It turns out that roof #2 was laid over insulation that never dried after snow melted through roof #1. The two disaster recovery companies out here today were mumbling about having to tear out all the walls and the cathedral ceiling in the open floor plan that contains our living room, dining area, and kitchen.
When I asked the property manager what we were supposed to do while all that was going on, she blithely answered, "You'll either have to find another place to live (i.e., move out permanently) or live in a hotel until the repairs are done." She didn't offer to foot the hotel bill, incidentally.
And on a further note: This is going to sound sexist, but it was difficult to take the representative from the second disaster recovery company seriously. She showed up wearing tight jeans and high heels, did not bring a ladder to inspect the ceiling (she had to borrow ours), and had only a tiny (but oh so cute) red flashlight for inspecting the attic, which does not have electricity.
12.21.2009
12.20.2009
Got a Feelin' Called the Blues
Water is still dripping through our living room ceiling, even though the new (as of November) roof that the independent inspector called "shoddy" was replaced this past Thursday. With bubbles in the paint, brown water stains down the walls, and a portion of the ceiling threatening to drop to the floor, it's difficult to work up much enthusiasm for Christmas decorating. I feel as though I live in a flophouse.
In addition to putting on a shoddy roof, the November roofers never cleaned the gutters after finishing the job. I had been diligent about salting and shoveling the steps and the front porch, but I was out all day a week ago Friday and returned through the garage entrance. When a neighbor asked me to come over that evening, I stepped out the front door, did a half-somersault on the ice that had accumulated during the day on the porch from the overflowing gutters, and slammed the back of my head and my already iffy left knee on the concrete steps. I've had a constant headache and a "second kneecap" ever since.
Hana was horribly ill last week with gastrointestinal problems, so ill that our vet sent her to a specialist for an ultrasound. The good news is that her intestinal system proved to be fine, and $1,300 of drugs, IV fluids and vet fees later, she is eating without vomiting. The bad news is that the ultrasound picked up a "solitary nodule within [the] right caudal lung lobe . . . consistent with primary pulmonary neoplasia." In layman's terms, our 13-year-old girl has lung cancer.
Hana, 12.18.09
In addition to putting on a shoddy roof, the November roofers never cleaned the gutters after finishing the job. I had been diligent about salting and shoveling the steps and the front porch, but I was out all day a week ago Friday and returned through the garage entrance. When a neighbor asked me to come over that evening, I stepped out the front door, did a half-somersault on the ice that had accumulated during the day on the porch from the overflowing gutters, and slammed the back of my head and my already iffy left knee on the concrete steps. I've had a constant headache and a "second kneecap" ever since.
Hana was horribly ill last week with gastrointestinal problems, so ill that our vet sent her to a specialist for an ultrasound. The good news is that her intestinal system proved to be fine, and $1,300 of drugs, IV fluids and vet fees later, she is eating without vomiting. The bad news is that the ultrasound picked up a "solitary nodule within [the] right caudal lung lobe . . . consistent with primary pulmonary neoplasia." In layman's terms, our 13-year-old girl has lung cancer.
Hana, 12.18.0912.11.2009
The Roof Over Our Heads
Maybe I need to change the title of my blog to The Cynical Woman. On five of the past nine days, we've been graced by a succession of roofers and home repairmen whose so-called efforts have done nothing to stop the leaks in the roof. It's a sad state of affairs when the property management company's offer to buy us more buckets to catch the drips feels like a early Christmas present.
Personally, I think that the owner should let us get that second dog I've been craving as partial compensation for living in a sieve.
Personally, I think that the owner should let us get that second dog I've been craving as partial compensation for living in a sieve.
12.09.2009
Not-So-Hypothetical Question of the Day
Do we still have to pay rent when our roof has been leaking for the past two weeks, despite a parade of roofers stomping around up there?
(I have a new appreciation for the effectiveness of Chinese water torture.)
(I have a new appreciation for the effectiveness of Chinese water torture.)
12.06.2009
Another candidate for the Darwin Awards?
Note: Colorado's annual ski passes feature the pass-holder's name, photo, and associated bar code. When a ski lift staff member scans your pass, your picture appears on the scanner.
From the December 5 Denver Post:
Girl using guy's ski pass: Had sex change
Keystone>> A father was "shocked" last weekend when a deputy called asking whether his son was having a sex-change operation, according to a report from the Summit County Sheriff's Office.
The trouble started when a woman was caught at Keystone Resort trying to use the ski pass of a man named Daniel. The woman claimed to be in the middle of a sex change. The deputy asked for the parents' phone number and the woman gave it to them. Daniel's father answered and said he knew nothing of a sex change. An hour later, the Keystone supervisor told the deputy there was a phone number on Daniel's ski-pass file. The deputy called the number and Daniel answered, informing the deputy that he had given the pass to his girlfriend, Wanda. The woman spoke with Daniel, then told the deputy that she was actually Wanda. She was arrested and booked on charges of theft of more than $500 and criminal impersonation.
From the December 5 Denver Post:
Girl using guy's ski pass: Had sex change
Keystone>> A father was "shocked" last weekend when a deputy called asking whether his son was having a sex-change operation, according to a report from the Summit County Sheriff's Office.
The trouble started when a woman was caught at Keystone Resort trying to use the ski pass of a man named Daniel. The woman claimed to be in the middle of a sex change. The deputy asked for the parents' phone number and the woman gave it to them. Daniel's father answered and said he knew nothing of a sex change. An hour later, the Keystone supervisor told the deputy there was a phone number on Daniel's ski-pass file. The deputy called the number and Daniel answered, informing the deputy that he had given the pass to his girlfriend, Wanda. The woman spoke with Daniel, then told the deputy that she was actually Wanda. She was arrested and booked on charges of theft of more than $500 and criminal impersonation.
