 12, 2004
Already I can sense that the decision on the architect will likely be the biggest one I'll make, after the decision to buy the land itself. On the latter, I still sometimes get these fleeting moments of What the Hell Am I Doing? But then I think of the synergy: that I've wanted to do this forever; that I've kept a clipping file for years on neat houses, tips on buying land, etc.; that it's a challenge I need; that it is in my own back yard; and that beautiful, well-designed spaces can set things right in one's more interior, mental spaces. For example: Scripps. The beautiful surroundings made my life there better and, I like to think, me better.
I've narrowed the architect list to three, and it seems the decision might come down to the even split in my tastes for both modern and classical. Are the preferences necessarily conflicting? Yesterday I was showing my colleague pictures of the hotel (a house, really) where we'll stay in Buenos Aires: www.milonguita.de/02-02-Argentinien/Ricarda. It looks like a combination of cool and comfortable; of course, it helps it's one of these grand houses in a venerable neighborhood, so the bones are solid and steeped in Old South America with Euro leanings. I love the little wrought-iron porches; they recall romance and Rapunzel.
The lawyer left a message yesterday, and I had to smile. He's perplexed by the same lack of straight answers I encountered with regard to utilities' easement needs. I think of Dickens' Circumlocution Office, except the people you talk to here in Portland really are friendly and willing to help. They just don't want to divulge any magic numbers. More likely, it's that the magic numbers don't exist -- until, of course, an easement plan is put in front of them and it may be determined to be "too small" or simply "not right." Maybe I should plot it with a Ouija board.
As busy as my mind is with getting Mabel and Galusha going, about all I can think about lately is finally fixing the drainage issues on my current house. I woke up agonizing about the size of the gravel I'll need and how much of it, as well as how big the holes should be in the perforated pipe. One thing's for sure: I can't wait to get rid of the five-year headache. It could be as soon as this weekend!
I've narrowed the architect list to three, and it seems the decision might come down to the even split in my tastes for both modern and classical. Are the preferences necessarily conflicting? Yesterday I was showing my colleague pictures of the hotel (a house, really) where we'll stay in Buenos Aires: www.milonguita.de/02-02-Argentinien/Ricarda. It looks like a combination of cool and comfortable; of course, it helps it's one of these grand houses in a venerable neighborhood, so the bones are solid and steeped in Old South America with Euro leanings. I love the little wrought-iron porches; they recall romance and Rapunzel.
The lawyer left a message yesterday, and I had to smile. He's perplexed by the same lack of straight answers I encountered with regard to utilities' easement needs. I think of Dickens' Circumlocution Office, except the people you talk to here in Portland really are friendly and willing to help. They just don't want to divulge any magic numbers. More likely, it's that the magic numbers don't exist -- until, of course, an easement plan is put in front of them and it may be determined to be "too small" or simply "not right." Maybe I should plot it with a Ouija board.
As busy as my mind is with getting Mabel and Galusha going, about all I can think about lately is finally fixing the drainage issues on my current house. I woke up agonizing about the size of the gravel I'll need and how much of it, as well as how big the holes should be in the perforated pipe. One thing's for sure: I can't wait to get rid of the five-year headache. It could be as soon as this weekend!
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
Earlier this week, the "Sale Pending" sticker went up on the realtor's sign next door. Yippee.
Just about every day some progress is made, even though the closing date isn't for a few weeks yet. Last week I met with the lawyers on the easement issue. It sounds like they might not need a survey, which makes me happy. Of course, I may end up having to get a survey later down the road anyway, but I'll pay that bill when I come to it.
Then, on Saturday, the Grok God -- my graphic designer savior -- plotted the driveway in Adobe Illustrator. It's so cool to see it there, on paper, and how it neatly covers every single corner of the four properties. Call it the driveway that binds. Of course, I aim to social-engineer the hell out of it so in no way can an RV get back there or an SUV.
Today I was reminded of how small Portland is. I was on the phone asking the guy at the Bureau of Environmental Services about sewer hookup. When I gave him the address of the property, he blurted out, "Hey, that's a friend of mine! I spent a lot of time over there, and we talked about his back lots all the time."
