Tag Archives: house construction

Felling the Tree

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Felling the Tree

Today my eyes teared over
as they bulldozed the tree
in the undeveloped lot next door.

It had to be cut.
A house was being built there and
aside from the trash it dropped,
It blocked the view.

Always the one to get his point across,
“I’ll tell you what,”
the contractor said,
“I’ll dig it up and plant it in your yard.”

But I didn’t want the mess of it, either.
I wanted the tree next door
where I could see it
without  dealing
with the fluff in my pool,
the pods falling off.

That tree was a resting place for  birds
which I said good by to
along with the tree.
Then, while I was at it,
I said good by to my cat
who had drowned in the pool
a week before.

Good by to my husband
who had hoped to see that tree
and the view around it
every day for the rest of his life.

Good by to my mother,
who passed onto me
her love of trees.

Good by
to all loved creatures
recently gone.

The tree was gone in a minute,
along with dry bushes, weeds.
The back hoe scraped the soil over
Coke cans, water bottles,
plastic flowerpots and chips wrappers—
the detritus from houses on each side,
as well as evidence of years of workers
who sat in the shade of the lot for lunch.

For a year or two
of privacy lost, calm shattered,
peace surrendered,
I would get new neighbors,
perhaps a friend.

Clouds of dust billowed
over my newly painted wall.
They’d repaint the wall
and plant new trees,
the builder promised,
as they bulldozed all.

 

For Stream of Conscousness Dec. 11: Tree

Homes for All

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This article literally gave me chills (of excitement, not dread) down my spine and brought tears to my eyes. Our world needs a little hope like that this project brings. If you haven’t read about this project and process and the positive impact it can have on the world, have a look.

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https://singularityhub.com/2018/03/18/this-3d-printed-house-goes-up-in-a-day-for-under-10000/?fbclid=IwAR175eiZBqPEqT16T8jngN2Gpi77_-buQLcst3W8zbWUHKbjwSlBl1vYDsQ

Tweaking the Backyard

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A vine on the post supporting the terrace roof had grown so big that it totally blocked off access to the sidewalk from the terrace. Going down to turn off water to the pool, as a result, was a tricky and dangerous business, especially at night, when I had to step off onto an uneven area of dirt and plants.  I also had a whole set of lawn furniture I couldn’t use because the yard incline was too severe, the back legs sunk into the dirt, and I tipped over backwards when I sat down on them. Lastly, the junction of the two brick pathways had become a favorite digging site for the dogs.  Solution? A little brickwork and a few plants. 

Please click on first photo to see captions and enlarge all photos.

The maestros at work.
Wedding of the ways.
Parting of the ways.
Fourteen small shrubs and a few smooth stones filled out the junction
Payday makes for a happy maestro
I meant for this to be a bit more irregular. I can’t decide if it looks more like a footprint or a peanut.
A place in the shade. Scrabble, anyone?

 

(This post was done at the request of Forgottenman, who has been dying to see what is going on.)

Poor Timing

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Senora! I’ve found more lights!  It looks promising.  I knew I had many more strands, but these look unfamiliar.

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So I pulled them out of the bag and untangled them, and when I plugged them in?  Out of seven strands, only one worked!  I mined the errant strands for a few replacement bulbs and tossed them into the trash. Planned obsolescence?

Poor Timing

Whoever wrote this prompt today cannot have all the facts
If he thinks merely by wanting to, I can just relax!

Relaxing’s fine for those who have all their “to do’s” done,
but until the last one’s checked off, it’s not yet time for fun.
It’s true that life is not all work. There’s wisdom in each word.
But to rest prematurely is clearly just absurd.

I’ll paint the window frame and then put up Christmas lights.
Then unpack nacimientos–those Mexican delights.
I’ll hide the suitcase of old clothes I’ve been meaning to sell,
then close the guest room closet–best described as hoarding Hell!

Clothes of every era. Clothes of every size.
If you are into “retro,” you’d find it quite the prize.
Then hang up all the pictures and replace all the art
that’s been consigned to the upstairs since my remodel’s start.

We’ve wiped and swept and blown and washed ’til all the dust is gone,
but now must put away the stuff all the dust was on!
Two days from now, houseguests arrive. ‘Til then my life is taxing,
It’s when they finally get here that I’ll have time for relaxing!

 

 

 

The prompt today is “relax.”

Asthma Attack

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Asthma Attack

I’ve left the house where I abide.
I can no longer live inside.
The dust has got the best of me—
my lungs, and all the rest of me.
Two weeks of tile and concrete dust
have all built up until I must
admit my lungs gave up at last
with breath a function of the past.

