The House

It's a done deal!

Two Down, One to Go!

The ‘boys’ came to work on Saturday and we were good to go for the final inspections on plumbing and electricity.

The plumbing inspector came Monday and neighbor Donna met him, led him around (or followed, I’m not sure) and texted me at work that I got the green sticker. (Green means "go" in the building trades, too.)

The electrical inspector came out today early in the a.m. Donna met him and led/ followed and he left behind a green sticker, too.

ABOUT PHUCKING TIME!

I phoned the county building inspector and arranged to meet him here at mi casa manana for the final inspection. Getting the Certif. of Occupancy is the desired result. I’ll post again when that happens.

Tomorrow will also be a meeting with Leslie, my mortgage broker. A whole new realm of life as an adult will be splitting open and swallowing me whole when we sit down and go over all the documents.

Thursday—ummmm, I’m not sure what happens on Thursday. Maybe I can catch up on grading papers.

Friday I will meet the plumber so he can finish up the last few trailing ends he has to do. The electrician is going to get launched into space if he don’t show up in a few days, vs. two weeks.

Here’s pics of work from Saturday.





And, yes, I’ve cooked a meal, got stuff in the fridge and washed two loads of dishes. Domesticity, here I come!

Since I don’t want to get y’all’s hopes up thinking that the cheery end is near, ok, it is, but there’s still battles to be fought and this is one I left out of my last post due to length: Had my oil changed Friday, went to a doctor’s appt, then met friends at the casino for the crab leg buffet, lost $50, came home, got up in Saturday morning, started making calls to get ‘the boys’ out here to do their work.

I have to go into the garage to make my phone calls ‘cause the casa is so well insulated and I notice something on the floor. Sonovabitch! There’s at least a quart of fresh oil under the Jeep! Yes, there’s a hole in my roof from where I shot through it!

The mechanic had not tightened down the drain plug and it was truly hanging on by a thread.After taking a few pictures (ahem!) I crawled under there, wishing that I’d had radiant heat installed in the garage, too, tightened the drain plug and tossed a ton of sawdust on the oil slick.

I tried calling the dealership every hour all day Saturday to no avail (they’ve cut back on hours due to the fact that they’re going out of business, and there’s a whole torrid litany of allegations against the owners.)

Yesterday I call the dealer, go get my oil replaced, watch their every move and the service manager tries to shoo me away without addressing the oil slick issue. They end up sending their maintenance guy out to my house to clean it up. The floor remains stained. Duh!

I call the dealer back today. I’m told to call one of the owners tomorrow. I ask the dude if I should have my lawyer call. He says to talk to the owner first to see what he suggests be done. I decide that I don’t want to do all the work on this and tell him to have the owner call ME tomorrow. He mumbles out an ok. I tell him that if I don’t hear from the owner manana then they will get a call from my lawyer and hung up on him. I think he’d stopped breathing, so it’s not like he knew that I’d hung up on him. The guy’s a wimp, anyway.

I’m thinking a nice grey with black speckles for the resurfacing, with some insulation underneath and some spongy layering would satisfy me. I need to be concerned about my joints, given my creeping arthritis and all. And a few thousand bucks for the sawdust. And maybe some incentive to bring the smile back to my face.

I’ll keep ya apprised. Expect another posting…manana!

If A Woman Screams In Her Head Can the World Hear It?

OK, I’m HOT right now, and not in a ‘hottie’ sort of way. I’m writing this on Thursday, November 13. After assurances from the electrician that I would pass inspection, you could say that I’m fairly well torqued right now; the electrician failed the inspection. And, hell no I ain’t saying “we/I” failed the inspection--I didn’t mis-wire this place, or put faulty plugs in.

There were five violations, one we knew of, but it will be resolved on Saturday when yet another trench will be dug to bury the power line to the well. If I wasn’t paying an arm and a leg for this, I’d be not so hot about it, but, ya know….

Now the electrician has to pay for this inspection and for a reinspection before it will be inspected again. I have until the end of the week next week to get my CoO (Certificate of Occupancy) or the bank, mortgage and my finances get PHUCKED.

On the bright side (gads! I’m realizing how many terms for light I’m using as I talk about the electrician. My apologies. That’s just lame writing.)

