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My Current Home

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My Current Home. This photo was taken shortly following the completion of construction. The home is on a seven acre lot with a shed that serves as my workshop with a section in it for the storage of lawn equipment. All seven acres are grass covered so grass cutting is about a 6-7 hour job.


	Another view of our home after grass and shrubs were planted
	Thanksgiving dinner in the shed's workshop
	My wife Jean, and I
	Christmas day in our living room

It must have taken Jean and I about two years from the time we began looking for a new home until we finally moved in. It became a weekend routine to use weekends to look at prospective homes and lots. When we finally found a lot we liked it turned out that someone else had already put a down payment on it. But, the other folks disn't have enough money to close the deal, apparently. So we put our money down on that lot with the understanding that if the other party could not close on the lot after a specified time that the lot would be contractually ours. After about three months, shortly before time ran out, the lot went to the other party. During that three month period we had stopped our search so now we had to begin all over again.

Fortunately, within several months we found another lot we liked. Ufortunately, the lot was on a farm that was purchased by a partnership and they were in the process of carving up the property into individual lots for resale, but had not yet fulfilled all township requirements. However, we liked the location and the size, four acres, so we made our offer which was accepted. We recognized that we would have to be patient and wait until the owners meeting township specifications. During that wait the owners redrew the property lines on all the lots and our lot was increased to seven acres. But, because our purchase was on the basis of a lot number and not lot size we were able to acquire the additional three acres at no additional cost. Then, as closing time neared, one of the members of the partnership died. This caused further delay as inheritance issues were being ironed out with the deceased partner's heirs. Ultimately, we closed. Getting a house erected on the lot now became the next problem.

Immediately after our offer on the lot was accepted, Jean and I, began looking at factory built homes. We reasoned that this would be the fastest way to get into a home. After checking out three or four firms we found a cape cod designed home that we liked and were satisfied with the construction quality. We paid our downpayment and within a week or so, nailed down the interior specifications. Of course, we only purchased the house. It did not include excavation, foundation, well, landscaping, interior painting, electrical servive hookups, garage construction, sewage requirements, installation of a driveway and plumbing hookups. Any knowledgeable, sane person would have hired a general contractor to take care of these things but I decided I could take it on with no problems. Boy, was I ever wrong.

First I arranged to have a well drilled. The well driller showed up quickly and decided on the spot for the well. After that he didn't show up. I called. He said there were many wells in the area going dry and he needed to take care of them first. I waited and called again and again. I got angry and called. The well was drilled.

Next, arrangements were made for the excavation. A kindly and very helpful older guy had it all done within a week of our initial meeting. A rough driveway about 300 feet long was in place and reasonably navigable.

The electrical company was then called to install a utility pole, a transformer and run the neccessary lines. Very congenial people. They sent me a agreement to sign. The agreement indicated that they could come on my property at any time for whatever work they deemed was needed and add or change equipment and run lines without my approval. We argued and then argued some more about that. Finally I blacked out those portions of the agreement I was unhappy with and also added some qualifiers of my own. I signed this altered document and sent it back. Two weeks later the work was done. Telephone and TV cable lines were put into the same trench as the electrical lines and those people were both efficient and helpful.

Simultaneously, a mason was selected to put in the foundation. His work was professional and he made good progress. On day I asked him to pause in his work so I could take a day to make a decision that may impact what he was doing. After a day he didn't come back. Several days more went by and he still din not return. When I contacted him he said he began another job and would be back when he finished. Arrrrg! During the wait for him to return the floor of the foundation filled with several feet of water from a series of very rainy days.

After the mason finished his work,a steel support beam had to be installed across the length of the foundation to meet the specifications of the home builder. The beam supplier argued that the beam specified was much stronger than needed. After being condescendingly lectured to for an extended period of time I exasperatingly had to tell him to install what was specified in spite of what he thought. A week later the beam was in place. But, it wasn't level and was about an inch higher than the center support post. It took another week and more debating before the beam was finally installed correctly.

Everything was now ready for the house to be delivered. The first floor was delivered and put in place in one day. The next day the second floor was attached. It took about two weeks to shingle the roof and apply the siding. No siding was placed on the kitchen side of the home because a garage was to be attached there later on. All this was done without any problems. While the first floor was completely finished in the factory, the second floor had to be completed on site. Finishing the second floor required about 2-3 weeks. Jean made arrangements to have painters complete the interior painting. They were prompt, competant and finished quickly.

