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Several people have asked me how I know how to do these things to fix my house. I’ve put together some of my life experiences to fill you in. 

Marriage(s)

Some of you know I’ve been married a few times. What follows is in no way a jab at any of these guys. Just a little humor and a lot of life.

Clark – the marriage of my youth. 

We married young with a baby in tow. So when we settled in to York, we were pretty poor. At least it felt that way. We rented an apartment for 2 years before buying a place. That was 1983. By 1985, Ryan was a 2 and a half year old and Michael on the way. Buying the house was a big deal. We maxed out our monthly payment to get into Suburban schools, a highly rated district, planning ahead for the boys. Ryan had a real knack for spilling grape juice on the apartment carpet. Every dollar mattered. We really needed our security deposit back. So one day I decide to test a small area of the carpet, a section of the closet, with clorox. I mean clorox is the bomb. I rubbed a tiny amount on the grape juice stained carpet and whalla! The stain was gone. I set out to remove all of the other stains. I was so pleased with myself, I had just saved us the $500 deposit. I took a nap. When I awoke, the clorox had really done its job. I now had white splotches all over a brown rug. Five o’clock was approaching. Clark would be home any minute. I sat on the front door stoop waiting. When he pulled in, all I could say was “Please just remember, I’m pregnant.” He walked into the apartment and didn’t say a word. We lost 1/2 of our deposit.

(Clorox will become a big part of my life all these years later, but now I know where to use it.)

Fast forward to 1986. We are now living in the house. Picture orange and some other color that pretended to be yellow shag carpet. Remember that? There’s a theme here with carpet. Life is full of themes.

One day I decided to peak underneath. Wow! Beautiful old hardwoods. Sooo removing the carpet became my project. The problem: I had no idea just how heavy carpet could be. I pulled up and rolled half of the living room and couldn’t budge it from there. Ut oh. I couldn’t finish the job before he came home from work. Five o’clock rolled around, so back I was sitting on the front porch. This time I wasn’t pregnant. Clark pulled up. I said “Wait til you see what I discovered!” In typical Clark fashion, he took a look, rolled his eyes ever so slightly and went to work on the rest. Another pattern, I’d start a project, get myself into trouble and Clark would bail me out. 

After our divorce, I was living in the house, going to grad school and feeling poor – again. I wanted to convert the shed to a home office- the original she-shed. With no Clark to save me I had to figure it out. This was my first project and when I learned to drywall

Lex – the marriage that lasted 3 months.

I learned one thing during this brief 30-something something.

At all cost. Find humor.

Keith – the marriage that bought the farm

We did a lot. No kidding. I learned more in that 14 year period than I realized. 

Engaged in 2003, it was time for both of us to leave Suburban and start fresh. I’d had enough of suburbia and wanted to be either a country or city mouse. I really didn’t care which, I just wanted a new experience. We looked around. At first it was fun. Keith wanted to see what the real estate landscape looked like. After a few weekends of driving around with a map – yes I said a map – and getting car sick, I said, “OK, you can go learn the real estate landscape all you want, if you find something I just want veto power.” 

Shortly thereafter, I saw an ad in the Sunday paper – yes the Sunday paper – for an open house at this small farm. I asked if he wanted to go. We did. As we walked though the house – a house that needed a lot of work, fields, old out buildings, a collapsed bank barn. I fell in love with the place. But the thing was, Keith wanted to travel and I thought this place would become a burden. So I didn’t say much. We were recently engaged, I guess that’s why I keep my mouth shut. As we walked the fields, he began calling it ours. I was surprised, but thrilled. We bought the farm and spent years turning it into a showpiece. I helped with the demo. We lived with a sink in the kitchen. We ate cereal for breakfast and ate out for dinner for months. I didn’t do any of the rebuild. We left that to 2 main guys. Half the house was log and Keith wanted to expose them so we hired a log house expert. The first time he came to the house we asked what to do. His response: “Let the house speak to you.” Oh it spoke alright. Then there was Mitch. I love Mitch. He had been our handyman at the old house, but had become our major contractor. He is a brilliant carpenter. Both men were artists. The guys didn’t let me do any of the work. Not even the painting. All I did was pick everything. Design. And I did good. What the guys didn’t know was that I studied them. I watched. I watched as the log guy moved huge logs to create new walls. I watched Mitch build beautiful built-ins and stunning 5 layered crown molding. I watched them solve the myriad of problems they inevitably encountered. Watching is easy. But it sinks in. Eleven years at the farm. Eleven years of renovations. It was lovely.

