Among the myriad improvements over the past month, we have had the doorbell installed. This took several trips to hardware and lighting stores (who knew that lighting stores carried door bells??), conversations with the electrician about wireless versions and the need for transformers, and a bad stretch where we were told we needed to obtain "a diode."
Now, you try walking into Radio Shack and asking for a diode. There are only about 6,042,998 different types of diodes. But, that's what the electrician told us we needed. Turns out there was a diode in the packaging along with the doorbell. He just threw that bit away. Luckily, we found it (since he's thrown away other invaluable parts to things like, oh, light fixtures).
The doorbell got installed. The little button you push on the outside of the house got installed. It's all good.
Except...the factory default of this fancy thing is for it to play Happy Birthday when you ring it. And not just any Happy Birthday. These are big, resonant bell tones chiming out a very LOUD Happy Birthday.
While initially hilarious, this soon became annoying. Accomplishment for last weekend: we now hear We Wish You a Merry Christmas when someone rings the bell.
And we do! Wish you a Merry Christmas, that is. Take care, all.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Elevation issue is solved! Or at least, close enough...
The surveyors miraculously decided that the house is indeed high enough to meet the flood development permit requirements. Sheesh. I'm not really sure whether they believe their original elevation numbers or their second (lower) set of numbers, but at least we have their official stamp on the elevation certificate that goes to the county. Phew.
The kitchen cabinet guy came by and finished up today...
He did a really nice job of matching the partial set of cabinets that we got via Craig's List with the new ones he built.
He did a really nice job of matching the partial set of cabinets that we got via Craig's List with the new ones he built.
Plus he's just a super nice guy who worked really hard to make sure the details came out right- even when we threw him curve balls like "thou shalt use NOT molding to cover up joins". We have running water in the master bath and kitchen. There's no hot water yet, but that should be coming in the not-too-distant future. Very exciting. I'm still in joy over having flush toilets inside, so running water in the sink and tub is nearly too much to bear.
Found out today that our plumber doesn't have anything to do with installing shower doors. Who knew? Certainly not us. So, we're off to search for a source of shower doors that include installation. At least, that's the hope for now. We'll see how it goes.
Now, just the idea of showering in a space that doesn't have a toilet in it and a fan that sounds like a jetliner taking off is pretty special as well. I'll try to contain myself.
The other big news of the week is that we heard from a retired contractor with mucho experience that the county doesn't really care if we live in the house prior to the occupancy permit being granted. Now, we're not 100% convinced that we should trust this. But then again, if we did move in what could they do? Make us move out? Oh, right. I suppose they could.
Still, as I look around the trailer it is very tempting...
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Long awaited update
Turns out I'm not much of a blogger, apparently. The thing is, when things get stressful I don't feel like talking to anyone at all, much less the untold...dozen of people who might or might not tune into this site.
And stressful it has been. I have an image of myself huddled into the fetal position for many months, being kicked relentlessly by big contractor-esque boots, uncurling just long enough to fling out checks for large sums of money in hope that the kicking will stop.
We're mostly through that part, thankfully.
We're down to the final stretch. The insulation and drywall are in. Walls are painted (except for two small areas that I keep re-thinking and repainting). About half of the flooring is in. Likewise the lighting.
Kitchen cabinets are mostly done, with one small bookcase unit and a set of cupboard doors being re-done. Next comes countertops, but not until the plumber sets the sink.
For good or ill, part of my reaction to that sensation of being kicked has been to try to do more ourselves. So, we've put in most of the "wood" floor ourselves and tiled the master bath and laundry.
If I could figure out why my phone has suddenly stopped transferring photos to my laptop I could show you pictures of the bookshelves we're putting in upstairs.
I suppose this is all just a bunch of minutia when the real question everyone's asking is, when will we be in the house?
Yeah, no idea on that one. There is the small matter of conflicting elevation surveys, that indicate how high we've built the house relative the flood zone we live in. We got one set of elevations from the surveyors many months ago. We built the house based on those measurements. Now they've re-surveyed and have come up with different numbers. Hmmm.