I made it to the pharmacy
before my breath gave out on me.
Once there, gasping, voiceless, paler,
I pantomimed for an inhaler,
then asked how to make use of it
and for a stool on which to sit—
all with gestures wild and manic.
Attempts to breathe brought only panic.

A half hour more I struggled for air.
Clearly I needed help and care.
“Tranquilo, señora,” the store clerk urged,
every time my panic surged
because I could not breathe again.
I tried and tried, but all in vain.
Another spray, then I willed calm
to wrap me in its healing balm.

At last, I finally breathed free.
They called a friend to come for me.
She drove me home, and now I sit
above the dust and all of it:
debris, concrete, tile and grout.
I’ve left it all.  I have moved out
to live in my upstairs casita
a saner, safer señorita

far above the mess and din,
lest this construction does me in.

If you’ve never had an asthma attack, I can only say it is one of the most panic-provoking experiences I’ve ever had, equaled only by my first asthma attack three years ago and an earlier time when I was pinned underwater and nearly drowned. I’ve said before that my greatest fear in life is not being able to breathe, and today I faced that fear again. After a month of severe coughing bouts and three trips to the doctor, I finally checked my meds on the advice of my friend Marti and found my blood pressure meds were known to provoke chronic bouts of coughing. I got my doctor to change my meds and slept well last night. It wasn’t until the man remodeling my bathroom arrived and started sanding and cutting concrete that I suddenly got a severe coughing attack again, in spite of the fact that there were two closed doors between us.

Although I had plenty of nighttime cold meds, I was out of Tabcin Activa, my daytime cold formula, so I decided to drive to the pharmacy to get some more. Thankfully, within the last few months, they’ve opened a Guadalajara Farmacia in my  village. Otherwise, I would have had to have driven 5 miles to Ajijic. This synchronicity, I am sure, saved my life, as by the time I got to the pharmacy, I was coughing and wheezing so severely that instead of asking for Tabcin, I asked for cough medicine. The pharmacist brought out a  lovely gift-wrapped conglomeration of kids’ cough medicine, stuffed toy, vitamin tablets and herbal tea. No, I insisted between coughs, just very strong cough syrup. By the time she brought it and I had ripped open the box and asked her to open the bottle, I was wheezing. I chugged the cough medicine, then went into a full asthmatic attack. I motioned wildly for an inhaler, and then for them to open it and show me how to use it. I used the inhaler once. Twice. Three times. I was presenting the most wild and frantic display of behavior but I knew, in fact, that I would die if I couldn’t breathe soon.

Eventually, I could take small gasps of air, interspersed with more closings of my air passages. I pointed toward a stool, which they brought to me, along with a glass of warm water. I took a sip and my passages closed again. Another inhaler blast. Tears were streaming down my face and I was shaking uncontrollably. Earlier, they had asked if they should call for an ambulance, but I knew if this were done, that my house had been left open with only strangers in it. Both of my computers were out in plain sight. The gate to the street open. The front door open. The workers would not know where I was. Anyone could wander into the house. What’s more, I’d left my cellphone at home along with my phone list. I didn’t have any numbers to call friends to come help. Of course this caused more anxiety and brought on another attack.

In the end, still unable to talk, I wrote a note asking for a phonebook. I finally found the number of a friend, had them call her and ask her to come get me. Unfortunately, she was not a native speaker of Spanish and didn’t understand what they were saying, but I was able to speak enough to say who I was, that I needed help and to come to the pharmacy.

She drove me home, got items from my house I needed, stopped by another friend’s house to see if he’d come mind mine for the day, and since I was breathing well by then, took me back to the pharmacy to pick up my car.  On the way back home, I suddenly remembered I had an upstairs room that should be dust-free and so I relieved my friend, brought possessions upstairs, and here I am ensconced until construction is finished.

I must end here because I’m getting sleepy and think I’ll soon nod off. Ironically enough, what I had originally gone to get at the pharmacy was Daytime Tabcin, a multi-symptom cold capsule for what I thought was my cough and cold. Although I had the night formula, I was out of the daytime one. I had written my request to the pharmacist who had shown me a box. Yes, that was it I said. Now, safe in my upstairs room, breathing freely, I again felt a cough coming on and quickly opened the box and popped two of the capsules. Only afterwards did I think to look at the box. She had given me the nighttime formula! So in spite of the fact that it is just a bit past noon, I think I’ll be off to dreamland soon.

 

The prompt word today was “abide.”

Three Pics of the New Floor

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The spare room just grew up.  Got rid of the twin beds in favor of a “matrimonial” bed (Mexican for double bed.) Haven’t done a spread yet.. this is makeshift, but looks more grown up, I think.

Before
After

I know the living room looked warmer before, but the salitre was eating it alive. The new floor looks like natural stone and is impervious to the salitre.