Here’s the thing. I paid attention. Make no mistake, we still travelled extensively during those years. I’ve lost track of the number of countries. I used to say Keith would sleep on dirt as long as he was doing what he loved. I didn’t get that. Now I do.

Flying solo-unmarried and finding my way. 

Now it’s 2017. 

I’m poor again. Teaching adjunct philosophy anywhere I can find classes and attempting to sell real estate. A bit out of sorts, I decided the best place for me was to return to my old hood. Suburban. I dreaded renting. I needed roots. I needed a home. I wasn’t sure I’d qualify for a mortgage so I hedged my bets and checked out the rental market. I stumbled upon a real fixer upper that was listed for rent.The small rancher was a mess. Mold in the basement. Everything that could leak did. The hardwoods were filthy and rough. I can’t even talk about the bathrooms. The weeds were as tall as the house. But the lot was a gem. I contacted the rental agency and asked them to tell the owner I wanted to buy it. The place was being destroyed by renters and needed a new owner. Me. I knew in my heart this was going to be mine. I went to a local bank and asked what they could do for me. I was a good risk. They agreed. It was time for me to buy my first home – alone.

I bought the place in late November and hired a guy to remediate the mold. I was staying at Ryan’s in Cockeysville at that time. Michael and Dee came home for the Christmas holiday so we all drove up to see the house. I was excited to show the kids my purchase. They were worried- but pretended not to be. This was NOT the farm. This was not what mom had become accustomed to. This place was a mess. But I knew I could fix it. After the toxins from the mold removal dissipated, I began. I commuted from Cockeysville daily to work on the house. My first project was to attack the hardwoods. No I’d never used a sander before, but how hard could it be to push a machine around? Silly me. Two different sanders because the first one didn’t do the job, oodles of sand paper because I couldn’t figure out how to wrap it around the drum, several days of tears because – well just because. I can’t remember how many days it took. After the floors, I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. I picked at peeling paint, patched cracks, installed new appliances then moved in. I spent the month of February painting, while living in the house. By March the house was in great shape. For a few minutes. 

In like a lion, out like a lamb. March. 

It was late in the afternoon. I was on a ladder painting my bedroom and talking on the phone with a friend when I heard – and felt – a loud boom. The lion was roaring. I darted outside to see what happened. And there it was, one of the towering pines had stopped towering and landed on the attached garage-and my new car. I just stood there stunned. My neighbor had heard the crash and came over to see if I was ok. He was carrying his first evening cocktail. My response, “Yes, I’m ok,” pointing to his glass, “but I may need one of those.”

They invited me for dinner that night. Good neighbors are important and another theme. 

I wasn’t the only home owner with wood where it didn’t belong. The storm was a doozy, leaving downed trees and power lines everywhere. You know what that means. No one is available to fix things. Everyone has insurance claims. But I was a dog with a bone. Relentless. I found some folks to remove the tree- or most of it the next day. I immediately called my insurance company and placed claims on both the house and the car. I found a contractor I liked. The work began. I thought it was all under control. 

It wasn’t. 

A full year passed before the final outside light was attached to the entirely rebuilt garage. I lost count of the claim adjusters-field and desk. I lost count of the new issues that arose as the contractors found more problems. I lost count of the number of phone calls I had to make. But in the end, I didn’t lose. By spring of the following year, the house had a totally new roof, all new siding, and a solid garage. The house was transformed, no longer the eye sore of the neighborhood. I didn’t lose. I won. Was it stressful? Absolutely. I didn’t ask that tree to fall on my house. In fact, afterwards, with every approaching storm, I’d walk out back and stare at the remaining 12 towering pines along the row and worry it would happen again. I had tree experts assess the likelihood. You know what they said? Maybe. Maybe not. I lived in fear for five years. In 2022, ironically just before selling the house, I had them all removed. No more house disasters right? 