I contacted an electrician and explained what I wanted. He disagreed with everything I said. We debated. I relented. He did a great job. Everything he reccommened was right on target.

Meanwhile, the excavator installed the septic system and put in a sand mound. Jean contacted and worked with the plumber to get all the hookups done.

Finally, we moved in. We had previously been living in a small apartment temporararily with the furniture from our previous home being kept in storage. The move was exhausting but exhilerating. It was wonderful to get out of the apartment and settled into a new home.

But, we were not done yet. We still needed to find yet another contractor to put up our garage and breezeway. Finding a contractor was no problem, getting him to start work on the project was another matter. The number of phone calls Jean and I made to the garage contractor to get him to begin construction were too numerous to recall. Dealing with him was almost surreal. When he was contacted it seemed as though he had no recollection of when we originally contracted with him or the number of times we had made previous calls. My growing rage was kept under control until one day it could no longer be suppressed. In an unrestrained outburst I angrily unleashed all my pent up frustrations in an unrelenting torrent of vituperation. I'll never know if that did the trick but in a few days building materials began arriving with the work crew showing up several days later.

Of course something had to go wrong. This time it was the garage roof. I verbally told the contractor that I wanted the roof angle to be the same as the house. The pith of the roof on our cape cod house is fairly steep at 10/12. The level of the garage was lower than the house so the roof of the garage would be lower, and subordinate to, the house. Somehow the contractor assumed the pitch of the house was 12/12 and accordingly, constructed the garage roof at that angle. The garage, from my perspective, towered over the house. Of course, my inclination was to have the contractor tear off the roof and get it right. But he was unlikely to assume that expense and since there was nothing in writing about what I expected, he was not likely to admit an error. Rather than risk increasing tensions between us that might have impacted further progress, I kept my mouth shut. Since then, I keep hoping a windstorm would blow off the garage roof so we could use insurance money to replace it. I told Jean that if we put a steeple on it, any local religious congregation would be pleased to use it for their Sunday services. To this day, as I approach the garage on our long 100-yard driveway, I deliberately keep my eyes lowered so I can't see that dang roof. Many folks have garage sales. I'd love to have a garage sale with the buyer carting the entire structure off to an unknown location.

I think it's universal that those people who have garages built regret, afterwards, that it was not made bigger. It's not unusual for a car to be evicted from its planned garage location to make room for all sorts of acquisitions used for maintenance around one's home. In our case, it was mainly our lawn tractor and other gardening supplies that was taking up the space originally allocated to cars. Jean suggested that we have a shed built to house those gardening tools and to also provide space for me that I could use as a workshop.

Now, I think, most men crave a space equipped with every tool imaginable where they could tinker to their hearts content. I was no different. So, when Jean suggested that workshop, I briefly feigned indifference because of the associated expense, but it wasn't long before we were off searching for a contractor to put it up. It took several months to find a price that was reasonable for the structure we wanted. We signed a contract near the end of summer a few years ago. It was a week before Christmas that work began and the footer was put in. That winter was much colder than normal and no further work could be done. Spring turned out to be wetter than normal and heavy equipment could not get to the site, in the rear of our home, because of the mud. Finally, we asked the contractor to put in a gravel driveway back to the work area so that construction could resume. It was an expense we hadn't expected. But, after that things progressed normally. However, it took about one full year from the signing of the contract to the completion of the shed.

On the whole, I've learned to dread dealing with contractors. Seldom do they provide timely results or the quality of work I want. As a result, I've learned to provide them with detailed specifications. It doesn't matter. They generally produce what they think I should have. This was true of the shed. The roofline was a major departure from the drawing the contractor received from me. But, and this is rare, esthetically the results were far better than what I had specified.

The shed has a concrete porch, 8 feet wide, which faces north. Since our lot is on what was farmland, we do not have any mature trees to provide shade. Now, however, the porch provides a pleasant, shady haven to escape the summer sum. We have a swing on the porch that provides us with some old fashioned relaxing ambience. A refrigerator within the shed insures an easily accessible supply of cool drinks. It seems peculiar to me though, that Jean seldom uses it, preferring to remain in her favorite spot, the breezeway.

