Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Big news week at the minidevelopment:
I may have a buyer for Galusha! Right now, I'm talking to the lawyers, drawing up a list of potential CC&Rs to attach to the lot, and thinking about a sales price for the land, but so far, so great. I mean, wouldn't it be cool to get a little cash infusion now, a spiritual partner in the endeavor, and less anxiety while at the same time feeling free to focus on Mabel and make it as great as it can be? Why, yes.
This morning, the builder delivered his preliminary numbers and guess what? They're high. We spent the next 2 hours scheming on how to make stuff cheaper, including deleting one of the second-floor balconies. Right now the price is about a third more than I thought it could be, so we have a lot of chopping to do.
On a creepy note, I was puttering around in the second floor of Construction HQ where I'm pretty convinced the Pirate was doing a grow operation. Why else would he silver out the windows so? Anyway, I walk the length of the floor, see a perfectly scraped-out circle in the paint on the south window and stoop down to look -- straight into my bedroom window. Thanks, Dennis. (Now I feel so exploited, I can use his real name.)
The marmoleum went down nicely on half the first floor. I love the Asian Tiger in the bathroom!
I may have a buyer for Galusha! Right now, I'm talking to the lawyers, drawing up a list of potential CC&Rs to attach to the lot, and thinking about a sales price for the land, but so far, so great. I mean, wouldn't it be cool to get a little cash infusion now, a spiritual partner in the endeavor, and less anxiety while at the same time feeling free to focus on Mabel and make it as great as it can be? Why, yes.
This morning, the builder delivered his preliminary numbers and guess what? They're high. We spent the next 2 hours scheming on how to make stuff cheaper, including deleting one of the second-floor balconies. Right now the price is about a third more than I thought it could be, so we have a lot of chopping to do.
On a creepy note, I was puttering around in the second floor of Construction HQ where I'm pretty convinced the Pirate was doing a grow operation. Why else would he silver out the windows so? Anyway, I walk the length of the floor, see a perfectly scraped-out circle in the paint on the south window and stoop down to look -- straight into my bedroom window. Thanks, Dennis. (Now I feel so exploited, I can use his real name.)
The marmoleum went down nicely on half the first floor. I love the Asian Tiger in the bathroom!
Thursday, May 20, 2004
Even though I haven’t been posting often, so much is happening. For instance, on Friday I had an incredibly productive meeting with the builder and the architects. Challenging as it is to build a couple cool houses on a tight budget, it still feels like fun.
Last weekend’s garage sale brought plenty of neighbors in to share the gossip on “the developer building the houses in back.” I was glad to have the chance to identify myself and sort hearsay from facts. So far, the neighbors have been overwhelmingly supportive; of course, most say they’re just glad the Pirate is gone and there’s no more homemade explosives bursting overhead.
Oh! And Jessica e-mailed me to talk about her Portland visit. She suggests doing an outdoor concert at Maggie’s Farm, in the half-acre or so behind Construction Headquarters. Tentative date: Friday, August 13. I’m thrilled not only because I get to see Jessica, but also that if this development is all about art and creativity, what better way to set it in motion? The show would, after all, be right around the time of the proposed groundbreaking.
Last weekend’s garage sale brought plenty of neighbors in to share the gossip on “the developer building the houses in back.” I was glad to have the chance to identify myself and sort hearsay from facts. So far, the neighbors have been overwhelmingly supportive; of course, most say they’re just glad the Pirate is gone and there’s no more homemade explosives bursting overhead.
Oh! And Jessica e-mailed me to talk about her Portland visit. She suggests doing an outdoor concert at Maggie’s Farm, in the half-acre or so behind Construction Headquarters. Tentative date: Friday, August 13. I’m thrilled not only because I get to see Jessica, but also that if this development is all about art and creativity, what better way to set it in motion? The show would, after all, be right around the time of the proposed groundbreaking.
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
It occurred to me as I disassembled my work table in the studio last night that this is the first step in pushing Ma Nao Books underground -- to the basement next door, that is. I'm so paranoid about moisture in the basement, though, that I've put the paper collection in the attic, where it will get awfully hot, but I think (knock wood) that's the worst of it.
The drywallers are crawling all over Construction HQ, and it's incredible how much better the place looks as the walls form into smooth expanses.
The other night, I cleaned all the windows, and what a revelation. With every act of cleaning or renovation, the house feels that much more fresh and inviting. I'm beginning to think I know what dirt smells like.
Meanwhile, I prepare for the garage sale Friday and Saturday with Val, send out positive vibes toward potential purchasers of the yellow house, muse on paint colors for the new rooms, and wrack my brain trying to figure out where a towel bar will fit in the bath.
Looking forward, the builder, architect, and I meet Friday for our first big meeting. The floor plans for Mabel are starting to come together. I'm excited about the tower concept, the staircase that's a shaft of light, a big walk-in closet, and, most of all, the grooviness of the tango bindery.
The drywallers are crawling all over Construction HQ, and it's incredible how much better the place looks as the walls form into smooth expanses.
The other night, I cleaned all the windows, and what a revelation. With every act of cleaning or renovation, the house feels that much more fresh and inviting. I'm beginning to think I know what dirt smells like.
