Sale on canvas prints! Use code ABCXYZ at checkout for a special discount!

Blog

Displaying: 31 - 40 of 92

  |  

Show All

  |

Previous 1 2 3

[4]

5 6 7 Next

Chapter Appropriately Eleven

April 27th, 2014

Chapter Appropriately Eleven

Even as Santina and I were cautiously rejoicing late Friday afternoon we got word that our contractor has revealed that doesn't actually have enough money for the final finishing of our home. How are we not surprised?

This instance of snatching victory is not without historic precedent. During the long struggle between Rome and Carthage the Carthaginians with their sharp spears and impressive catapults had the Romans in frantic retreat when they found themselves short of both spears and rocks. All might have gone well enough, and the world might be a different place today, had the Carthaginian king (Punic III) not been such a Python fan; had he resisted his lamentable temptation to launch amphorae seconds, hastily gathered lawn furniture, and the odd arbor vitae at his fleeing foe. All of which gave the Romans pause. Get me a shrubbery indeed!

We're choosing to view Friday's news as one more frost heave on the highway; an issue between contractor and bank. Not our pro-blem. We'll see.

Chapter Ten

April 24th, 2014

Chapter Ten

Living in the Land of Kafka . . .

The eternal question is: When are you moving into your house? And as we shuffle along in Kafka's long grey line of semi-expectant souls the answer remains the same: Maybe.

This has been a week of high activity as our contractor rushes to appease the bank, the city of Asheville, the county of Buncombe, the state of North Carolina, and perhaps us. A Certification of Occupancy is our goal for Friday. This seems possible. The bank's goal is completion of house and all attendant inspections by Monday, which is not possible and failure will trigger great unpleasantness.

Santina and I head for Asheville on Monday to assess the situation and consider moving in. Our cat Lucy says behind, boarding at the vet's. Our household goods in storage since July deliver on the 30th (which assumes a good filing system), but our floors will not have been installed by then. And the various powers that be are poised along Cranesway Drive, monkey wrenches cocked.

Chapter Nine

April 21st, 2014

Chapter Nine

Every British murder mystery worth its salt ends with all suspects being summoned to the drawing room. They arrive dressed for tea and are variously anxious, confused, aloof, or irritated. The detective, who may have seemed overmatched, becomes beetle-browed in the process of delicately peeling back the layers of evidence. Once the identity of the killer is brought into sharp relief he or she has the option of repenting, spewing accumulated bile, or bolting for the nearest door. One time in seven (because that's how many supects there are) you and I get it right and feel quite smug.

While Santina and I cannot see just how many pages remain in our particular mystery we are certainly headed for the drawing room. Unlike the pattern of British mysteries we are not altogether certain who has been murdered, or whether the murder has even taken place yet.

Chapter Eight

April 16th, 2014

Chapter Eight

There is the mindbending mathematical fact that continuously halving the distance between Point A and Point B results in your never reaching Point B -- which is something I always tried to keep in mind while sliding sidewards in heavy traffic on black ice on Rte. 89.

The concept seems more believable when applied to our moving into our house in Asheville. Originally it was three months out, then it became a series of one more months, then just a matter of weeks. The response to yesterday's question about when we'd receive our Certificate of Occupancy was "Monday or so" which roughly translates to: Certainly not Monday.

We'll see. Glad for gardens to walk in.

And the Certificate of Occupancy doesn't mean the house is complete but only that we can move into it.

Easter Colors

April 14th, 2014

Easter Colors

If you visit Brookgreen Gardens midweek during the school year expect to find the place heavily populated by early boomers and slower moving devotees of the big band era. Every single one will be carrying a camera of some description, here and there you'll see a tripod. Most will be walking though some will be touring on trolleys. Expect an occasional daredevil on a Segway, and watch that you don't trip over the one lone soul slithering on his belly (which'd be me).

Chapter Seven

April 11th, 2014

Chapter Seven

It's been a while.

During this slent interlude I have been gently housed by good friends Todd and Debbie in Asheville. My mission there was to investigate house progress, meet with lawyer, discuss the logistics of re-financing with a local bank, meet with a new general contractor and/or alternately consider taking on the responsibilities of the general contractor, and maintain a singular focus throughout in order to not go crazy in a particularly obvious way (I am not good at this).

And I could not have done it at all without the support of Todd & Debbie and their friends and relatives; the advice of Irene who is a trooper; the active concern of neighbor Dana; the warm welcome from Milton and Joanne -- our neighbors on the other side; the sobering but compassionately delivered news from advising general contractor James Carr; some to-the-point legal counsel provided by Brian Gulden; a heartening connection with Judy Bond of TD Bank who made me welcome and gave us hope; and of course from Santina who tended the fort, fed the cat, and kept me afloat when my sails got snarled. Santina has taken to calling me Don Quixote, which seems to fit.

In crunch time our bank in Alabama also commited their support in this process -- which is essential in extending timelines.

Latest news is that work is proceeding on our house and we have expectations of being able to move in before the month is over. More to come on that for sure.

Chapter Six

April 2nd, 2014

Chapter Six

Santina and I are like the oyster who, assessing the lump that's invaded the living room, tries to recollect the grit that got it there. And the mind has an amazing capacity to create experience at the hint of evidence.

Our house construction problems are rapidly devolving into legal problems -- all hinging from an early revision to our building contract. On the revision the promised delivery was changed from 180 days to 365 days, which came as a shock when the contractor sprung it on us a week ago. And since the bank the contractor guided us to requires completion of construction within 120 days of their loan, the contractor gets to sit on his hands and let the clock wind down. And when it does the bank calls the loan (takes the house), the contractor is left with any of our money not spent, and we're out of luck. None of this good.

