I’m A Bitch

Tangible. Today's blog show is brought to you by the word: Tangible. As in results. I may yet be free and not gain status as A Guest of The Great State of New Mexico, as it appears that I will be moving into the master suite by the end of the month! I may not have hot or running water and there will be no stove, or refrigerator, but I won’t be buffeted by high winds. I guess there’s something inherently good about that.

To start, the kitchen is mudded and I'll order the cabinets and countertops next week, when I have money again.Aren't those ladders, all set up for a Ladder Family portrait the cutest? And they were left that way, I didn't even set it up. Cracks me up!

We put in a 'truth window', too. It's a thing that straw bale homes have to prove that the walls really are made from straw bales. I like the idea, and since the lava block is a new and unique building material, I decided I wanted a truth window, too. My friend Pam in Tucson will be making the decorative pieces for the truth window frame using her metallic clay expertise (she's a Master Metal Clay artist) as soon as I give her the dimensions of the truth window. Women's art will be throughout the house, just in case anyone had any doubts about that.

The master bedroom now has mudded interior walls. I’m not fond of the color it showed itself to be when the mud dried, however. The crew and I will have to discuss what to do about that.
The master bathroom now has a tiled shower, the tub is installed and tiled in its custom-built box
and all that remains to do in there is to connect the water up to a water source, which I have, and to mud those walls, tile the floor and buy a door. And a door knob. Oh! and a toilet. And a water heater as well as a boiler for the radiant heat. And build a stand for the copper sink. (I have the sink and faucets.)

I’m telling you, there are so many frikkin’ details to this build-a-house experience. I will not be returning to THIS school of learning, of this I’m sure.

Monday should see the radiant floor tubing installed and the mud floors getting poured. They’ll need a week or two to dry.

I’m naturally going into my mental reminder banks realizing what moving into the house entails and trying not to feel the frustration and fatigue that comes with the reality of going to storage and loading up the necessary accoutrements that one requires when one is living in a house vs The Tin Can. I’d better go out and make some more friends☺

Since we went with un-pigmented adobe for most of the interior walls (cost restrictions) we’re using the arroyo dirt au natural. I was kind of worried about so much brown and dark tones in the house, but as I said in the last posting, it feels like a cave. A ‘kewl’ (modern spelling of ‘cool’ for those of you who are showing your age) cave! It has more intimacy to it; almost womb-like, albeit a womb with posts and beams. There will be some areas of color on the walls, but they’ll be more like small visual relief splashes. Much of the floors will be colored, so that'll help, too.

Last Sunday had me painting the upper clerestory walls. I figured it would take about 4 hours. It took five. Not nearly so bad as it could’ve been, but ladder work sucks. I discovered that there still is muscle mass in my gastrocs; my calves were killing me after the 3,478 trips up and down the 3 ladders I had to use to complete the task. But the clerestory now has the correct color upon its walls above 8 feet. And it looks good.

We had another burp in the scheduling when the plumber made the point that we should probably mud the wall of the garage that will be behind the boiler and water heater. “Yup. I guess so,” was all we could muster. One wall in the garage got a nice cement stucco layer upon it today. I guess it really doesn’t matter about order or sequencing at this stage of the build—just getting it done is sometimes the best we can hope for.

Putting down tile before the tub goes in and installing the toilet flange before installing the toilet are good steps to complete in the proper sequence, however. And we’ve done a pretty good job overall with those niggling bits.