[this is where I stopped writing, with the ever-lingering hope for a future of living in my house]

Saturday, November 15, 2008:
What I WAS going to say is that the plumbing inspector was going to be here on Friday, but he didn’t show. I’m at wits’ end with all this lack of professionalism and non-service service.

Did I REALLY choose to live here? Sad to say, yes I did. No wonder folks are so thankful when I follow through on a task. I’m a rare bird in these parts. A do-do bird, possibly?

Here I sit, in a cozy chair in an empty Ventana Room, with an unassembled futon at my feet, ‘cause I don’t want to—can’t, legally—look like I’m living in the house yet. I can do what I want in the master bed & bath rooms (and you know I do;) but walking around a mostly empty house isn’t as much fun as it may sound. It adds to the loneliness. Though, the views across the desert floor to the mountains beyond are still stunning.

Aside from going into total bitch mode and haranguing the sub-contractors on the phone in an endless loop, I’m not sure what I can do. Being p-a-t-i-e-n-t sure hasn’t helped me none. Being quietly polite has been fruitless. Efficiency and preparation on my part has only caused money to be spent early, leaving me strapped later. There is no singular manner in which to behave that will get New Mexicans to respond with the desired resulting behavior.

And ya know damn well, that if I refuse to pay the subs, that they’ll slap a lien on me so fast that the bank will own the house in a second and I’m stuck with 15 acres and The Tin Can, seeing as how the parcel I own can’t be broken down to smaller than 5 acre parcels, and the house sits on the biggest chunk, and would have to be sold with the house.

So, while I’ve been doing a lot of screaming in my head, has anyone really heard it?

Let’s have a change of mood, shall we? Let’s talk about the adversarial commenter.

I found the phone number and an unspecified house address on a highway for the commenter to my blog who was inquiring if I had done some horrific acts against the rancher out here. I even used the hybrid Google Maps to scan the length of highway that said commenter lives on to see how many homes I’d have to go to, knocking upon how many doors to find this person. That maps search was just for my amusement while all the banging and pounding was going on earlier this week. The commenter lives about 90 mins-2 hrs away from me, as the highways run.

I called the number Thursday evening, giving the residents time enough to have dinner and be relaxing in front of the tv, or computer screen. When the ringing on the other end finally stopped, I got nothing but the whine of a fax line. Dang it! I was SO ready to tell the commenter who I was, why I was calling and offer my concerns regarding the rancher’s recent spate of hospital stays and then find out why I was being queried about the abhorrent behaviors based on my blog posting.

I had also gone back into the blog archives to find the posting in which I had actually met the rancher, to cite that particular posting to the commenter to see if that specific post had been read.

Of course I got lost in re-reading the past postings and found myself wondering who the hell this person was that was writing this blog about such a thing as building her own house in the high desert of New Mexico? I wanted to cry, laugh, and scream along with her. The poor dear must be completely gray by now. (Had it been me, I would call the shock of gray SILVER, but that’s just my personal affectation and vanity showing.)

I sure hope this woman gets moved into her house soon.

Going back to the house and the present, I realize there is some good news to put forth (I’m still trying to end these posts on a high note) the radiant heat system is working wonderfully. I have three of the six zones heating the master bathroom (the coldest room in the house), master bedroom (for obvious reasons) and the kitchen/hallway/ guest wing zones. The latter is ‘cause that’s the one the plumber turned on first and I had to wait for it to get up to temp first before kicking up the thermostats for any others. I have the thermostats set to 66 and the house is quite comfortable there. Passive solar heating helps that to be.

Please realize that while I’m using a very shee-shee ‘green’ term like passive solar heating, I’m only saying what no one else will tell you in more precise terms: sunlight…the stuff that comes down from the sky, for free, and warms anyone or anything that gets in its way. Yup, Between the warmth of the sun on the walls, and a very low temp setting on the radiant heat, the house is at a comfortable temp, despite what the thermostat reads.

The major appliances should be going in today. For sure not manana—nada happens on a Sunday in this region of the US. I will be haranguing the plumber and electrician starting at 9 am today. Listen for the screaming to start about 9:01 am, MST. It should reverberate long past manana.

There is Nothing to Report

Seriously. No one was here doing work on the house this week. Unless you count me. Curtain rods and “window treatments” were hung (they’ll never make Better Homes & Gardens as selections, but it keeps the sun and cold out, so WTF?), some art got framed, closet organizers were bought and nearly installed, and some touch up painting got done. Shower curtain, rugs and towels were put in place, window hardware was chased down and installed.