That will need to get resolved one way or another before we'll be able to get an occupancy permit. And how exactly that is resolved will mean we either need to make some changes or we're good to go, as-is. Lots of unknowns. We're awaiting word from the surveyors, who have taken yet another look at things and are calculating madly, I'm sure, trying to figure out where things went awry.
I sound quite calm about that, but that calm has taken quite awhile to arrive. It was preceded by much, much freaking out and hair tearing, as you can imagine.
The Berger family Christmas is supposed to be happening at the new house, so I remain hopeful that we'll be in by then. Plus, the heat in the trailer has gone kurflooey so at some point it's going to get rather uncomfortable in here. The space heater is holding up okay for now, but it's well above freezing. In another month I suspect we'll be quite tired of snuggling with the dogs for warmth.
Speaking of the dogs, they're doing well. Quirk has apparently trapped a skunk is a large woodpile in the front yard. He is now obsessed with the wood pile and can barely be tempted away from it. He hasn't gotten fully sprayed yet but there is a faint miasma of skunk smell in the air at all times. Dog + skunk spray + ...trailer?? NO. Hopefully his luck will hold and the skunk or skunks will making their stripey little way to another home.
Peach is just happy that we finally tackled the flea epidemic. We waged a full-on war and the dogs are MUCH more comfortable now. The trailer no longer smells of flea powder. It's all good.
I'll sign off on that happy note. I suspect my next post will be when something monumental happens, like we actually get to tick something major off the list. Like, electrical or plumbing or some such. Patiently, patiently, we proceed...
Monday, March 1, 2010
Today's Theme: MUD
Okay, I solemnly swear that I will not talk about mud after this if you'll just allow me this brief pictoral diatribe.
In addition to the lovely metal roof that is now preventing mud from building up IN the house, you will notice the large mud trench out front...
...with an accompanying little path so we can go from the trailer to the driveway...
Charming, no? Still a bit tricky to navigate with arms full of groceries and a dog bounding on the leash, but it's better than it was. That bit of hose is, well, our hose - wrapped in an insulating sleeve in case it gets cold again.
Charming, no? Still a bit tricky to navigate with arms full of groceries and a dog bounding on the leash, but it's better than it was. That bit of hose is, well, our hose - wrapped in an insulating sleeve in case it gets cold again.And then there's the side of the house where they dug the trench for electrical and cable...
And right in front we have actual standing puddles of mud. If I was 5, I'd be in heaven. But I'm not.
Fortunately, there are some redeeming features - like a front walkway and steps! 
Delightful. It's like a little haven of pavement amidst the sodden muck. 
Delightful. It's like a little haven of pavement amidst the sodden muck. 
I practically cried the first time I went down the stairs from the garage to the daylight basement. Not sure why that was so emotional but it was. Maybe because of finally having a direct path to SOMEPLACE I want to go. No more not-very-controlled slide down the muddy hill to get downstairs. Plus those stairs are quite big and actually finished.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Progress update
Big developments. Framing is done, except for a small set of stairs connecting the garage to the rest of the house. I’m sure we’ll hardly miss that.
Work on the roof has started, with an amazingly thick, rubbery material that is supposed to be impermeable to water, ice, rain, snow and liquid kryptonite falling from the sky.
The bath tub is in.
We finally ordered our windows, after changing the order about six jillion times. The window guy was great but I’m guessing he secretly wanted to kill us.
We have our front door (though it’s unfinished and sitting in an only partially water-proof space so we’re a bit worried about it).
We’ve chosen the plumbing fixtures and I only changed my mind once. Well, that’s not strictly true. I changed my mind about seven times but I only had them redo the order once. That’s pretty miraculous.
We have, I think, settled on the siding we want. It’s quite specialized and we weren’t thinking we’d be able to swing it. The first bid for materials only came in around $35k – about three times as high as the fiber cement panels (siding Plan B). Then suddenly we got a bid for less than half of that. Don’t know what changed, but suddenly it was back in the realm of possibilities.