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Before

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After

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After

Christmastime Construction Blues

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Christmastime Construction Blues

Two weeks of this insanity,
computer balanced on my knee,
desk packed under a canopy
with all I own? A tragedy!

Two weeks of the cacophony
of saw and chisel harmony.
Two weeks since I’ve been tile-dust-free,
yet still the end I do not see.

I lay here in a reverie,
dreaming of my Christmas tree,
but I fear it will never be
with all this mess surrounding me.

Chafing with the indignity,
I call my contractor, but he
merely tells me “I fear we
must order more tile,”—a travesty!

In boxes are a panoply
of ornaments from A to Z,
yet this year I fear they’ll not be
hung on any Christmas tree!

The prompt word today was “panoply.”

(Click on first photo to enlarge all and see captions.)

The wished for
The reality
Messes forever!

Construction Cycle

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(What’s going on here? Click on first photo to enlarge pics and read captions.)

Before. Giant bathtub I never use will come out in lieu of a new shower and bench. Tub side will be cut down to just above the floor for easy entry. A small wall like the one on the right but a bit higher will go beside the chest on the left to guard from shower spray.
Bench for taking a rest during the rigorous task of showering.
New mini wall in lieu of a shower curtain.

 

Cycle

What comes before needed construction
is a good deal of destruction.
Thus at any given time,
there may seem no reason nor rhyme
to account for what is going on.
Yet, when all the rubble’s gone
and the building then commences—
houses, bridges, rooms or fences—
mass destruction seems no sin
when we tear down to build again.
Yet still, destruction never behooves us
unless what’s built tends to improve us.

 

The prompt word today was “Construct.“

Out on a Liminal

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Out on a Liminal

img_9671The jolly crew over lunch yesterday. Happiest when the jefe is not in sight. He probably knows this and this is why the two older men eat in front of the house, the younger men on my patio in the back.

Liminal—I admit that I looked the word up, and I’m glad I did.  I have always thought that since subliminal meant below the threshold of conscious thought, that liminal must refer to conscious thought. Wrong.

Liminal: of or relating to a sensory threshold. 2 : barely perceptible. 3 : of, relating to, or being an intermediate state, phase, or condition : in-between, transitional

So, is my house in a liminal state between completion and constant repair and construction?  If so, what is the state after liminal?  Perhaps subliminal is the ultimate state rather than the one under liminal. Perhaps it is that state in which everything just goes along smoothly without having to think about it. Water flows, floors stay crack and salitre-free, lightbulbs stay perpetually lit.

Perhaps I’d better look up subliminal as well:

Subliminal: (of a stimulus or mental process) below the threshold of sensation or consciousness; perceived by or affecting someone’s mind without their being aware of it.

One out of two. It means exactly what I thought it did.

Today is the fourth day of construction at my house and the last day of the work week.  Thankfully, only six men showed up instead of the usual nine, because that is how many beers I have in the fridge and I didn’t want to have to leave to buy more to treat them at the end of this short work day.  The jefe and his assistant seem to have stayed home to leave the other younger men to complete tiling the kitchen and hammer-and-chiseling out the built-in large bathtub to transform it into a shower and construct a small wall to serve in lieu of shower curtain.

At first I was worried that the jefe hadn’t shown up because last night as I surveyed the day’s work, I noticed two problems.  One was that the tiles on the front porch were not centered.  I can understand that he was lining up the main tile with the tile in the inside of the house, but in fact the porch is more often viewed with the door shut, so as nice a it would have been if they’d taken this into account at the beginning, they didn’t, and so having the line under the door misaligned seems a smaller problem than having the entire porch off-center.

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The second problem was that the bottom step in the hall leading down to my bedroom was 1/2 inch deeper on one side than the other.  Now, these are the steps that have tripped me up three times in the past year, twice sending me careening headfirst into an edge where two walls meet and rendering me unconscious for a few seconds. So, I don’t need a further contributing factor to my own clumsiness.  I do not need one slightly diagonal stair leading up to a square one!

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At any rate, I was dreading pointing this out to the grumpy foreman, but the young man I reported it to was very pleasant and equally helpful when I tripped over one of their damn line up wires for positioning the tiles (heavy fishing line strung between two nails pounded into the cracks between the tiles.)  This is about the fifth time I’ve tripped over the dangerous things, but this one was tangled but still connected to the two nails even though the tile had long been set, so it would not release, and sent me careening down the front stairs, head-first down onto the terrace.

In all, I probably traveled seven feet horizontally and about a foot from house floor level down to terrace level.  If it had been an Olympic event, I might have placed, but as is I just said a few very vile swear words–in English, not Spanish, so perhaps they didn’t have the same effect on listening ears.  At any rate, the nice young man who had heard earlier complaints came running to take my camera out of my hands, (Yes, I was going to photograph the misaligned porch tiles.)  to help me up and then to remove that damn fishing line that should have been removed two days ago.