Then there’s the “heating system” aka: Wood stove. It’s working like a champ, tiny and squirrely though it may be. Every day after school I was digging through the scrap lumber pile behind the house, hand selecting the chunks, lengths and kindling that were to be transported into the garage to face the saw.

Yes, everyone, me and a circular saw! The chainsaw won’t be in use until I finish the scrap pile and head over to the leftover timbers and trusses, for they are fairly formidable and way too cumbersome to deal with while I have a pile of scrap as tall as me and twice my height wide. Flying sawdust follows me inside twice a night. The wood stove may be small, but it has a hunger that burns!

My main goal was to get the closet organized and filled, but one look at the cement floor and my feet got cold at the thought of stepping on frigid cement in the mornings, so I’ve now added to my list the great joy that is tiling. Bummer--more tools to buy. Maybe I’ll have it done before the last of the workmen come to finish what needs finishing in the house on Weds. Maybe not. Probably, though.

And maybe I’ll finally get that one last damn doorknob and install it this week, too. The hole in the door that leads to the garage lets in a hell of a lot of cold air, but nothing that cammo colored duct tape didn’t fix. I’m just trying to get to the end here, folks. If duct tape and plastic sheeting are good enough for our government to recommend for protection against ‘dirty bombs’, then by gum, it’s good enough for my house.

Got the fridge Saturday. It took seven hours, round trip. That’s what happens when you pile up your running-around-Albuquerque stuff. Then I extended my evening until early morning by volunteering to go with one of my friends to the casino. WTF? Why not? It’s not like I’ve got an active social life or anything. Besides, casinos are fun. And so is my friend, Kenda. Heck, if she’s gonna help me haul a fridge from Lowe’s all the way into the garage, then why shouldn’t I go gambling with her? Fair’s fair, right?

Kenda found a penny slot machine with the theme of home construction on it and told me that it was calling out for me. Had I have been in a fouler mood I might have struck her. But it seemed fitting, and I sure could use some more schooling in that area, so, I fed it a $20 and the next thing ya know, I was getting 13,000 credits. Yup! 130 bucks. I hit 100 bucks on a quarter slot. We almost tried playing roulette; spinning wheel roulette, not Russian.

The casino was packed, and the tables full, so we bagged it for a slower time so as not to embarrass ourselves too badly in front of so many. There was also the added humiliation of losing our chips in front of a poor old guy, like 100+ year old guy, all bent over in his wheelchair with a diaper on his chest to catch his drool. I told Kenda that in the old days there would’ve been a drool bucket under his chin, but Pampers seems so much more sensible. Modern conveniences. I couldn’t tell if the old guy was having a good time or not—I didn’t want to stare.

Kenda and I walked out with more money than we walked in with. OK—I walked out with more money than I walked in with, but we both still had a great time. I sure hope Kenda don’t get in trouble for being out so late.

I’ve been promised a new dog. His name is Hudson. He’s a hairy wiener dog. More to the point, he’s a hairy wiener pirate dog; he’s blind in one eye. Yawr! He’s with the mom of the woman who rescued him from MN (and I DO mean rescued from MN, though he’s still in MN, so the rescue isn’t quite complete yet.) Here’s the pics that melted my heart when they were emailed to me. How/Why could/would I say no to a face like that? Exactly! Which is why I said yes! I’ll keep you updated on Hudson.

To update y’all on the commenter to the blog that I told you about last time—the commenter is indeed real. I told Neighbor Donna about the situation and she mentioned it to Red, the ranch hand that’s up this way nearly every day. He confirmed that the rancher has an adult child with that name, but has no idea why the commenter would day what was said. Red said that “they” have no gripes with me, and will mention it at the next meeting with Weldon, the rancher.

Red also said that the crimes that were suggested done by me did indeed happen—decades ago. Even before Red began working for Weldon, so Red was confused why those particular events were even mentioned. Red thinks I should find her number and call her. It’s on my list of things to do. Like…

manana.

And, That’s a…

Wrap? No. Not yet. Close, though. It’s so close there’s not even very many pictures of new work that’s been done to show y’all this time.

Am I excited yet? Kinda. Hesitantly so. But until I get through the last of the inspections, am handed the Certificate of Occupancy and have a mortgage loan in place, I’m still guarded in my enthusiasm.