Coming home from work one day this past week I came across a huge hole dug out in front of Donna & Ed’s house, and their fence ripped up. Orange tags from Qwest Communications and orange spray paint marks on the dirt belied who was behind the digging. Ed was out looking at the wrecked fence and I told him I’d go get my camera (I’ve learned to take photos of EVERYTHING!) When I got to the ranch road to turn in to my parcel of land, the offending backhoe, backhoe operator and his assistant were digging a good sized hole across the road from my house.
“Whaddya guys digging for?” sez I.
“Putting in a phone line for this new house,” sez they.
“But I don’t WANT a phone line,”
“We have an order to put one in.”
“ Well, if you’d’ve done this a year ago, I would’ve been thrilled, but not now.”
“The engineer said to run one.”
“THE OWNER says no!”
--They show me their paperwork, I reiterate my refusal, they make a (cell) phone call.—

“The engineer says…” they start again.
“You’re a year too late.”
“Well…”
“Look, guys, Qwest has told all of us in Tierra Grande that no phone lines would be added, and we should just depend on our cell phones AND I waited a year for your engineer to decide that I COULD have a phone line. Uhhh…NO! Qwest can kiss my ass. Fill the hole in, or do whatever you have to do, but you aren’t digging a trench OR putting in a phone line to my house,”
“Are you the owner?”
“Yup!”
--another (cell) phone call—

“OK,” says they. “We’ll just finish this up tomorrow.”
“You’ll finish up WHAT tomorrow?”
“We’ll leave a junction box here for future growth. That’s what the engineer says to do.”
“And you’re not going to run a line to my house, right?”
“We can…”
AAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!

They didn’t run a line to my house. I stayed there until they packed up to leave. The guys asked to park the backhoe on my land overnight.
“No. I’m not your fairy godmother,” I sez. “Leave it where it is, ain’t nobody gonna mess with it over night.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” (I’m guessing the evil twinkle in my eye slpped by this pair of Brain Trust inductees.)

Then I got on Booger and went with my camera down to Donna & Ed’s to take pictures of the damaged fence. The backhoe guys stopped by when they saw us all gathered there and said they’d be back manana.

They never said they were going to fix the fence manana, and they didn’t. They came back to get their backhoe and we didn’t see ‘em for a whole ‘nother day. They ran the line to D&E’s. D&E had only waited 6 months for their request to have a landline run to their house. Guess I’m a bitch. But their fence still isn’t fixed.

I got a phone call from the secretary at the school that night of the Great Qwest Run-in. She, teasingly, harassed me for picking on her ‘baby’. I told her I’ll pick on any damn person I want to and who the hell was her baby?

Y’all got it—he was the backhoe operator. He went home and squealed to his mama about me “yellin’” at him! I thought I’d recognized him, I just couldn’t place him since I’d only ever seen him at the bar bummin’ drinks from his mom and cigs from me.

She then asked me if I needed any backhoe work at the house. I said I would, in a month or so, but it was more like Bobcat work. Why?
“Jerimiah will do it for you.”
“How much does he charge?”
“It depends on the job.”

I asked her if she knew that he tore up my neighbors’ fence.
“Jerimiah! Did you tear….” I heard her call him out. I said ‘bye and hung up.

Another day in The Land of Manana, y’all…

That’s a Lotta BULL!

(Jane—skip this first paragraph, ‘k?) Neighbor Ed told me on Friday night about the four-foot bull snake he killed this week on the ranch road that borders on my property. The weather this time of year is warm during the day (mid-80’s when its not overcast or raining) and bordering on cold overnight (mid to high 50’s). Only half of the day is weather the snakes like. Seems that this monster-sized bull snake was sunning on the flat ground of the ranch road when Ed and the dogs came across it. Sarah the dog walked right over it, then Ed noticed it and started giving it a few good whacks with the short cholla stick he carries for just such emergencies.

(…and this one, too, Jane) Ed had to get Neanderthal on the beast and started chucking rocks at it, when Norbert came across them and expressed his astonishment at the hugeness of the legless wonder. The snake didn’t have a chance and was wasted in the onslaught, at which time Ed chucked the carcass off into the wilds of the neighboring property so the crows could dine in peace.

(Jane: Nope! Though this one’s pretty amusing…) Seems I’ve been having concerns regarding snakes up here. Concerns I never knew I had. I know I have snakes slithering about, but I’ve never been bothered in the least by them. But then, I haven’t been around much this past week, so what do I know?