So the question I have is whether in fact we did notice they'd altered the maximum time, and whether I did not notify them of the error at the time; on an email address that I can no longer access. Funny how this aging mind goes from complete blank to vague recollection to the certainty of what I was wearing and who the Red Sox were playing on that fateful day. What, indeed, are we to believe?

Where the Water Meets the Land

March 29th, 2014

Where the Water Meets the Land

Clotted cream it was that set everything in motion; the French slyly claiming it as their own creation to the great surprise and blubbering exasperation of the Brits who sought to defend their solitary culinary foothold. A Great Debate ensued with much shouting and finger pointing. Bombastic experts provided conflicting historical evidence, each succeeding claim topping the previous by half a century or more till the French pounded their collective fist and brought everything to a momentary halt with the presentation of a disgusting bit of maybe-once-white-dried-something extracted from the crop of a prehistoric bird discovered quite fortuitously in a boggy area on the outskirts of Nice. There being no further ground to explore in that direction, the debate swung from the origin of clotted cream to who was going to damn well have whatever clotted cream there was.

The challenge of an epic tug-of-war was hurled by the British and accepted by the French. 14 red blooded souls set sail from London, each one hand selected from prestigious rugby and darts clubs, each one a bulking marvel of cornfed fitness; legs like tree trunks and nuclear arms.

The French team was no match for the Brits in size. Relying instead on guile, the cunning French schemed distraction of their grunting adversaries with clever limericks and promises of Beaujolais. The tug-of-war had barely begun when two of the cleverest Frenchmen dropped the rope to engage croissants, and a third called time out for a bathroom break -- but there are no timeouts in tug-of-wars so the French team was dragged mercilessly across rough ground, into the English Channel and clear across it before the lagging three caught up and slowed the route.

On the shore of Brighton the tide did turn as waterlogged Brits howled their laughter and rolled in the sand to 'There was a young lady from Kent' and those French guys saw their chance and darted back into the water . . .

And so it goes with our struggle, back and forth. One minute we've got the upper hand and the next we're in the muck of deep despair. It's us against the contractor, then us and the bank against the contractor, then somehow the bank against us; and possibly even us and dreadful contractor against the bank before we're done. Nothing's easy. And we're not squabbling over clotted cream here.

Chapter 4

March 27th, 2014

Chapter 4

My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather (on my father's side not my mother's -- hers was a short tempered, florid faced butcher with a drawerful of dull knives) -- held the post of gillie on a heather festoon estate just east of Kirkcaldy on the Firth of Forth.

Legend has it that on a spring morning when the clouds were roiling black, and shortly after the birth of his second son, my many-grands, Donnel Buchanan by name, was attacked in a clearing by a pack of wolves. Dropping to the ground and curling into the fetal position he commenced peeping in the manner of woodcocks, and from the ball that was his body he thrust his right hand, wiggling the fingers to effect tail feathers. This so confounded the wolves who were not, after all, customarily particular about the nature of meat (feathered or un-) that they warily circled round him for the better part of half an hour before disbanding and dispersing into the forest. Donnel continued with the peeping and wiggling till he was well certain that the wolves were gone. Then rising to his feet, he dusted himself off, adjusted his tartan, smiled his satisfaction, and was struck down by lightning. So you won't catch me smiling just yet, but things are definitely turning for the better in the housing department.

Monday afternoon, despite a no-no-no-wait-wait-wait plea, we filed with the Better Business Bureau and threatened legal action. Tuesday morning we received a promised detailed production schedule calling for all inside work except flooring and tiling to be complete by March 31; everything complete by April 23. We countered with an April 7 move-in date (inside fully complete) and April 23 for completion outside. No response on that yet, but the roles of turtle and alligator were becoming murky.

Wednesday we called the bank and learned that while we'd been hurling barbs, the bank has been going at the contractor with sickles; and that the schedule we'd received was one that the bank in fact had demanded (and they're not happy with it). So if there's an alligator in the pond it'd be the bank; and that alligator has his yellow eyes trained on the rounded carapace of our reptilian contractor. Life is looking brighter.

(And it was all orchids again last night.)

Chapter Three

March 26th, 2014

Chapter Three

The Whinny From the Back of the Barn . . .

I referenced my anger in Chapter 2 but I should explain that I am no more familiar with full fledged anger than I am with the four minute mile. My most recent previous memory dates from the late 80's when an altercation with my former wife revealed a number of things about me that I had not known. None of which I will be sharing here.

In retrospect, regarding the contractor, I confess that I hate to be taken advantage of; and that my anger was generously daubed with the embarrassment of having allowed it to happen. But there's a much deeper issue at play, it involves a core belief: that I place limitless faith in individuals; and none whatsoever in groups. Suddenly I was being challenged to re-evaluate. And I hate challenges. But enough about me.

Sunday evening as I was admiring my new laces an email fluttered in. It came quite unexpectedly from our contractor's henchwoman. In it she expressed apologies for delays in getting back to us and then continued with a clearly imaginary progress report which she never would have sent had she first communicated with her employer, who at that point knew we had reports from confederates in Asheville and that the jig was up. Lies or no, it was very nice to hear from Ms. HW. I went to bed happy, dreamed of orchids.

 

Displaying: 31 - 40 of 92

  |  

Show All

  |

Previous 1 2 3

[4]

5 6 7 Next