12.02.2009
Small Pleasures
Although I grew up with a relatively small dog (a cranky Boston Bull Terrier mix who loved only my mother), when I met Jim and fell almost as much in love with his Newfoundland-Irish Setter mix as I did with him, I became a "Big Dog Person." Consider the dogs that we've owned over the past 20 years: Merlin: 125 lbs. Sam: 120 lbs. Sophie: 90 lbs. Hana: 70 lbs.
So perhaps it's a surprise that my next dog will probably be a Papillon, a breed that generally tops out at around 10 pounds. (On the other hand, Papillons are sometimes referred to as "big dogs in little suits.")
Jill's dog, Foxy, was the first Papillon I really got to know. Unlike many small dogs (including the various toy breeds owned by my mother-in-law over the years), Foxy is calm, even around strange people and large dogs. In Brussels, Foxy and Hana treated each other with the exquisite manners of two well-bred aristocrats. Foxy is smart, but then Papillons are often on Top 10 lists of the most intelligent dog breeds. Most remarkably, though, she has what in humans is called emotional intelligence. She seems to sense what people around her need—entertainment, comfort, a warm body to sit quietly with—and quickly supplies it. (The only dog I've owned that truly had this gift was Merlin, the Bouvier des Flandres.)
Foxy and Hana at Chateau de la Hulpe, 2008
I just assumed that Foxy was unique and that Jill, who had adopted her from a rescue group, was one of those lucky people who had found the dog perfectly suited to her.
Then in August, my neighbor Joyce adopted a male Papillon from the shelter where I volunteer. He was a stray that the shelter staff christened "Bling." Joyce renamed him "Jack Sparrow" (a "manly" first name, a last name that referenced his birdlike bones) and paid his hefty veterinary bills when, three days into the adoption, he was diagnosed with canine influenza.
In less than four months, Jack and Joyce have become as perfectly in sync as Foxy and Jill.
Jack, 2009
When Joyce was out of town for 10 days over Thanksgiving, Jack came to stay with us and I got to see what he was like 24/7, just as I had when I dog-sat Foxy in Brussels. And here's the interesting thing: their temperaments are virtually identical. Foxy and Jack each stayed with me at times when I was feeling very low. Foxy was with us in Brussels when we knew we we had to leave Europe but Jim didn't yet have a firm job in the States; Jack was here last week when I was in complete despair about my job prospects AND was yearning for a home of my own, after dealing with a leaky (brand-new!) roof in our rental house and an AWOL property management company.
At the risk of sounding like one of those sentimental, gushy dog people, it's impossible to convey how much these two tiny creatures lifted my spirits during their respective visits, from waking up in morning to find Foxy's head on my pillow to laughing at Jack's habit of flipping his dry food into the air like tiddly winks. Which is why, at the risk of sounding like a whiny two-year-old (and knowing that our landlord is dead set against allowing us to have a second dog), I tell Jim at least once a day, "I want MY OWN Papillon."
So perhaps it's a surprise that my next dog will probably be a Papillon, a breed that generally tops out at around 10 pounds. (On the other hand, Papillons are sometimes referred to as "big dogs in little suits.")
Jill's dog, Foxy, was the first Papillon I really got to know. Unlike many small dogs (including the various toy breeds owned by my mother-in-law over the years), Foxy is calm, even around strange people and large dogs. In Brussels, Foxy and Hana treated each other with the exquisite manners of two well-bred aristocrats. Foxy is smart, but then Papillons are often on Top 10 lists of the most intelligent dog breeds. Most remarkably, though, she has what in humans is called emotional intelligence. She seems to sense what people around her need—entertainment, comfort, a warm body to sit quietly with—and quickly supplies it. (The only dog I've owned that truly had this gift was Merlin, the Bouvier des Flandres.)
Foxy and Hana at Chateau de la Hulpe, 2008I just assumed that Foxy was unique and that Jill, who had adopted her from a rescue group, was one of those lucky people who had found the dog perfectly suited to her.
Then in August, my neighbor Joyce adopted a male Papillon from the shelter where I volunteer. He was a stray that the shelter staff christened "Bling." Joyce renamed him "Jack Sparrow" (a "manly" first name, a last name that referenced his birdlike bones) and paid his hefty veterinary bills when, three days into the adoption, he was diagnosed with canine influenza.
In less than four months, Jack and Joyce have become as perfectly in sync as Foxy and Jill.
Jack, 2009 When Joyce was out of town for 10 days over Thanksgiving, Jack came to stay with us and I got to see what he was like 24/7, just as I had when I dog-sat Foxy in Brussels. And here's the interesting thing: their temperaments are virtually identical. Foxy and Jack each stayed with me at times when I was feeling very low. Foxy was with us in Brussels when we knew we we had to leave Europe but Jim didn't yet have a firm job in the States; Jack was here last week when I was in complete despair about my job prospects AND was yearning for a home of my own, after dealing with a leaky (brand-new!) roof in our rental house and an AWOL property management company.
At the risk of sounding like one of those sentimental, gushy dog people, it's impossible to convey how much these two tiny creatures lifted my spirits during their respective visits, from waking up in morning to find Foxy's head on my pillow to laughing at Jack's habit of flipping his dry food into the air like tiddly winks. Which is why, at the risk of sounding like a whiny two-year-old (and knowing that our landlord is dead set against allowing us to have a second dog), I tell Jim at least once a day, "I want MY OWN Papillon."
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