Then we got a long-awaited bid on the labor to install this specialized siding. $40k. Just for installing it. Are you kidding me? I pretty much lost it at that point. Then, after leaving a very disappointed message for the guy who reps the siding material, we heard from another siding guy who said he would do it for under $14k. Where do these price differences come from? Baffling.
At any rate, we are now doing due diligence on siding companies and HVAC folks, and the plumbers are hard at work roughing in the pipes.
We have a clear sense of what the windows look out on, and the spaces are good. I keep picturing where I will want to hang out and how we can furnish the rooms. We have glorious amounts of storage, which I’m particularly drawn to for some reason. Perhaps it’s living in a trailer that makes an actual pantry seem luxurious.
Oh, yeah. We got a smokin’ deal on a wood stove at Lowe’s last weekend. If you’re ever in the market, it turns out late January is when they get marked down. And don’t be fooled by all the folks at Lowes who tell you they don’t have wood stoves. Three different people looked at us like we were crazy for asking, then we found them in the Seasonal section.
That’s all the news for now. I’m off to New Jersey for a week to meet with clients. Hopefully the trailer won’t explode or develop some strange malady while I’m gone. And maybe, dare I hope, the windows will come…
Big developments. Framing is done, except for a small set of stairs connecting the garage to the rest of the house. I’m sure we’ll hardly miss that.
Work on the roof has started, with an amazingly thick, rubbery material that is supposed to be impermeable to water, ice, rain, snow and liquid kryptonite falling from the sky.
The bath tub is in.
We finally ordered our windows, after changing the order about six jillion times. The window guy was great but I’m guessing he secretly wanted to kill us.
We have our front door (though it’s unfinished and sitting in an only partially water-proof space so we’re a bit worried about it).
We’ve chosen the plumbing fixtures and I only changed my mind once. Well, that’s not strictly true. I changed my mind about seven times but I only had them redo the order once. That’s pretty miraculous.
We have, I think, settled on the siding we want. It’s quite specialized and we weren’t thinking we’d be able to swing it. The first bid for materials only came in around $35k – about three times as high as the fiber cement panels (siding Plan B). Then suddenly we got a bid for less than half of that. Don’t know what changed, but suddenly it was back in the realm of possibilities.
Then we got a long-awaited bid on the labor to install this specialized siding. $40k. Just for installing it. Are you kidding me? I pretty much lost it at that point. Then, after leaving a very disappointed message for the guy who reps the siding material, we heard from another siding guy who said he would do it for under $14k. Where do these price differences come from? Baffling.
At any rate, we are now doing due diligence on siding companies and HVAC folks, and the plumbers are hard at work roughing in the pipes.
We have a clear sense of what the windows look out on, and the spaces are good. I keep picturing where I will want to hang out and how we can furnish the rooms. We have glorious amounts of storage, which I’m particularly drawn to for some reason. Perhaps it’s living in a trailer that makes an actual pantry seem luxurious.
Oh, yeah. We got a smokin’ deal on a wood stove at Lowe’s last weekend. If you’re ever in the market, it turns out late January is when they get marked down. And don’t be fooled by all the folks at Lowes who tell you they don’t have wood stoves. Three different people looked at us like we were crazy for asking, then we found them in the Seasonal section.
That’s all the news for now. I’m off to New Jersey for a week to meet with clients. Hopefully the trailer won’t explode or develop some strange malady while I’m gone. And maybe, dare I hope, the windows will come…
Trailer Living, Episode 2
One of the things about living in a trailer is you are up close and personal with your utilities. The stove and oven you cook on are in the middle of the living room. The bathroom sink is pretty much in the bedroom. And the thin shell that forms the exterior of the RV makes you acutely aware of your heater, AC and fans.
Not long ago we were sitting in the living room after work, watching TV and thinking about having cold cereal for dinner (again) when we noticed it was getting cold. The heater was on, but the air coming out of the vents was no warmer than that in the room. Maybe a little cooler, even.
