This Old House

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Again inspired by “This American Life” I sit down to write.

A long sleepless night of sweat, I decided to get up and go to the store early while it was still somewhat cool and comply with the rules of the game then came back and provided sustenance for the critters who also view this space has home.

Loading soaking clothes in the laundry and looking at the to-do list that is getting yellowed and gray under the spider web, I sit in front of a window fan blowing triple digit air over me as I drink a frosty beer that is sweating more than I am.

The topic was about “This Old House”. As examined on the radio program about a son’s relationship with his father’s old house I thought at first it reminded me of a couple in Penn State who are trying to revive their son’s house. Then I looked out the window at the place I call home.

At first the house was just an escape to shelter. A small space with asbestos siding shingled roof and small rooms but more than enough space for one. Then there were possibilities of painting the walls or buying furniture or artwork on the walls. After a few years the house was a comfortable come home to place but never exciting. A few scattered deck chairs in case anyone came over, a place to watch television and listen to music, a cozy kitchen where everything worked, and a bathroom with running water. Outside the yard was a massive green spread that had to be mowed to keep up with the neighbors. As the usual homeowner does a hose was purchased and the grass and bushes were watered but there was no idea of changing or planting. Guys don’t think like that.

Then she joined the household. She saw possibilities I could not image and did not have the funds to produce, but she found a way.

Now I look at trees that are dying due to shade or vines or dryness or lack of constant attention or interest.

The house itself, which a few years ago presented itself with a different vision of a pallet of artistic adventure but has settled, as has the body, into an old structure that is falling apart.

Seems like old houses, like old people, are maintained and patched and keep going as long as there are funds. One wakes up in the middle of the night and hears the creaks and moans of lumber cut before being born. After years of sharing space with this structure one knows the flaws and insurrections this place has gone through and worries will it last until the end?

She has served me well and I keep placing patches on it but know full well it will not survive. A simple home with small rooms but enough space to live then again, you’ve got to live somewhere.

So now as two guys are tearing down the ceiling and putting up another one I wonder do those guys in Penn state realize what they are getting into? Then again it is for family.

When you think of all the places you have lived through the years there are memories of fixer-uppers and learning how to repair or install or hire to keep all the appliances going or plumbing from leaking or electricity from shocking. Those are things guys think about. Guys are supposed to know how to fix this stuff by learning from our dads who pass down these DIY skills. And us who don’t buy all the how-to-do books and then buy all the tools and after hitting our thumbs or cracking a wall or spending hours with no solution, we hire a professional who has experience doing the repair on your most expensive purchase.

So as long as the money holds out and the basics are maintained I will survive here. I wasn’t sure this morning when I had to move all the furniture and a bunch of records in an hour to prepare for the workmen, then again I have an open beamed living room?