(…Jane: umm…no!) Bull snakes aren’t poisonous, but they give one hell of a nasty bite I’m told. Snakes, poisonous or not, pretty much go by my adage: Live and let live. This gigantanormous bull snake was out for some last-o-da-season sunning and got caught out in the open and too chilled to get hisself moving to a safe space. Paid dearly for it, too. I wasn’t too pleased to hear about the encounter and resulting end. I’m concerned with being confused by the karmic observers who may mistake me for Ed. But, I trust that Ed wouldn’t kill anything without good reason. Why, even I had my share of kills this week.


Coming home after dark is nothing I like doing living out here where there are no street lights and many creatures that have lived here longer than I ever will. One night coming home from dinner at friends’, I ran over two rabbits. It rends my soul when it happens, which is why I don’t like coming home after dark. It’s almost a given that more than one critter will die under my tires; its just how the odds play out up here. I know about the rabbits, but I’m not going to even attempt to count the little rodents that cast themselves under my tires and go unnoticed into oblivion with nary a bump in my travels. However, the dung beetles and grasshoppers don’t even bring an “I’m sorry” from me when I squash them.

On the upside—I’ve seen a pair of golden eagles hanging around a few miles down the road toward the flatlands. Friday morning brought me a birder’s thrill: The two goldens and seven hawks. It must’ve been the prime viewing time for the winged hunters in their search for brekky (British: breakfast). It was prime viewing for me. I almost turned around and went home I felt so privileged.

Rainbows have been splashing across the skies aplenty this week too; one a day nearly every day this week; three within an hour, one day. And, yes, there’s been rain. No high winds since a night full of them last week. They did make for an interactive night for watching a movie. I felt like I was right there in the action of the movie while The Tin Can pitched and rolled.

While I’m sure I would’ve paid an inflated price to experience that in a theatre, it was the last straw. The master suite is being built as fast as the crew’s mental state will allow them. The tub’s frame is built and cement board-ed. Tiles have been cut and patterns experimented with. An urgent run to Albuquerque for a faucet for the tub rendered me the faucet I’ve coveted for months now. I saw it as a lavatory (sink) faucet at Homo Depot, which I was trying to convince myself would serve me just fine. Ummm…no. Water flow issues. So I was directed to a wonderful specialty shop and got nearly exactly what I wanted; its not a copper finish, but no one will notice.



The crew’s getting edgy and short fused. I hope they take a break this weekend and discover yoga or sedatives. Or both.

The plumber has been dragging his ass and, while not exactly holding us up, he sure ain’t pushing forward towards the necessary housing of me inside four walls by the end of the month. He’s getting a call from me on Monday. Hunting and ‘plumbing emergencies’ during a slow building phase for him doesn’t mean that we aren’t sincere when we call and tell him that we’re ready for him to come make some connections.

I’m so tired of having things to bitch about. I’d like to be able to get back to recreational bitching; its so much more entertaining.


I’m resistantly taking in the current political developments, and only then because there’s no avoiding such pervasive idiocy. Neighbor Ed has the best name EVER for Sarah Palin: Caribou Barbie. Hysterical!

OK, so the house may still be under construction, but we’re at another slow phase. (You sensed that, eh?)

There’s only one thing that will keep me from becoming a guest of the State of New Mexico in one of its non-escape-proof prisons: Being ensconced in the master suite by sundown on the 30th.

The earthen tones of the interior mudding of the walls is lending a discernable sense of being inside a cavern. Mmmmmmm! This is going to be such a delicious location to be writing and creating some art.

Until the next installment of Blood on the Rocks ~or~ Coming to You From the Tub… manana y’all!

What Do YOU Believe In?

As we return to our continuing saga of The House, we find that there’s ‘stuff’ all over the place around but is ever changing and, magically, there’s more actual HOUSE forming.

I need to unpack my ‘stuff’ and find one of my magic wands. I collect them, and use them in the classroom. It’s a visual aid and allows me “teaching moments” when the children decide that I can work miracles for them. As with all belief systems, sometimes I can and sometimes I can’t. The wands just prove my point—sometimes I CAN make homework disappear, sometimes the homework just keeps on piling up.

