Learning About the Bears' House
If you go get some books on restoring and maintaining historic houses, you'll find that one of the most constant pieces of advice they proffer is the sober statement that you should be very sure you have the energy and the stamina required to successfully deal with the difficult responsibility of owning such a property before you buy one, because such a project is going to take up a Lot of your time.
Well, as I've probably blogged before -- or maybe not, who knows, things have been hectic -- Bear's Retreat is in excellent condition. It's been carefully maintained for over 200 years by apparently sane people who ruined it not, tore up its materials not, allowed its pieces to fall apart not, and didn't add skylights to the roof and geodesic domes to the porch.
We've got some things we'd like to do before we move in, though, so we're getting those done. The wall-to-wall carpet in the child's room needed to get taken up, since the child has mild asthma; we need a gas line to the kitchen so that I can use it to cook (since I despise electric stoves); we need to cut some of the trees down which are harming the house or growing in the wrong places.
But the house has been keeping us busy with a constant stream of Unforseen Problems.
First, when we got back from Albuquerque, we found that the water wasn't on, and the electricity to the upstairs floor wasn't working. Both these things had been working earlier.
We finally, after a bunch of brain workouts, figured out that the people who came to install the radon-destroyer had cut the wires to the upstairs. They came and looked, and yep, we were right, so they fixed that.
The water took longer. The water company said they'd turned it on; we said they hadn't; they said check the valves; we said we had; they said no we hadn't; we said, uh-huh, we did, too; this went on for about a WEEK. Then last night we looked at the valves again, and voila! a non-descript little valve that could not POSSIBLY be the main water valve to the house was off, and it WAS the main water valve to the house. Ok. Fine. Excuse us, water company, we're sorry we dissed you.
So yesterday those things were fixed. But suddenly! All of a sudden! Without warning in its suddenness! The lights in the downstairs bathroom won't go on. Can't blame the radon people. And these lights were working the night before. We flipped circuit breakers, we messed with switches that are attached to we know not what. Nothing. But we've learned, over the last week, that it will get figured out eventually. By somebody.
Now, this may involve calling in the experts. I'm beginning to think we should have professionals on call. Excuse me, O Plumber to the Stars, what does this valve do? Excuse me, O Electrician of the Gods, why do the lights work sometimes and not some other times, and also can we change this stupid light in the kitchen that's not actually illuminating the work surfaces so much as indicating lightly where they might be? Excuse me, O Great and Mighty Tree-Fixers of the Sidhe, can you come get this branch that's overhanging the roof? Excuse me, O Squirrel-Trappers of the Secret Ways, would you get the damn squirrels out of the attic and tell them the Squirrel Hilton is permanently closed?
(The previous owner, bless her heart, ran the place like a Nature Reserve Invented By Woodland Creatures With No Sense of Perspective. She declined to stop up the holes in the attic because the squirrels needed a place to stay. My view on this, though I love the cute little rodent darlings and even make an effort to amuse them with the birdfeeder, is that they have two acres of Squirrel Habitat over at Bear's Retreat in the form of Trees, and the ones hanging out in The Attic of the Humans can just damn well join the squirrel middle class and get the hell out of my house.)
And besides the bathroom light, there's the backdoor. We can't open it. It WAS open when we saw the house, so we know it works, but we can't open it. It's got one of the Sacred Ancient Historical Locks on it, so we don't want to attack it mindlessly with screwdrivers, though that's more or less our first impulse. We're going to have to call up the professionals. Excuse me, O Locksmith of the Ancient Ones, which way should we be turning this little knob?
Maybe it'll turn out it's connected to the bathroom lights.
Or the water valve.
Now, we could call up the former owner, and ask her, I suppose, but I hate to bother her. And anyway, she might ask how the squirrels are doing, and I hate to have to lie to her.
Well, as I've probably blogged before -- or maybe not, who knows, things have been hectic -- Bear's Retreat is in excellent condition. It's been carefully maintained for over 200 years by apparently sane people who ruined it not, tore up its materials not, allowed its pieces to fall apart not, and didn't add skylights to the roof and geodesic domes to the porch.
We've got some things we'd like to do before we move in, though, so we're getting those done. The wall-to-wall carpet in the child's room needed to get taken up, since the child has mild asthma; we need a gas line to the kitchen so that I can use it to cook (since I despise electric stoves); we need to cut some of the trees down which are harming the house or growing in the wrong places.
But the house has been keeping us busy with a constant stream of Unforseen Problems.
First, when we got back from Albuquerque, we found that the water wasn't on, and the electricity to the upstairs floor wasn't working. Both these things had been working earlier.
We finally, after a bunch of brain workouts, figured out that the people who came to install the radon-destroyer had cut the wires to the upstairs. They came and looked, and yep, we were right, so they fixed that.
The water took longer. The water company said they'd turned it on; we said they hadn't; they said check the valves; we said we had; they said no we hadn't; we said, uh-huh, we did, too; this went on for about a WEEK. Then last night we looked at the valves again, and voila! a non-descript little valve that could not POSSIBLY be the main water valve to the house was off, and it WAS the main water valve to the house. Ok. Fine. Excuse us, water company, we're sorry we dissed you.
So yesterday those things were fixed. But suddenly! All of a sudden! Without warning in its suddenness! The lights in the downstairs bathroom won't go on. Can't blame the radon people. And these lights were working the night before. We flipped circuit breakers, we messed with switches that are attached to we know not what. Nothing. But we've learned, over the last week, that it will get figured out eventually. By somebody.
Now, this may involve calling in the experts. I'm beginning to think we should have professionals on call. Excuse me, O Plumber to the Stars, what does this valve do? Excuse me, O Electrician of the Gods, why do the lights work sometimes and not some other times, and also can we change this stupid light in the kitchen that's not actually illuminating the work surfaces so much as indicating lightly where they might be? Excuse me, O Great and Mighty Tree-Fixers of the Sidhe, can you come get this branch that's overhanging the roof? Excuse me, O Squirrel-Trappers of the Secret Ways, would you get the damn squirrels out of the attic and tell them the Squirrel Hilton is permanently closed?
(The previous owner, bless her heart, ran the place like a Nature Reserve Invented By Woodland Creatures With No Sense of Perspective. She declined to stop up the holes in the attic because the squirrels needed a place to stay. My view on this, though I love the cute little rodent darlings and even make an effort to amuse them with the birdfeeder, is that they have two acres of Squirrel Habitat over at Bear's Retreat in the form of Trees, and the ones hanging out in The Attic of the Humans can just damn well join the squirrel middle class and get the hell out of my house.)
And besides the bathroom light, there's the backdoor. We can't open it. It WAS open when we saw the house, so we know it works, but we can't open it. It's got one of the Sacred Ancient Historical Locks on it, so we don't want to attack it mindlessly with screwdrivers, though that's more or less our first impulse. We're going to have to call up the professionals. Excuse me, O Locksmith of the Ancient Ones, which way should we be turning this little knob?
Maybe it'll turn out it's connected to the bathroom lights.
Or the water valve.
Now, we could call up the former owner, and ask her, I suppose, but I hate to bother her. And anyway, she might ask how the squirrels are doing, and I hate to have to lie to her.
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