When in doubt, reboot. We turned off the heater entirely. Waited awhile. Turned it back on. It worked. Phew.
About 3 a.m. Brian and I both woke up, VERY cold. Me: “The heat is definitely not working.” Brian: “Maybe we’re out of propane.” Me: “How could we be out of propane? Didn’t you fill it?” Brian: “Yes but it’s been cold. We may need to switch to the other tank.”
This is not good news. Switching to the other tank involves going outside in the coooooold, walking around the trailer, fooling around opening the propane tank compartment and switching the open/closed valves on the two propane tanks. It’s not a fantastically big deal, but neither of us were eager to volunteer.
Me: “Maybe it’s the heater.”
Brian: (silence)
Me: “Oh, okay. I’ll go see if it’s the propane.”
Scantily clad and shivering, I hopped into the kitchen and turned on one of the stove burners. This is our tried and true method for figuring out if we have run out of propane. Whoosh! The burner came on immediately. I scurried back to bed.
Me: “It’s not the propane.”
To make a long story only slightly shorter, the heater was on the blink. At dawn I went out to take a look and noticed that a pipe had been dripping above the main mechanism and there seemed to be corrosion on some electrical components. Scary. After shivering through our morning ablations and going to work, Brian called a nearby trailer repair guy and arranged to have him come out.
Now, our lives at this point were crazy. We both had full days of work, followed by a meeting with the general contractor, then Brian was leaving to go see a Blazer game. That left me alone in the trailer, huddled under blankets, waiting for the RV repairman who Brian had conned into making a house call.
“Rocky” arrived around 6 p.m. wearing flip flops and a graying ponytail. He was pretty fabulous, actually. I went out to the driveway to meet him and as we approached the trailer he paused and asked, “Are you comfortable with how your awning works?”
This is RV-expert code for “Good lord! Look what they’ve done to their awning!”
Now, the awning is what it sounds like. A flap of fabric that is attached to the top edge of the trailer, extending out over the front door so you have a place to stand out of the rain when smoking a cigarette.
Clearly, we had not set it up properly. Rocky made a couple of quick adjustments (which I completely forgot as soon as he showed me) and we were all set. This was a BIG improvement, since the awning had been acting as a sail in recent wind storms, putting the trailer at risk of being lifted up out of the yard, or least having the awning rip off.
We went into the trailer and I explained that our heat was out and it wasn’t the propane and there seemed to be water dripping down and corroding the wiring. He checked out the thermostat and general system inside and turned on the heat. We waited. And the heater turned on. Gunnnngghg! Wouldn’t you know it.
However, there had been a problem so Rocky asked to take a look at what I was seeing outside. I led him around to the side compartment and, with vigorous gestures and sounds of dismay, pointed out the dripping pipe and corrosion.
“Well,” he said, “that’s your water heater.”
Oh.
The good news (in the face of my trailer incompetence) is that the dripping pipe is not a big deal. It should be fixed, but this is a pretty normal occurrence.
It also turns out the actual heater was on the other side of the trailer entirely, and only accessible from inside. The fiendishly cleverly designers put the heater under the refrigerator and blocked the access panel with a step. So, getting to the heater involves removing the step that is screwed in to the floor, and since every possible space in the trailer is used for storage, the top of that step flips up so you can put stuff inside the stair. And, me being me, that step was full to the brim with all kinds of things.
We decided to leave well enough alone for the moment, since the heater was working.
Rocky left and about 20 minutes later the heater stopped working again.
Now, we do have an electric space heater in the trailer. It is Brian’s. He keeps it at his feet and creates this little pocket of warmth between him, his cushy chair and the TV. It’s quite comfortable. For him. And he does this even when the heater works.
I broke policy and redirected the space heater to heat the larger room. Called Brian at the game and he promised to pick up another space heater we had in storage at a friend’s house, on his way home that night.
Now, I’m not entirely sure about what happened after that. I went to bed and slept pretty well under the giant mound of bathrobes, towels and random sweaters I heaped onto the bed.