And so it is with The House. Small miracles appear from out of nowhere, but most times, it just sits there and drags its foundation and mocks me.

I need one of my wands to move this project along. If I could do it by sheer willpower, it would’ve been done 7 months ago. We seem to be stuck at an eternal ‘4-6 weeks’ before it will be done. The wand may have one miracle left in it and I’d really like it to use it on The House.

Alas, the wands are all in storage. And I made the trip to CO this weekend to get the rest of my ‘stuff’ that I had to leave behind until circumstances allowed for me to have a place to put it all.

I have about 6 times the square footage of TTC in storage space down in town. One is lightly packed with furniture, a second is packed roof to floor and wall-to-wall with books and the third has pieces and parts for The House, as well as ‘stuff’ I used while living in a small house before TTC appeared in my life.

More than 1,000 miles, and maybe six times that in mass weight of ‘stuff’ moved out, loaded up, unloaded and soon to be unpacked is what my three day weekend was all about.

The past week saw me signing my life away AGAIN on a three month extension of the construction loan, and then submitting for a credit recovery process since what was once golden (my credit rating) has been shot to hell thanks to the ineptitude that pervades our service industries. I get to suffer the consequences for being considered guilty by association.

WTF! Who cares anymore?

BUT isn’t that what THEY want the masses to succumb to? I’ll perk up and get feisty again soon.

The crew has been begged to be PLEASE be done by the end of September.

C ‘n N came to me this morning with a Master Plan. They will finish the Master bedroom, bath and closet so I can move into it ASAP. I can cook in TTC, but I can bathe with more than six gallons of hot water, splash around in the tub and stay out of the way of the high winds. I’m glad for this attempt to save my life and sanity, but I really wish the whole build would be finito bandito. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of watching it. I’m not enjoying the day-to-day creeping progress

Don’t get me wrong, Y’all—it’s looking wonderful as one room after another’s walls are getting mudded. I just…am…so…tired…of…it.


The Powder Monkey bathroom, Master bed and bath and guest bath have all got their cement stucco layer done. The finish layer in each of those rooms will be a lime based ‘mud’ for waterproofing reasons or deep color consideration in the case of the Master bedroom walls.

The studio and small guest room are all mudded with adobe and awaiting nothing more than radiant heat tubing and floor installation (and light fixtures, switches, thermostat wiring. OK, so it’s not THAT close to being done.) The large guest bedroom has three walls mudded and the 4th would’ve been done this week except for the Master Plannus Interruptus. It’s all good.

Niggling little details are still creeping up and around. Lighting in the living room was screwed up by the electrician, but a quick-fix retrofit was created by Norbert and I on Friday. A new paint color for the upper portion of the clerestory is awaiting application since the initial color I chose made it look like a bordello in there. Not that I mind it looking like a bordello, but the crew thought I should keep that proclivity to myself. Not a good thing to be sharing, I guess.

Less bills and more money is what I’m aiming for the closing phase of this gig. It’s stumbling in that direction, anyway.

And, I gotta tell y’all: When I walked into the studio at the end of the day the room had been mudded, there was such a calming, essential and visceral response in me when I found myself surrounded by the true earthiness of the scent of wet clay and sand that now lay upon the walls of my sanctuary. I couldn’t get enough of it. Still can’t.

And don’t go freaking out and thinking its gonna smell that way all the time; it won’t. It’s drying well and crack-free. And the natural color of the clay, untouched by pigments, is so deep and warm that even though I’m not fond of the brown section of the color wheel, there’s something so elemental about having native dirt in my house that I’m deciding that browns are now o-tay with me.

I won’t talk too much about how many flies C ‘n N told me came to light upon the freshly mudded walls as they were applying the adobe. But if there’s an impression of some buglike being in a wall when any of you are here visiting, please know it was just a fly, not some wicked, evil beast fossilized from five million years ago. It was just fresh fly. ‘k?

Muchos gracias, y muchos mananas, y’all!