Speaking of my neighbor, I pulled the permits on his house, which go all the way back to excavation in 1929 and lo, here's a permit in 1989 for "oil to gas furnace." But then I remembered in the disclosures how he'd said there was no oil tank on the property, the bane of many Portland homeowners. So my realtor and I call my neighbor's realtor, who calls my neighbor, who says he was using coal to heat his house up until 1989. I wish I had a recording of my realtor saying, "Where was he buying coal in the city of Portland in 1989?" For now, I've got to believe him. Or I can track him down in Idaho later. Right.
Still, it occurs to me the coal thing fits right in with the primitive-ness of this whole deal. There was a permit, I noticed, issued to Mabel Bailey for a cesspool in 1967, the year I was born. Who knows what gadgets I plan to put in my house that will be considered antique in a few decades?
What kind of name is Galusha anyway?
Just about every day some progress is made, even though the closing date isn't for a few weeks yet. Last week I met with the lawyers on the easement issue. It sounds like they might not need a survey, which makes me happy. Of course, I may end up having to get a survey later down the road anyway, but I'll pay that bill when I come to it.
Then, on Saturday, the Grok God -- my graphic designer savior -- plotted the driveway in Adobe Illustrator. It's so cool to see it there, on paper, and how it neatly covers every single corner of the four properties. Call it the driveway that binds. Of course, I aim to social-engineer the hell out of it so in no way can an RV get back there or an SUV.
Today I was reminded of how small Portland is. I was on the phone asking the guy at the Bureau of Environmental Services about sewer hookup. When I gave him the address of the property, he blurted out, "Hey, that's a friend of mine! I spent a lot of time over there, and we talked about his back lots all the time."
Speaking of my neighbor, I pulled the permits on his house, which go all the way back to excavation in 1929 and lo, here's a permit in 1989 for "oil to gas furnace." But then I remembered in the disclosures how he'd said there was no oil tank on the property, the bane of many Portland homeowners. So my realtor and I call my neighbor's realtor, who calls my neighbor, who says he was using coal to heat his house up until 1989. I wish I had a recording of my realtor saying, "Where was he buying coal in the city of Portland in 1989?" For now, I've got to believe him. Or I can track him down in Idaho later. Right.
Still, it occurs to me the coal thing fits right in with the primitive-ness of this whole deal. There was a permit, I noticed, issued to Mabel Bailey for a cesspool in 1967, the year I was born. Who knows what gadgets I plan to put in my house that will be considered antique in a few decades?
What kind of name is Galusha anyway?
Sunday, February 01, 2004
Xin nian kuai le! (Happy New Year!)
This year I sent out Year of the Monkey cards, co-opting a page from a 1934 reference book meant to teach Chinese people the American slang of the day.
One of the book's entries is "Monkey with a buzz saw," described thus: "To take a dangerous chance." Right next to the English definition are 2 tiny old-style Chinese characters, and they seem to indicate how easy it would be to express such a thing in Mandarin. It fits into the overall sense of irony I get from many things Chinese: The complex is simple, the simple turns out to be, well, mind numbing.
The expression's apt for me because I'm closing in a month on the property next door. There's 2 empty lots in back, and I mean to build there. In researching at county deeds and records, I saw the lots were bought by Mabel and Galusha Bailey, back in the 1940s, and that seems to fit the character of the lots themselves as well as the houses I have in mind.
So far I've been calling the house meant for the undersize lot, what I hope will be a tiny well-designed jewel, Mabel. Galusha, of course, will go in the bigger, oversize lot.
I can hear the monkey and her buzz saw now.
This year I sent out Year of the Monkey cards, co-opting a page from a 1934 reference book meant to teach Chinese people the American slang of the day.
One of the book's entries is "Monkey with a buzz saw," described thus: "To take a dangerous chance." Right next to the English definition are 2 tiny old-style Chinese characters, and they seem to indicate how easy it would be to express such a thing in Mandarin. It fits into the overall sense of irony I get from many things Chinese: The complex is simple, the simple turns out to be, well, mind numbing.
The expression's apt for me because I'm closing in a month on the property next door. There's 2 empty lots in back, and I mean to build there. In researching at county deeds and records, I saw the lots were bought by Mabel and Galusha Bailey, back in the 1940s, and that seems to fit the character of the lots themselves as well as the houses I have in mind.
So far I've been calling the house meant for the undersize lot, what I hope will be a tiny well-designed jewel, Mabel. Galusha, of course, will go in the bigger, oversize lot.
I can hear the monkey and her buzz saw now.