Next thing I know, it’s morning. The alarm is going off. Brian is snuggly tucked beside me. All is well, right? Wrong.
Now, not only do we not have heat, we also don’t have power. None. Turns out our electrical system is not strong enough to support multiple space heaters. This is probably for the best since there’s bound to be some kind of carbon monoxide problem at some point, but having no power was a problem.
Brian explained (still snug in bed as I rattled around the living room) that the circuit blew last night and he had tried all the breakers and none of them were tripped. Well, it turns out that’s because he only checked the breakers inside the trailer. There is also a breaker outside the trailer where we plug into the power pole. Some chilly outdoor investigation revealed that the breaker on the power pole had flipped. I reset it, and we once again had power. No heat, but power. Much rejoicing ensued.
Fast forward. I unloaded the canned goods, spices, spaghetti, chocolate sprinkles, brown sugar and other random things that had been stored in the stairs, Rocky removed the step and replaced the motherboard for the heater. We’re all set now. At least, until the next trailer episode. Stay tuned.
P.S. I’ve been mentioning “rooms” in the trailer as if they are completely separate spaces. That is only somewhat true. For example, the “bathroom” is basically a 3’ hallway from the bedroom to the main living space, with a small alcove for the toilet and shower.
One of the things about living in a trailer is you are up close and personal with your utilities. The stove and oven you cook on are in the middle of the living room. The bathroom sink is pretty much in the bedroom. And the thin shell that forms the exterior of the RV makes you acutely aware of your heater, AC and fans.
Not long ago we were sitting in the living room after work, watching TV and thinking about having cold cereal for dinner (again) when we noticed it was getting cold. The heater was on, but the air coming out of the vents was no warmer than that in the room. Maybe a little cooler, even.
When in doubt, reboot. We turned off the heater entirely. Waited awhile. Turned it back on. It worked. Phew.
About 3 a.m. Brian and I both woke up, VERY cold. Me: “The heat is definitely not working.” Brian: “Maybe we’re out of propane.” Me: “How could we be out of propane? Didn’t you fill it?” Brian: “Yes but it’s been cold. We may need to switch to the other tank.”
This is not good news. Switching to the other tank involves going outside in the coooooold, walking around the trailer, fooling around opening the propane tank compartment and switching the open/closed valves on the two propane tanks. It’s not a fantastically big deal, but neither of us were eager to volunteer.
Me: “Maybe it’s the heater.”
Brian: (silence)
Me: “Oh, okay. I’ll go see if it’s the propane.”
Scantily clad and shivering, I hopped into the kitchen and turned on one of the stove burners. This is our tried and true method for figuring out if we have run out of propane. Whoosh! The burner came on immediately. I scurried back to bed.
Me: “It’s not the propane.”
To make a long story only slightly shorter, the heater was on the blink. At dawn I went out to take a look and noticed that a pipe had been dripping above the main mechanism and there seemed to be corrosion on some electrical components. Scary. After shivering through our morning ablations and going to work, Brian called a nearby trailer repair guy and arranged to have him come out.
Now, our lives at this point were crazy. We both had full days of work, followed by a meeting with the general contractor, then Brian was leaving to go see a Blazer game. That left me alone in the trailer, huddled under blankets, waiting for the RV repairman who Brian had conned into making a house call.
“Rocky” arrived around 6 p.m. wearing flip flops and a graying ponytail. He was pretty fabulous, actually. I went out to the driveway to meet him and as we approached the trailer he paused and asked, “Are you comfortable with how your awning works?”
This is RV-expert code for “Good lord! Look what they’ve done to their awning!”
Now, the awning is what it sounds like. A flap of fabric that is attached to the top edge of the trailer, extending out over the front door so you have a place to stand out of the rain when smoking a cigarette.
Clearly, we had not set it up properly. Rocky made a couple of quick adjustments (which I completely forgot as soon as he showed me) and we were all set. This was a BIG improvement, since the awning had been acting as a sail in recent wind storms, putting the trailer at risk of being lifted up out of the yard, or least having the awning rip off.