Here’s what I learned from that experience and what would become ever so important for my survival post Ian. And by survival I mean mental, emotional and financial. Ian was a thousand times worse than that little lioness storm which translates to a gazzillion more claims, a gazzillion more problems, a gazzillion more phone calls. I learned I have to fight to get – not what I deserve – what I simply paid for. I paid for insurance. I signed a contract. I held up my end of the contract by paying. It was now their turn to abide by the agreement. They were busy. There were disconnects between adjusters. There were new issues. I learned patience. (I don’t really think it was patience – more like tenacity) Documentation. Follow up-constantly. All of these things would be critical post Ian.

The little rancher story doesn’t end there. After the house was finally repaired, there was still one nagging problem. I’d avoided it, patched it, painted over it but could no longer deny it. The living room wall next to the fireplace was deteriorated from a long standing leak. Somewhere. I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from nor could anyone else. Some speculated water was seeping though the chimney cracks. Some thought those things that overlap the chimney weren’t fastened properly. But I had a new roof and the contractors assured me nothing was leaking from their end. So, I caulked the cracks on the outside of the chimney. Then I demo’d the interior wall and everything above the mantle. I thought for sure I’d find a clue within the bare walls. I thought the house would speak to me. But it stared back silently. A mystery. With that in mind, I simply couldn’t pay someone to fix the wall that could ultimately deteriorate again. So I took it on myself. When demo’ing it, I found a dangling electrical line. I had no clue whether it was live. I don’t meddle with electricity. Never will. I called in an expert for that. It turned out not to be hot but he removed it so the wall was clear for repair. 

Here’s what I learned from that project. 

1. You need good tools. 
2. Drywall is freaking heavy.
3. At the age of late 50’s I wasn’t as strong as I used to be.
4. When a friend pops over and offers to help. Accept it.

The wall got repaired and the leaks stopped.

Movies, Covid, Puzzles and Painting

Many of you know I wrote and produced an indie movie in 2020. Ok so here’s the thing about that. People asked me then – but why are you doing it? Do you want to make money? Is this your new career? What’s your goal? Why? Why? Why? I didn’t really have an answer. I just wanted to do it. Wasn’t that enough? I wanted to try it. Have you met me??? That’s what I do. I try stuff. Trying new things is fun. Trying new things is challenging. Trying new things teaches you a lot about yourself. 

Trying new things is how and why I can do what I’m doing now.

Here’s what I’m most proud of about the movie. Not the writing. Not the acting. (Of course better would have been – well – better.) What I’m most proud of is the incredible effort and coordination it took to pull it off. Scheduling. Recruiting talent. Finding locations. Sequencing. Smiling. 

Project management. Period. At this, I humbly claim to be pretty darn good. 

Less than two weeks after the premiere of the movie Covid hit. Isolation. Loneliness. Masks. Sanitizing groceries. I could have used the time to write. I could have used the time to learn something new. I didn’t. I watched a lot of TV. Played virtual poker. Lived in Pjs. Watched the numbers on CNN. And worked on jigsaw puzzles. Did I mention loneliness? I was not unique. Covid took a toll on many. 

Here’s what I learned through the worst of Covid. 

1. Sometimes you gotta go it alone.
2. Masks are not that bad. And protective wear is a good idea.
3. Although the news “tried to inform us” sometimes you have to make important judgment calls – that work for you. 
4. I really like puzzles – all kinds except crossword. 
5. I was not spending another cold winter in Pennsylvania.

After Covid calmed down a bit and things began to open up, I was still a bit discombobulated. I wasn’t writing but I needed a creative outlet. I pulled out an old sketch pad and started drawing. I sent one or two pieces to my friend Patti who is always cheering me on in any of my pursuits. She insisted I meet a local artist and take a few lessons. I met Brenda Wintermyer summer 2021. I fell in love. With Brenda. With painting. Brenda has the coolest vibe, not to mention incredible talent. Painting was my new thing. I was obsessed. I wasn’t bad. A few pieces turned out pretty good. A lot weren’t. I didn’t care. I was enjoying it. I was learning. I didn’t feel so lonely. 

Here’s what I learned from painting.

1. You don’t have to be perfect at everything.
2. You can paint over it. Again and again.
3. When you find an expert at something, absorb everything you can. 
4. Don’t be embarrassed by your work. 

