June 24, 2009

7:35 a.m.

Digging

Second day owning a House. It's glorious. And when I say "glorious," I mean it involves absolutely the grossest, most disgusting and eye-averting tasks right from the top. Still -- I am alive, and this was my promise, and I am making good.

The closing was fine, even had a few laughs. Son's realtor and attorney came at the end to sign a few things, and they were both very nice. Realtor, however, has not always impressed Angela as having all the screws in place. After I left there was more conversation among them, during which Son's Realtor talked glowingly about the Old Man, citing him as a "town character," chatting up his cronies at the post office, beloved of all the neighborhood. This is so false and so contrary to everything we've heard from neighbors and other townspeople, it sounded like she was just making it up. Where would she get such information? Certainly not from his progeny.

I did not have to meet up with Son.

I signed things, gave them a huge check, they gave me a key and a copy of the key. I was told it would fit both front doors.

I had to sign for Dar (power of attorney), and in this case the bank was wanting me to sign his name, not mine. Sometimes it's the other way. But I had a big laugh to myself remembering how many times I've signed his name on these papers, in his handwriting. How odd it was to be writing it in my own hand. I knew Angela must be laughing inside, too, because she's the only one who knows.

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I stopped at the hardware store and got fish clippers, a lino knife (the closest thing I could find to the tool Marc described that would un-stick painted-stuck windows), and a tarp that I will take back because Marc already has one. The tarp's to cover the boxes in the pickup today in case it sprinkles. I also found numbers for the mailbox. Those have to go on in the next day or two. My box is the middle of three at the end of the driveway and I don't think there's a legible number on it. Old Man had a P.O. box, and when I went to change my address online, the post office website didn't even recognize the street number, though I knew it was right. Talk about bringing a place back to life.

After various errands and preparations I didn't actually get to House until around 5:00. The key did not fit the main front door. Apparently there is no key to that door. I took it to the other front door, on the ell, and the poison ivy was so overgrown around that little entryway, I'd have had to push aside or clip some of it just to get to the keyhole. I didn't fancy that. So guess how I got in? Yes; through the back door which doesn't latch, same way I've always broken into my House. The door is really swollen now though, and very hard to shove open. We have to do something about that soon, too.

I set up triage in the dining room just inside the ell door, and commenced cleaning the downstairs bedroom (ohhh, the smell) because that was the worst. That's where the dog was locked up, when he had a dog, and also where Old Man slept when he moved out of the upstairs. It was filthy and there was three-dimensional caked pee and dog hair on the baseboard and floor. I had to use a lye solution and a scrubbing brush, and breath through my mouth for a while. The scrub brush worked better than the scrubbie sponge for those hard-to-liquify areas, but it generated a frothy, grey soup which I then had to mop up. Let me tell you, this was the GROSSEST thing I have ever done in my life. I was even surprised to discover the real paint color of the baseboard molding. It wasn't just the disgust factor of the mess; it was the sadness. Was the dog still living and locked in there at the same time the old man used it as a bedroom? And obviously he slept down there in his last years, pee and all. With the windows painted shut, folks. Never an effort to clean anything. And, oddly, there's a deadbolt on that door. It's turnable from the inside, but there is also a key stuck into the outside. Did he want to keep animals in, or people out?

Marc showed up with the tractor and graded parts of the dirt driveway that had rivulets. I asked him about opening windows and we managed to get three open -- one, he had to remove some molding and literally take it out of the frame. I left all the doors open and ran a fan. Then he weed-whacked and mowed a wide swath from the driveway to the front front door so we would have access today. Then he clipped the poison ivy from around the ell door and bagged it. What a guy. All things I now don't have to worry about immediately.

Oh, and he bled the air out of the intake pipe thingy in the furnace, and got that working so I could have hot water.

I scrubbed and scrubbed and changed the lye solution and scrubbed and unplugged the sink drain with more lye solution, and killed two scrubbies dead, and then cleaned it again with Mr. Clean for the smell, damp mopped a bit, swept some big flakes that had fallen from the ceiling since last time I'd been there. Our neighbor Donna came by with some sweet pea flowers she'd clipped and asked if there was anything they could do to help. We chatted a bit and I got back to work.

Dinner break at Rose and Marc's. I visited the chicks -- looking very much like little chickens now -- and examined Rose's poison ivy, which went systemic. She's now on Pred again, a higher dose and tapering down for 12 days. It's like signing up for Hell, for her. She brought Diva downstairs to be on the play gym and eat bits of sweet potato and strawberry.

Then guess what I did? Yes! I went back and scrubbed some more. Shortly R&M came over again and went down into the basement to figure out logistics of putting the stuff from their old garage down there. They got another offer on their house and it will be selling within the month. My basement is still full of crap so we devised a strategy for clearing a space for their things. Removing junk from down there will involve bringing the Dynahoe round the back of my house and digging up saplings that have grown in front of the bulkhead door. Then the little tractor comes around and holds its bucket up, and we hump stuff out the bulkhead and into the bucket. When that's full, tractor goes around to pickup truck in the driveway and dumps its load. When pickup truck is full, we go to the dump in their old town, for which Marc still has a permit.

We discovered a few things in the basement, too. There's a bit of water that came in during recent rains, and Marc figured out that the land is graded slightly toward the house. We have to dig a trench and put pipe along the back, the kind with holes in it, and cover it with sand and gravelly stuff and then dirt, so that rainwater will sink quickly into the pipe and run off elsewhere rather than seeping into my basement. Fun. He said it would be about a $4,000 job if I hired someone. Then we all looked at each other and I said, "But if I knew someone, with a Dynahoe for example, and if I was even related to them, I could save a lot of money, couldn't I?" To which he replied, once again, that I will be indentured for life and subject to the worst jobs imaginable.

Then he showed me why the upstairs bathroom is turned off. The poopie pipe burst. Looks like years ago (thank goodness), but it seems it plugged up and then froze. Something blew a big hole out the back of a bend in the pipe. It has to be cut in two places and a long section with bends and connectors has to be replaced before we can even think of making that bathroom work.

Fun.

He did get the locked file cabinets open, but there was nothing interesting or of value in them. We had an arrangement: I'd get to keep the money, he'd get the firearms, and we'd sell the drugs and split the profit. Sadly, none of the above was forthcoming. However, he did find a couple of bottles of solidified Margarita mix.

We followed wires and figured out where things came from and where they went, and noted that the furnace hasn't been inspected or cleaned since 2000. And then we found the mummified cat.

I wasn't sure what I was seeing at first. It looked like a pale, old rag. Lying in the open front of a sort of desk, among detritus. A sad, ancient, flat kitty shape with faint rib ridges. No hair any more; just leather. We looked at it and tried to speculate, but of course, it's just in keeping with the pathetic, bitter life this man chose. A life of neglect. It seems he abused everyone until they either died or left him, and then he abused himself until he died.

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So... this is the time of discovery and finding just HOW neglected things were, so there may be some reporting like this to come, but this is the hardest part. I know it will get better and more exciting as we see progress. There are pictures here; they're on my facebook page so if you're not on facebook and you can't see them, let me know. I'm not sure how that works.

Friends on the way to help move boxes, so I must get myself ready. Stay tuned for more amazing adventures...

Oh, by the way, when I left late last night, my whole field was full of fireflies!