We went into the trailer and I explained that our heat was out and it wasn’t the propane and there seemed to be water dripping down and corroding the wiring. He checked out the thermostat and general system inside and turned on the heat. We waited. And the heater turned on. Gunnnngghg! Wouldn’t you know it.
However, there had been a problem so Rocky asked to take a look at what I was seeing outside. I led him around to the side compartment and, with vigorous gestures and sounds of dismay, pointed out the dripping pipe and corrosion.
“Well,” he said, “that’s your water heater.”
Oh.
The good news (in the face of my trailer incompetence) is that the dripping pipe is not a big deal. It should be fixed, but this is a pretty normal occurrence.
It also turns out the actual heater was on the other side of the trailer entirely, and only accessible from inside. The fiendishly cleverly designers put the heater under the refrigerator and blocked the access panel with a step. So, getting to the heater involves removing the step that is screwed in to the floor, and since every possible space in the trailer is used for storage, the top of that step flips up so you can put stuff inside the stair. And, me being me, that step was full to the brim with all kinds of things.
We decided to leave well enough alone for the moment, since the heater was working.
Rocky left and about 20 minutes later the heater stopped working again.
Now, we do have an electric space heater in the trailer. It is Brian’s. He keeps it at his feet and creates this little pocket of warmth between him, his cushy chair and the TV. It’s quite comfortable. For him. And he does this even when the heater works.
I broke policy and redirected the space heater to heat the larger room. Called Brian at the game and he promised to pick up another space heater we had in storage at a friend’s house, on his way home that night.
Now, I’m not entirely sure about what happened after that. I went to bed and slept pretty well under the giant mound of bathrobes, towels and random sweaters I heaped onto the bed.
Next thing I know, it’s morning. The alarm is going off. Brian is snuggly tucked beside me. All is well, right? Wrong.
Now, not only do we not have heat, we also don’t have power. None. Turns out our electrical system is not strong enough to support multiple space heaters. This is probably for the best since there’s bound to be some kind of carbon monoxide problem at some point, but having no power was a problem.
Brian explained (still snug in bed as I rattled around the living room) that the circuit blew last night and he had tried all the breakers and none of them were tripped. Well, it turns out that’s because he only checked the breakers inside the trailer. There is also a breaker outside the trailer where we plug into the power pole. Some chilly outdoor investigation revealed that the breaker on the power pole had flipped. I reset it, and we once again had power. No heat, but power. Much rejoicing ensued.
Fast forward. I unloaded the canned goods, spices, spaghetti, chocolate sprinkles, brown sugar and other random things that had been stored in the stairs, Rocky removed the step and replaced the motherboard for the heater. We’re all set now. At least, until the next trailer episode. Stay tuned.
P.S. I’ve been mentioning “rooms” in the trailer as if they are completely separate spaces. That is only somewhat true. For example, the “bathroom” is basically a 3’ hallway from the bedroom to the main living space, with a small alcove for the toilet and shower.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Trailer Living (Nov. 2009)
It’s been some time since I wrote so I am going to go back in time and try to fill you in on recent developments.
Episode 1: Trailer Living
We’ve been doing fairly well, though the cramped quarters force much more football and stock market tickertape into my days than I’m used to.
Adjusting to the train and other noises has gone okay, though there are exceptions. One weeknight in November, Brian had a particularly restless night. This involves him tossing and turning and making vague speech-like noises while I lie there wondering if I would be within my rights to kill him.
I finally got up to read my book and study the house plans in the living room. Hours later, the alarm went off and Brian arose, looking for fresh, hot coffee.
Now normally, whoever gets up first makes coffee. However, I was feeling bitter. So, there was no coffee despite the fact that I had been up for hours.
That got Brian a bit resentful as he stumbled around groggily with the filters and water jug to get the java flowing. He quickly found that the coffee maker would not turn on. He tried another outlet. Still no luck. Proclaiming, “The coffee maker is broken,” he stomped outside in his bathrobe and galoshes to have a cigarette in the very cold, still-dark morning.