In order to save some money, we decided to finish the interior of the shed ourselves. We installed the insulation, covered the interior walls and did the painting ourselves. But now after two years the windows and doors have not yet been framed on the inside. One third of the shed is used for garden tools and supplies. That area has not had any interior work done at all except for some insulation on the wall that separates it from the workshop area.

Major woodworking tools were acquired soon after the interior work on the shed was complete. Three big items, a table saw, a jointer, and a mortiser were purchased in quick succession. Goofily, once those high priced items were bought I promptly lost interest in woodworking. Well over a year went by during which I seldom set foot in that workshop. I was far more interested in working outdoors. I don't think I had an aversion to working with wood. I suspect it had more to do with my low estimation of my woodworking skills. I may have been afraid that my incompetence would have been exposed if I ever actually tried to make something with my pricey gear. Eventually, I decided that I would never acquire any skills unless I begin using those machines. So, I've modestly started by constructing outdoor furniture type stuff where any mistakes I make would not matter that much.

Landscaping our property is a never-ending project. Because of Jean and I, precious farmland has been lost, given over to our residence. So I feel obligated that one of our legacies should be that we leave the lot in better condition than when we moved in. We continuously plant trees and shrubs. The soil is improved with amendments when new planting areas are designated. I've learned to fully appreciate the beauty of roses and each year their number increases more than I planned for. Split rail fencing serves as a backdrop for the roses. We've got a small collection of fruit trees and several grape vines. A vegetable garden produces far more than we can consume each summer. Two large arbors support climbing roses and other vines and, swings provide a pleasant refuge under the rafters. Birch trees adorn each side at the beginning of the driveway. Except for that driveway, I think the appearance of the place is improving each year.

So, I'm pretty much surrounded by those things that contribute to making, for me, a rather pleasure full retirement. But, retirement does not suit me well. I'd much rather have a job. Early in my work history I was lucky to have drifted into a profession that was as personally fulfilling as anything I could have hoped for. Unlike most people, I never longed for living a life of leisure. I generally looked forward to going to work each day. Working long hours was not deplored. Taking work home was a common experience and often yielded rewarding results. I sustained these attitudes until my last job where the gross inadequacies of upper management drove me to explicitly tell them that I would not work beyond my required hours to overcome problems caused by their bad decisions. I wasn't about to reward their stupidity. Which clearly epitomizes, I think, for most people, that work would be a highly desirable activity were it not for the propensity of those in charge to make it as aversive as possible.

It appears that I'm more content with a structured, cyclical kind of life. My daily routine contains a three-hour segment that I allocate to extended walks. Currently, I'm putting in 8-9 miles 5 or 6 days a week. I'll spend about three hours every day in front of the computer briefly checking on current events and then working on the various web sites I've created or developing programs in Visual Basic. Maintenance of our 7-acre lot consumes a considerable portion of the day, as does the time I spend in my workshop. I'll typically allocate an hour or so to piano practice trying to improve what little skills I have at that instrument. Relaxation usually consists of about three hours of TV and that�s the only goofing off I do. I seldom read books unless it's some kind of "how to" tome. I would like to begin painting again but I never seem to be sufficiently driven to succumb to those urges. If I could break myself of the TV habit maybe those paints, brushes and canvas would come out of the closet. It seems six hours of sleep is about normal for me although I always feel I need more. My days, then, are very full. There's never enough time to do everything.

I don't have any friends. I used to, but not any more. Maybe it's because my definition of "friend" differs from others who claim to have many of them. Naturally, I've got many acquaintences. Sometimes I think people who claim to have many friends can't differentiate between acquaintances and friend. Anyway, being popular was never one of my objectives. Instead, I seem to go to great lengths to avoid getting close to others. I don't think I'm unfriendly, but I definitely do not want to establish the bonds that lead to the inter-dependencies of friendship. I'll bet it's my strong independent streak that keeps me friendless. That may indeed be true because I openly tell others of my friendlessness in a manner that conveys a sense of pride. Or, maybe it's because I've been blessed with a great wife. We do almost everything together. Always have. With a wife that satisfies all my needs for close personal relationships, why would I feel compelled to establish other associations? But then, could it be that someday I'll be sorry that I did not establish close links to anyone?