Meanwhile, I prepare for the garage sale Friday and Saturday with Val, send out positive vibes toward potential purchasers of the yellow house, muse on paint colors for the new rooms, and wrack my brain trying to figure out where a towel bar will fit in the bath.
Looking forward, the builder, architect, and I meet Friday for our first big meeting. The floor plans for Mabel are starting to come together. I'm excited about the tower concept, the staircase that's a shaft of light, a big walk-in closet, and, most of all, the grooviness of the tango bindery.
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
My house is on the market, and it's so neat and clean I feel like I'm living in a museum. In fact, I find myself going in and out the back door, as if I'm the servant. I can't wait to get rid of the thing -- and its corresponding mortgage payment. People ask if I'm sad to leave a place where I've spent so much time and money fixing things up, and heck no. I've got Construction HQ and, most important, Mabel! Yay Mabel. (Galusha, too.)
In all this activity comes the passing of my grandpa John, who died last week at 95. I stopped at his and Grandma IM's house on the way up for the funeral, and we all keenly felt the absence in his big chair and the spark of his being. I miss him already.
After all, I credit him with my developer-adventurer genes, because he loved travel, made stuff happen, and thrived on new projects. We're lucky we had him as long as we did. He was supposed to live forever! And, as Jules pointed out, he nearly did.
Here's the memory that poured out as I packed to drive north:
When I think of Grandpa John, I immediately think of two things: his room-filling laugh and the fact that he was at peace with himself, what he was doing, and what he had done.
The last time I visited, over Thanksgiving, I brought along my tango partner and we knocked, then entered the house. Quick as a wink, I saw Grandpa John jump to push the stop button on his tape player to greet us and give the afternoon to conversation.
He had the usual glint in his eye, and I asked what he was reading on his tape player. He grinned that sweet smile, and the glint in his eye grew brighter.
“Harry Potter,” he said.
Later my tango partner and I danced for him and Grandma IM, and Grandpa John watched, eyes agog, I like to think not because we are good but because tango is exactly Grandpa John’s kind of thing – that perfect combination of art, science, passion, engineering, and collaboration. All that and you don’t even need an environmental impact statement.
When our two-song performance was over, he paused and said, “Will you dance another one?” And we did.
Afterward he held and marveled at my tango shoes – and, again, as pieces of art and science he could appreciate them – the suede perfectly trimmed, the heel positioned just so.
It was one of so many times where he showed support, curiosity, and enthusiasm for whatever I was doing. Whether it was going to China, buying my house, or getting my ears fixed, Grandpa John was there with a keen interest, good questions, and gestures of love.
On that last visit, while Grandma IM and I fixed lunch in the kitchen, Grandpa John turned his attention to my tango partner and our upcoming trip to Argentina.
“You know, it can get a little scary down there in Buenos Aires. Be sure to take care of yourselves. Take care of her.”
So even though Grandpa John is not here, he’s always looking after us. And when I see him now, I think of him rid of his failing mortal coil, I think of him deep into his favorite creations of art and science – whether it’s fine woodwork, a perfect steamboat, or a satisfying Manhattan – and, most of all, I think again of his laugh and I imagine him, dancing.
In all this activity comes the passing of my grandpa John, who died last week at 95. I stopped at his and Grandma IM's house on the way up for the funeral, and we all keenly felt the absence in his big chair and the spark of his being. I miss him already.
After all, I credit him with my developer-adventurer genes, because he loved travel, made stuff happen, and thrived on new projects. We're lucky we had him as long as we did. He was supposed to live forever! And, as Jules pointed out, he nearly did.
Here's the memory that poured out as I packed to drive north:
When I think of Grandpa John, I immediately think of two things: his room-filling laugh and the fact that he was at peace with himself, what he was doing, and what he had done.
The last time I visited, over Thanksgiving, I brought along my tango partner and we knocked, then entered the house. Quick as a wink, I saw Grandpa John jump to push the stop button on his tape player to greet us and give the afternoon to conversation.
He had the usual glint in his eye, and I asked what he was reading on his tape player. He grinned that sweet smile, and the glint in his eye grew brighter.
“Harry Potter,” he said.
Later my tango partner and I danced for him and Grandma IM, and Grandpa John watched, eyes agog, I like to think not because we are good but because tango is exactly Grandpa John’s kind of thing – that perfect combination of art, science, passion, engineering, and collaboration. All that and you don’t even need an environmental impact statement.
When our two-song performance was over, he paused and said, “Will you dance another one?” And we did.
Afterward he held and marveled at my tango shoes – and, again, as pieces of art and science he could appreciate them – the suede perfectly trimmed, the heel positioned just so.
It was one of so many times where he showed support, curiosity, and enthusiasm for whatever I was doing. Whether it was going to China, buying my house, or getting my ears fixed, Grandpa John was there with a keen interest, good questions, and gestures of love.
On that last visit, while Grandma IM and I fixed lunch in the kitchen, Grandpa John turned his attention to my tango partner and our upcoming trip to Argentina.
“You know, it can get a little scary down there in Buenos Aires. Be sure to take care of yourselves. Take care of her.”
So even though Grandpa John is not here, he’s always looking after us. And when I see him now, I think of him rid of his failing mortal coil, I think of him deep into his favorite creations of art and science – whether it’s fine woodwork, a perfect steamboat, or a satisfying Manhattan – and, most of all, I think again of his laugh and I imagine him, dancing.