Hmmm. Nothing like a challenge to get me going. I took the coffee pot to the bathroom and plugged it in there. No luck. Tried another outlet in the living room. No luck. The main power to the trailer was fine, so this was mysterious. Finally tried an outlet in the bedroom and voila! Coffee.
Not sure why, but several of our outlets had decided to stop working. Oh, well. That’s just part of the mystery of living in the trailer, right? Some things work. Others don’t. Some start working after not working. It’s a relationship of faith, where we don’t really understand the details of how anything works, but we hope for the best.
Brian returned from his brisk smoke break to the smell of coffee brewing. I was still cranky, but at least he could get some caffeine to better cope. He moved on to the next big project of the morning: showering.
I continue to read my book, trying to take deep breaths and get geared up for the day on 2 hours of sleep. Soon I heard Brian grouch out “There’s no water.”
“No hot water?” I respond.
“No. NO water,” he says, getting out the shower and trying the bathroom tap. He was right. Not a drop.
We looked at each other.
“Any chance we didn’t pay the water bill?” Brian asks.
This completely stumps me. We’re used to being on a well, so the whole water/sewer bill that comes every two months (not frequently enough to get on the normal bill-paying schedule) is new. I know I’ve paid it once but that was…I don’t remember when. Some time ago.
“It’s possible. Where would a water bill be?” I ask. Now, we are crammed in this trailer trying foolishly to replicate our lives in a real house. That means we have fishing gear (vest, waders, tackle boxes, fly rods, etc.) and shelves of books, games, a small spinning wheel, several knitting projects, bags of yarn, two dogs, a dog bed, two computers, house plans, several binders with all the details of subcontractors and building materials, along with actual samples of building materials – formica, tile, roofing. You get the picture.
Those of you who have been in my car (or my room in college) know that I am not an organized person. Mentally, yes. Physically, no. Stuff seems to gravitate to me and pile up in heaps everywhere I go. It’s nice in a way. Everything is always close at hand. But it is sometimes difficult to put my fingers on exactly what I’m looking for.
I quickly give up looking for the water bill and come up with a new idea.
“Maybe the water line is frozen. It’s pretty cold out, right?”
“Yeah, but the water is under pressure in the hose. It really shouldn’t freeze.”
We scurry around trying to get ready for work with no running water and a frail hope that we’ll somehow figure out what the problem is through some kind of psychic osmosis while away from the trailer. Yes. That is our actual plan.
I get a call from Brian later in the day. He abandoned the psychic osmosis plan and bravely called the water company to ask if we missed paying our bill. Now, the water company supports the town we live in, which is made up of about 14,000 people. The water guy’s response? “I have no idea. The gal who has access to the records is out today. We’ll just go by and take a look and see what’s going on.”
Two hours later they call Brian back. They’ve gone to the house, at no charge, and figured out that regardless of whether or not we’d paid our water bill, the water was still turned on and the pipe connecting to the trailer hose had been frozen. They let him know that it was thawing nicely and there didn’t seem to be any problems.
How nice is that? Hats off to the Gladstone, Oregon Public Works people.
Personally, I didn’t care about the situation being quickly resolved. I was off on another road trip for work. But I’m glad Brian didn’t suffer any more than he had to. While I was away, he got a heating wire from Home Depot and taped it to the water hose so we could withstand future cold weather.
See! We’re starting to get this whole trailer thing down. I’m sure of it. Nothing else could possibly go wrong, right?
It’s been some time since I wrote so I am going to go back in time and try to fill you in on recent developments.
Episode 1: Trailer Living
We’ve been doing fairly well, though the cramped quarters force much more football and stock market tickertape into my days than I’m used to.
Adjusting to the train and other noises has gone okay, though there are exceptions. One weeknight in November, Brian had a particularly restless night. This involves him tossing and turning and making vague speech-like noises while I lie there wondering if I would be within my rights to kill him.