The propane guys showed up and completed the yard line and filled the 500 gal. propane tank. The satellite internet provider, Wildblue, showed up and relocated the dish from the construction utility pole to the rooftop and Norbert & Carolyn left on Weds. or Thurs. while Brett, Felicia, 5-day old Skyler and two of Brett’s sisters left yesterday. The trailer park ceases to exist.

Given how one of my neighbors was rattling his saber about calling and complaining about all the activity and trailers up here at my place, I kinda wish I could’ve gotten more folks up here to camp out for a few weeks. He’s been shooting his mouth off to everyone in the immediate area about how he was gonna do this, that and the other to me until they all told him to shutup and leave me alone. It’s good to know there are still some reasonable people left in this world.

I’m still giving tours of the house on a weekly basis. The only people who won’t have had a tour is everyone I know in town, and my lifelong friends. There’s something wrong with that, ain’t there? Ah well, my lifelong friends will get to stay in The House, whilst those in town will have to return to theirs. I consider that worth the wait.

The long sequence of open houses should be starting in December. Here’s the operating schedule as it stands right now (subject to change of course. But y’all know that by now): Manana I go get the custom lighting fixtures. Then, aside from me doing a bunch of detail work (make and hang rain chains, putting up towel racks, hooks, the closet rods, shelving, drawer units, batteries in thermostats, light bulbs in exterior lights, cutting firewood, etc) and running around, there’s nothing scheduled for this week. Well, aside from seeing a financial planner. More on that in a sec.)

The countertop will be installed on the 12th and the plumber will come do some final hookups on the 13th along with the electrician who will be here to install the fixtures and make good on a bunch of goofs and incomplete work. Or he dies. Actually, I’ll just call a local electrician to finish up and duke it out with original electrician later.

As for The House, that will be it! (Not counting the problematic doorknob that is still going back and forth between Toby’s Doors and The House. Believe it or not, I have to have all knobs and locks in place for final inspection!)

Ya remember how I was bemoaning about how I was going to fall just short with being able to pay off the last of the work on The House? I bemoan no mo’. Mom left me one more chunk o’money. The bills can be paid and the trip to the Caribbean is back on! Woo hoo! I thank my mother every time I think of money, which is frequently. The appt. with the financial planner next week is to see if I can’t grow some money with the ‘seed’ money Mom left me. It’s a meeting I don’t mind attending.

One last bit of juicy news: In September, 2007 I posted to the blog the history of Tierra Grande and the rancher who is legend in these parts who bought up the development and free ranges his herd of cattle out here as part of his bailout deal of TG.

For some reason, and through a chance in a billion, an adult child of the rancher came across my blog and happened to read who knows how much of it, but did find his/her (I’m not wanting to give out too much info about this person, please bear with me) way into the archives and read that particular post. S/he sent me the following response:
“Anonymous said...
Are you one who have shot some of the McKinley cows? Were you the one who shot my father's favorite horse? Are you part of the group that regularly breaks into his bunk house? 

Your disclaimer at the bottom in no way covered up your hatred.” (The commenter left a full name and relationship to the rancher, which I’m not posting here.)

(All of the above events HAVE occurred, btw.)

What I don’t get is: Why would anyone accuse a total stranger of such horrific acts? And, aside from one being as cruel as the responder suggests, who would consider those acts the act of a woman? Furthermore, if she read that far back in my blog, then has she come across the other posting I did about the rancher and my subsequent interactions with him? If not, ok, then the comment makes some irrational sense. If the commenter had read more of my blog than that single entry, then…WTF?

I was a titch disturbed, to say the least. I WILL be following up on it. I’ll keep y’all posted.

I’ve been sleeping and spending most of my time in The House since I ‘moved in’ over a week ago. I want to get used to it slowly. Maybe with that strategy in place I won’t have to overuse my GPSr by setting tracks and waypoints throughout The House. Here’s hoping. I use The Tin Can as my private movie studio and diner now.

There y’all have it. Instead of the interminable “one month” left with this “adventure”, it’s now down to “about two weeks”. Don’t hold yer collective breath just yet. I’m not. Expect a few more entries to this blog and then I’ll close it off. It will still be available to view, I just won’t post anymore new entries. I WILL be starting a new blog, or three, though.

Another tale from the high desert nears the end as the proverbial sun sets in the west and leads us ever forward in serch of manana.