Monday, December 27, 2004
Yesterday I went out and tramped around in the back lots with Mom and Bruce, where the excavator has dug the outline of the houses in preparation for pouring the footings. We were able to stand in the downstairs "rooms" and even the tango bindery. Everything looks so small now, as Mom noted; later, I guess, everything starts to look big and, without fixtures, practically cavernous.
The day before, the builder came by to scoop up his first check, and we had a great meeting out back. And the architect, on seeing the day-glo orange builder truck from his office window, came over too. So we all three had one of our more productive meetings ever, the difference being that we're now stomping around on the site instead of sheltered in a mannered conference room. It's so fun. There was a lot of talk about the grade, and making the houses stand at the same elevation, so that means backfilling some of the Galusha lot. There's a small mountain of dirt out there, so we've got plenty to go around.
Speaking of excavation, my somewhat chilly neighbor came bouncing out of her house the other day exclaiming that the project has provided "hours and hours" of entertainment for their son. So maybe that's how I finally buy their love! Or support, or acceptance.
This week's project is figuring out the exterior lights so the concrete can be formed with holes in the proper places. We may be pouring within a couple weeks, which, according to the city appraiser, saves me lots of $ as a poured foundation signifies a big step up in taxes. Either way, something tells me they won't be $40/year anymore.
Now I'm going on vacation, which is kind of a crazy thing to be doing, given all the interesting stuff happening with the construction. I'm also worried about the security of the site; the excavator has already had a diesel can go missing, but it's not like my presence there stopped the thieves. I'm putting a lot of faith in nefarious activity slowing once the neighbors across the street are evicted Jan. 14. Let's hope they forget where they moved from, too.
Here comes the new year. I can't wait.
The day before, the builder came by to scoop up his first check, and we had a great meeting out back. And the architect, on seeing the day-glo orange builder truck from his office window, came over too. So we all three had one of our more productive meetings ever, the difference being that we're now stomping around on the site instead of sheltered in a mannered conference room. It's so fun. There was a lot of talk about the grade, and making the houses stand at the same elevation, so that means backfilling some of the Galusha lot. There's a small mountain of dirt out there, so we've got plenty to go around.
Speaking of excavation, my somewhat chilly neighbor came bouncing out of her house the other day exclaiming that the project has provided "hours and hours" of entertainment for their son. So maybe that's how I finally buy their love! Or support, or acceptance.
This week's project is figuring out the exterior lights so the concrete can be formed with holes in the proper places. We may be pouring within a couple weeks, which, according to the city appraiser, saves me lots of $ as a poured foundation signifies a big step up in taxes. Either way, something tells me they won't be $40/year anymore.
Now I'm going on vacation, which is kind of a crazy thing to be doing, given all the interesting stuff happening with the construction. I'm also worried about the security of the site; the excavator has already had a diesel can go missing, but it's not like my presence there stopped the thieves. I'm putting a lot of faith in nefarious activity slowing once the neighbors across the street are evicted Jan. 14. Let's hope they forget where they moved from, too.
Here comes the new year. I can't wait.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Oh, dear blog. I've neglected you.
But I'm back in town, as of Sunday night and ready to watch over the looming holes in the back yard for (pretty much) the duration.
First thing I did after getting in from the airport was run out to the dark yard to see what had been done, whereupon I promptly tripped over wires and strings setting forth lot boundaries and such. Oops.
The excavator motored in yesterday and, sadly, the cherry tries went the way of the mock oranges, because mismeasurements were made. That hurt, to see those trees in the maw of the dozer, raised to the sky like a few scraggly threads of saffron. So long to grow, so quick to die. Standing there, the foreman seemed to be trying to calm me, and Wilder the crew guy Friday answered, "Si ..." when I muttered -- on seeing the biggest cherry fractured and broken against blue sky -- that "you know, trees -- old like that -- they have souls."
The practical interrupts the sentimental when I make a mental note to delete "mature cherry trees" from the Galusha brochure, still in the proofing stage.
Today's predicament comes courtesy of the title company handling the Mabel loan, which points out a "fence encroachment" on the west side of the Mabel lot. The surveyor confirmed it and called it about 2 feet, enough to make the bank squirm and me try to figure out how to resolve it. Luckily, I met the landowner, who works in construction and may have met this obstacle before, but on the other side of the, uh, fence. Of course, this is expected to hold up the Mabel loan when I can least afford it.
But I'm back in town, as of Sunday night and ready to watch over the looming holes in the back yard for (pretty much) the duration.
First thing I did after getting in from the airport was run out to the dark yard to see what had been done, whereupon I promptly tripped over wires and strings setting forth lot boundaries and such. Oops.
The excavator motored in yesterday and, sadly, the cherry tries went the way of the mock oranges, because mismeasurements were made. That hurt, to see those trees in the maw of the dozer, raised to the sky like a few scraggly threads of saffron. So long to grow, so quick to die. Standing there, the foreman seemed to be trying to calm me, and Wilder the crew guy Friday answered, "Si ..." when I muttered -- on seeing the biggest cherry fractured and broken against blue sky -- that "you know, trees -- old like that -- they have souls."
The practical interrupts the sentimental when I make a mental note to delete "mature cherry trees" from the Galusha brochure, still in the proofing stage.
Today's predicament comes courtesy of the title company handling the Mabel loan, which points out a "fence encroachment" on the west side of the Mabel lot. The surveyor confirmed it and called it about 2 feet, enough to make the bank squirm and me try to figure out how to resolve it. Luckily, I met the landowner, who works in construction and may have met this obstacle before, but on the other side of the, uh, fence. Of course, this is expected to hold up the Mabel loan when I can least afford it.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Post-Thanksgiving, I have much to be thankful for. Mainly, I secured financing for Galusha (I continue to negotiate for Mabel), so there's no stopping us now.
In fact the doldrums seem to be dissipating on many fronts. One week I'm despairing and cranky with everyone and everything. The next things seem to have locked onto the right track; the excavator comes in and pops out four trees, so that the land looms large and clean; my favorite bonefolder surfaces in my makeshift basement bookbinding studio; and I find that elusive balance in tango class. Who knows, maybe even one of these days I'll get a date.
So, yay. I keep my fingers crossed on Mabel funding, however, and I wonder how to handle the Albina guys. Part of me wants to ignore their calls and e-mails like they habitually do mine; another says I should rise above such muck and give it to 'em straight. Anyway, it's absolutely lovely not to need them anymore.
In fact the doldrums seem to be dissipating on many fronts. One week I'm despairing and cranky with everyone and everything. The next things seem to have locked onto the right track; the excavator comes in and pops out four trees, so that the land looms large and clean; my favorite bonefolder surfaces in my makeshift basement bookbinding studio; and I find that elusive balance in tango class. Who knows, maybe even one of these days I'll get a date.
So, yay. I keep my fingers crossed on Mabel funding, however, and I wonder how to handle the Albina guys. Part of me wants to ignore their calls and e-mails like they habitually do mine; another says I should rise above such muck and give it to 'em straight. Anyway, it's absolutely lovely not to need them anymore.