I finally got up to read my book and study the house plans in the living room. Hours later, the alarm went off and Brian arose, looking for fresh, hot coffee.
Now normally, whoever gets up first makes coffee. However, I was feeling bitter. So, there was no coffee despite the fact that I had been up for hours.
That got Brian a bit resentful as he stumbled around groggily with the filters and water jug to get the java flowing. He quickly found that the coffee maker would not turn on. He tried another outlet. Still no luck. Proclaiming, “The coffee maker is broken,” he stomped outside in his bathrobe and galoshes to have a cigarette in the very cold, still-dark morning.
Hmmm. Nothing like a challenge to get me going. I took the coffee pot to the bathroom and plugged it in there. No luck. Tried another outlet in the living room. No luck. The main power to the trailer was fine, so this was mysterious. Finally tried an outlet in the bedroom and voila! Coffee.
Not sure why, but several of our outlets had decided to stop working. Oh, well. That’s just part of the mystery of living in the trailer, right? Some things work. Others don’t. Some start working after not working. It’s a relationship of faith, where we don’t really understand the details of how anything works, but we hope for the best.
Brian returned from his brisk smoke break to the smell of coffee brewing. I was still cranky, but at least he could get some caffeine to better cope. He moved on to the next big project of the morning: showering.
I continue to read my book, trying to take deep breaths and get geared up for the day on 2 hours of sleep. Soon I heard Brian grouch out “There’s no water.”
“No hot water?” I respond.
“No. NO water,” he says, getting out the shower and trying the bathroom tap. He was right. Not a drop.
We looked at each other.
“Any chance we didn’t pay the water bill?” Brian asks.
This completely stumps me. We’re used to being on a well, so the whole water/sewer bill that comes every two months (not frequently enough to get on the normal bill-paying schedule) is new. I know I’ve paid it once but that was…I don’t remember when. Some time ago.
“It’s possible. Where would a water bill be?” I ask. Now, we are crammed in this trailer trying foolishly to replicate our lives in a real house. That means we have fishing gear (vest, waders, tackle boxes, fly rods, etc.) and shelves of books, games, a small spinning wheel, several knitting projects, bags of yarn, two dogs, a dog bed, two computers, house plans, several binders with all the details of subcontractors and building materials, along with actual samples of building materials – formica, tile, roofing. You get the picture.
Those of you who have been in my car (or my room in college) know that I am not an organized person. Mentally, yes. Physically, no. Stuff seems to gravitate to me and pile up in heaps everywhere I go. It’s nice in a way. Everything is always close at hand. But it is sometimes difficult to put my fingers on exactly what I’m looking for.
I quickly give up looking for the water bill and come up with a new idea.
“Maybe the water line is frozen. It’s pretty cold out, right?”
“Yeah, but the water is under pressure in the hose. It really shouldn’t freeze.”
We scurry around trying to get ready for work with no running water and a frail hope that we’ll somehow figure out what the problem is through some kind of psychic osmosis while away from the trailer. Yes. That is our actual plan.
I get a call from Brian later in the day. He abandoned the psychic osmosis plan and bravely called the water company to ask if we missed paying our bill. Now, the water company supports the town we live in, which is made up of about 14,000 people. The water guy’s response? “I have no idea. The gal who has access to the records is out today. We’ll just go by and take a look and see what’s going on.”
Two hours later they call Brian back. They’ve gone to the house, at no charge, and figured out that regardless of whether or not we’d paid our water bill, the water was still turned on and the pipe connecting to the trailer hose had been frozen. They let him know that it was thawing nicely and there didn’t seem to be any problems.
How nice is that? Hats off to the Gladstone, Oregon Public Works people.
Personally, I didn’t care about the situation being quickly resolved. I was off on another road trip for work. But I’m glad Brian didn’t suffer any more than he had to. While I was away, he got a heating wire from Home Depot and taped it to the water hose so we could withstand future cold weather.
See! We’re starting to get this whole trailer thing down. I’m sure of it. Nothing else could possibly go wrong, right?
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