Family members are also treated in a standoffish manner. Although I admire them all, there has never been any strong internal drive to interact with them in a manner that most other families would do. The one exception was my oldest brother, Jack, who I felt obligated to visit often, during the period prior to his death, to provide whatever support I could, when he was battling colon cancer. Other than that, it has been rare for me to get together with any of my siblings. When we do see each other, our conversations can become quite spirited. So, meetings that extend beyond a portion of one day can begin degenerating into bouts of derisive differences that can severely bruise sensitive egos or, escalate tensions to calamitous levels. So, it's not worth disturbing the tenuous amity that currently exists.

I see my adult kids more often than by brother and sisters. When I do see my kids we spend almost no time conversing. Various activities chew up time and we just do not discuss anything substantive. I spend more time talking to my sons-in-law in one day than I ever spent with my daughters. I think it's because our interests are extremely diverse and we can't seem to find any topic that could be explored beyond the inconsequential. I dislike talking to them on the phone because we quickly bump into those awkward periods of silence while we presumably flounder for someway to break out of our verbal vacuum. As I stated elsewhere, Jean was really a pseudo single parent, raising our daughters by herself while I was off trying to measure up to my standards of what constitutes a good father- being a steadfast provider. As a result, there's a huge chasm between my daughters and I relative to really knowing each other. And, we all seem to be content with the status quo. These web pages may serve to break down whatever reticence that currently exists. A major obstacle now, is the miles that separate us. Those distances, while not great, are, more and more, disagreeable to traverse.

Traveling has no appeal. Getting to any destination is about the most boring thing one can do unless you are a passenger in a conveyance that permits you to do something useful or interesting. Planes and trains are filled with people who I would otherwise never remotely consider associating with. Face it, the world is full of self absorbed people who couldn�t care less that their offensive behavior would be profoundly distressing to even the lowest life forms. They think you are the problem for having the gall to have civilized standards for humans. Also, living out of a suitcase is equivalent to being a homeless person. Then too, motels/hotels are expensive, noisy, the bedding accommodations miserable and the heating/air conditioning impossible to regulate to one's satisfaction. The cleanliness of the rooms is also suspect. The alternative attraction of camping absolutely bewilders me. Why would otherwise sensible people want to live like animals or insects? They can achieve the same level of grubbiness in their own backyards with considerably less effort and expense. And, moving about in an RV does not qualify as camping, as some might think. Those gas guzzling highway hogs are nothing more than portable motel quarters. All right, I know, I've lost sight of the fact that the destination itself is what makes it all worthwhile... supposedly. For me, though, I would prefer to avoid all the associated unpleasantness and simulate the on site experience with a well produced DVD about the destination in the comforts of my own home.

Thus far, into my retirement, my health is apparently ok. Here, though, is a litany of my ailments. I was diagnosed with a pituitary tumor many years ago but medication seems to have that under control. Six different neurologists have confirmed my peripheral neuropathy but they are all mystified about its cause and what might be done about it. I've had some sinus polyps removed and have had cataract surgery on my right eye. That right eye also required a vitrectomy. That troublesome right eye also has a small hole in the retina that has given me an immensely annoying blind spot immediately to the right of the point of focus. And, an internal hemorrhoid is a minor annoyance. On the whole, I consider myself very lucky. But, there are plenty of daily reminders of the fragility of the human body and that the aging process is taking its relentless toll. Pain and/or stiffness are a constant companion. There was a time when I would occasionally have a bad day, physically. Somehow that has evolved such that now, I occasionally have a good day.

Nevertheless, I have no reason to complain. Getting through life so far has been a bumpy ride but not a lamentable one. I've never been a truly happy or optimistic person and sustaining contentment has proven to be an elusive pursuit. Although I can't say that I'm happy, I don't think it�s a contradiction to say I'm not unhappy. I've been able to reconcile my pessimistic and cynical condition with a stoic sort of acceptance of what I moronically consider to be my pre-ordained fate. Sure, I long ago recognized that it is possible to overcome the negative aspects of one's outlook, but when I tried to change, it felt as though if I were successful with the transformation, I would no longer be me.

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