How I landed on Sanibel doesn’t really matter. Suffice to say I went all in. I bought my little piece of paradise March 2022. I spent just a few months here then came home to PA and NY for the summer. When I returned to PA I decided it was time to sell the little rancher, give most of my worldly possessions to Ryan, and become a full-time Floridian. It felt right. It still does.

Ian hit Sanibel September 28th. Alan and I packed the car with as many tools and supplies as he could think of. Notice I said “as he could think of.” I wasn’t super clearheaded at the time. During the drive south, I called and interviewed at least 10 boat captains to reserve a boat to get out to the island. The bridge was broken, but you probably already know that. 

October 7th, only nine days post Ian, Alan and I met Captain Connor Gear at a yacht club in Ft. Myers and began our journey to the wreckage. 

Ironically traveling across the bay in debris filled waters was more scary for me than wondering what my home would look like, but Connor did everything he could to make me feel safe and Alan held me tight calming me ever so slightly. 

Connor anchored the boat on the bay side, helped us unload our supplies, and we began the one mile walk to Periwinkle Park. Wearing muck boots, backpacks and carrying all of our supplies, we slowly made our way along Bailey Road to Periwinkle Way. The park is not far now. The devastation already so incredibly evident. As we turned into the park, a ghost town, I had to stop, for just a moment. I was about to see my home. 

Walking along Main St., I passed so many devastated trailers, I prepared myself for the worst. 

Finally, after nine days of not knowing, I was about to know. Turning down 4w I could immediately see my house was still there and the exterior didn’t look bad. I felt this little tinge of relief. Skirting strewn across – well everywhere – spouting partially ripped off rested on the small palm tree, the porch light was topsey and my neighbor’s tree rested somewhat gingerly on the side of the house. Some damage there for sure, nothing major. 

It was then I thought I forgot the key to the house. As if breaking a window would have mattered, I momentarily panicked. All of the planning to get there and I was locked out. But I didn’t forget it. The mind plays tricks. 

I unlocked the door and walked into mud filled, mold growing, displaced furniture (displaced doesn’t quite describe it). Alan looked at me, expecting I suppose that I’d start crying. I didn’t. I simply said, “Let’s get to work. Everything goes.”

I won’t detail everyday since then. There’s just too much between  October 7th and now February 2, 2023. Here’s a list, though, and here’s where I’m at as of now.

3 increments of demo over multiple days. I barely remember.

Daily phone calls, texts and emails to insurance adjusters and insurance examiners. A dog with a bone, I was relentless.

Periodic movement between friends, family and condo jumping. Packing and unpacking. 

Waiting for insurance.

Waiting for insurance.

Waiting for insurance.

Waiting for insurance.

Waiting for insurance.

It took too long.

Hiring electrician, hvac, and general contractor.

Waiting for insurance. You get the drift.

Getting results of insurance. 

Making the decision to do much of the work on my own.

Home for the holidays.

Return to Florida with my car, packed this time, with repair tools, not demo tools.

Another condo.

Daily commutes to the island, stopping first at Home Depot for supplies. 

2×4’s straddled from windshield to rear. Screws in the hundreds. 

Building walls, spraying Kilz on the interior shell walls. Insulation. Drywall. New closets. Taping. Mudding.

I’m living here now. 

I have, in order of importance, a coffee maker, mattress, toilet, laundry, refrigerator, 3 spoons, 1 fork, 3 knives, 1 plate, 1 bowl, 1 coffee mug, 1 wine glass (maybe that should have come earlier), 3 rusty chairs, 3 folding tables, a myriad of GOOD tools. 

Very good neighbors who constantly lend me a hand with heavy drywall or advice.

I have all I need at the moment.

The house was a giant jigsaw puzzle. I’ve almost put the last pieces together.  I’m so close. 

I’m tired. But I’m so close.

I’ll do the floors next. Soon. 

I’ll sleep in dirt for a little longer.

I’ll brush my teeth and spit into the road a little longer.

I’ll wear a mask a little longer.

I’ll paint over what isn’t perfect. 

I’ll ask for help when I need it.

I’ll accept help when it’s offered.

I’ll spend my winter where I belong. Right here in my little piece of paradise.