So, all in all, I’d say my day so far has been anything but subliminal.  But although my entire state for the past week as we moved everything out of the house and then dealt with four days of noise, dust and constant activity has certainly been transitional, it is certainly not been barely perceptible. And in spite of the fact that my stumble and fall over my literal threshold was totally sensory, still, taking the full definition of both terms into account, I seem to be in a state neither liminal nor subliminal.

I’m just lucky that after that nasty spill that my state isn’t terminal!!!! And I can safely say, I think, that my bone density is excellent.

The prompt today was “Liminal.”

Elicit

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 A phone call to me today might elicit no response, but you will increase your chances if you stay on the phone long after the message machine has cut in.  The reasons for this are as follows:

At 9:05 a.m., nine men arrived at my front gate with a truck load of large porcelain tiles that look like paving stones with the intention of tiling my entire house with them–a process that will take between one and two weeks.

To facilitate said process, I’ve removed everything in my house except heavy furniture and put it either in the upstairs casita, the spare bedroom and bathroom, the dining room or kitchen.  When the rest of the house is tiled, we’ll move the heavy sculpture and furniture and doo-dads still in the guest bedroom (including me) and bath and kitchen and dining room into the tiled rooms and complete the tile process. Anyone who has ever been in my house will know this is tantamount to packing up a small museum and putting it into storage.

As a result of said shufflings, I can no longer locate my bathroom scale, 1/2 of every pair of shoes, my blood pressure records, 2 smoothies (prepared this morning and lost in turn) and the one phone that is still connected but divorced from its cradle.

In spite of the fact that I’ve just located my now-melted smoothie as well as my phone in the guest bathroom, which is now my only usable bathroom, the fact that five of the nine men are now using hammers and chisels to remove the tile trim on the walls above every floor in the house means it is impossible to hear the phone ring.  Just now, one of the men came to tell me I had a phone call (I call him my secretary now) but alas, whoever it was had hung up by the time I remembered where I’d stashed the phone.

If you’d like some idea of what we’ve been going through for the past two days, you might want to check out the below photos.

Except for the fact that I dropped my Mac on the floor and everything seems to be operating except for the trackpad, which means I can’t maneuver the photos to edit them or place them anywhere, including the desktop or my blog!

This is absolutely not my day.  But has it elicited a scream or even an oath?  It has not.  Has my blood pressure risen?  If I could find my cuff, I could tell you.

Okay, after hours of work and forgottenman’s help, I have edited the photos and he’s now putting them into this blog.  This is REALLY a dual effort today.

Click on first photo to enlarge and read the captions, which I am sure you will want to do as you are totally into this renovation.  Right?  Am I turning into one of those people who take a photo of every meal and post it on Facebook?

Naked room. That’s Donald resting up for the rigors ahead. Will have to wait 4 more years to smash this pinata!
Looks empty and sad. That will change.
Stuff
And more stuff.
Interim resting spot. The Virgin shares her space.
Table filling up. Living room emptying out.
Bob’s and my spiral lamp creation deserved a dust cover of its own.
These ladies will witness it all.
Before. Giant bathtub I never use will come out in lieu of a new shower and bench. Tub side will be cut down to just above the floor for easy entry. A small wall like the one on the right but a bit higher will go beside the chest on the left to guard from shower spray.
Adventures in plumbing.
Ghost of a room.
The next time you see this hall, it will be very different.
Trying to fit everything from my bathroom undergoing a remodel into my guest bathroom. Yes, those are the boxes for my blood pressure machines, but not the machines themselves. I heard one go off spontaneously a half hour ago, but still couldn’t find it!
My new office/bedroom/sanctuary.
These tiles are now all spread out, being cut and shaped. Again, this is the entry to my house!
The obstacle course. This is the entry to my house!
Doesn’t show here, but there is a lot of variation between tiles, which look like stone. Note Morrie and Diego moving around according to where the action is.
Waiting for breakfast.
Off with the old.
I’ve found a number of these big fellas seeking shelter now that the pictures and retablos they lived behind have been taken away.
A cat knows how to find the most comfortable place no matter what the situation.
Annie thought she was top cat until she saw that the new cat on the block gets to be on the bed when she doesn’t!
Once they started cutting tile in the house, I put a huge plastic wall up over this arch. Now I have to go outside to get to the kitchen from my sanctuary.
The kitchen and dining room will be the last to be tiled, so they are acting as a repository of decorative items from other rooms.
Taking into account some of his recent appointments, I thought Donald needed a time out.

The prompt word today was “elicit.”