Sprucing up the gallery

Phase 2 of construction has started! While we gear up for all of our new plans, the focus has strangely become little things that we overlooked the first time around. Read as: houseblindness has settled in, and our primary goal at the moment is removing little bits of ugliness we've been living with.

In one very productive day last week, Brad and I started repainting window sills and the gallery. The gallery wall was pretty banged up with paint chipping off it. And it was also a most hideous shade of blue. And the aqua window frames that have been driving me crazy since February are now just a memory. Whew.

It's a long story.

Thin Lizzy makes for great "busting out cement" music. Just thought you should know.

At least it wasn't rats?

POSSUMS*.

LOTS OF THEM.

I was all prepared to write this long entry about our alley, courtyard, porch and garden being under attack, but I think this video says just about everything.

No one bats an eye. Brad and Jeremiah are experts by this point. "Oh look, a giant, hissing, Dorito-stealing animal in the house! No bigs." This was the third visit this week. It's a topic of daily discussion, and almost a matter of comedy.

We'll see how funny it is when I make the next one into a hat.

*Get back, Animal Planet dorks! What we're dealing with here is the Virgina Opossum. But we've just been calling them possums. And yes, it is totally unsafe to be taking care of it ourselves. I'm guessing the best thing to do in this situation is to call Animal Control, but did you see that little guy's face? They would have killed him!

progress

What's that, you say? The update from the other day whet your appetite for more? Okay.

Try to contain your shrieks of joy, but Pat's over here mudding the bathroom walls AS I WRITE THIS.

Six months into the Renard restoration project and we are hours away from having the only complete room in the house.

Except for a shower door.

And stable electricity.

Yeah!

many stories to tell.

Hey, people. Apologies for the lack of updates. I wish I could say it's because we're all too busy counting stacks of money or hanging out in the solid gold jacuzzi, but this is false.

I've just been enjoying summer, working hard, and diffusing the odd occasional (figurative) bomb.

Boom

Well, when I last wrote in any kind of a serious way, it was about the ceiling leaking again. It started happening while we were watching 4th of July fireworks, and it got worse overnight. An investigative team was sent upstairs and we quickly determined that the neighbor's troublesome water heater was acting up again. Last time, it was spewing water. But on this occasion, the water heater was sporting an obvious bulge on the side.

"Is that bad?"

Um, yeah. A bulging water heater could blow at any moment, rocketing through the ceiling and destroying everything in its path. We filed out of the building into the alley and called the landlord to tell him that the building was about to explode. (Insert Three Stooges sound effects.)

The landlord came over with a whole crew the next day. The problem was taken care of and the day ended with a 20-person cookout on the roof. It was a lovely evening of good food, a cooing baby learning to walk while everyone cheered, dogs chasing each other playfully, good conversation, and the heartwarming if not nerdy feeling that maybe Renard has become a cultural experiment, too. A girl on the third floor pointed out that in the years before we moved here, no one knew anything of other tenants aside from petty arguments over parking spaces and misbehaving pets. But this summer has seen a few all-building cookouts and we've been getting along fine. I was realizing that the building is becoming better, not just structurally.

It was a fuzzy feeling that didn't last long.

Blackout drunks in love

We have (had?) a young couple in the building. Apparently their romance has officially run its course, and one person decided that the best way to end a relationship is to eschew honesty and take the easier option - making up a bunch of colorful fairy tales about a romance that never happened, involving someone who lives at Renard. Since their hours of sobriety are few and far between, this lie became absolute truth to both of these kids, and the resulting fallout was not pretty.

No amount of talking and cool-out time resolved anything, so one person partially moved out. I snapped into protective mom-like ninja mode, stormed upstairs, and made it very clear to the other person that for messing with our family, their time in this building is up, and that it's time to move. We'll see what happens.

But wait! It gets better.

Adjoining storefront haunted by bad vibes

When the ladies of the cake shop in our adjoining storefront announced they were moving to D.C., we all had some mixed feelings. They were good neighbors who were blissfully quiet and stayed to themselves, something we (foolishly) didn't value at the time. But at the same time, possibilities opened to us. We toyed with the idea of renting it out and starting a cafe, knocking down the wall and expanding our space, moving business there and keeping Renard Proper as our quiet living quarters, or turning the whole thing into a design/printing shop and charging membership to neighborhood artists.

The space sat vacant for about a month when I walked into a situation that I figured would temporarily benefit a lot of people. The landlord needed the space filled in any way possible, and some friends of mine were looking for a space to host the sleeping area for a moped rally one weekend in July. They were expecting 150 people at the rally, but 60 were out-of-towners who needed a big space to pitch tents and sleep after rides. I was assured there would be no noise and no partying. The landlord was desperate to fill it, and they worked out a pretty great deal - $300 for four days.

The moped kids held up their end of the bargain - they were quiet, clean, respectful, and fun. I was glad to help and thought the weekend was a success... until Michelle and Jeremiah noticed that one of their mannequins was missing from the basement. We ended up finding it in the space next door with all its fingers broken off. Annoying, but not a complete tragedy - I guess we were all just disappointed that while we've fully expected to be broken into at least once in this space, the safety of our house was first broken by people I indirectly know, who were only there because I was helping them.

Moral: never help anyone ever.

And there was no breathing room after that. The moped kids left abruptly a day before they were expected to leave, and word circulated that "the new tenant" booted them out so she could paint the space. And then we lived through many tense days of this new tenant interacting with us only to force Brad into helping with the plumbing in her basement or to complain about the state of the courtyard. Specifically, she hates our recycling system. She thinks it's going to attract rats. She doesn't like the table on the porch. Granted, it's an ugly table that is slowly caving in on itself, but it's where we drink our coffee in the morning, play cards with neighbors (before their relationship imploded), entertain guests... so for a while, things were kind of ugly. It didn't help that her "apology" was little more than marching into my house and announcing "Everyone hates me when they first meet me." Ugh.

Weeks have passed and we've mostly gotten through the growing pains. I think we've made it abundantly clear that we've worked too hard on our space to be pushed around.

Love rules

But it's not all bad news, especially for Michelle and Jeremiah.

There was an incident at the July Critical Mass ride. Perhaps you read about it in the paper. If not, let the photos speak for themselves. I dare you not to get misty-eyed:

They continued the bike ride and then came back to a big engagement party at Renard that raged until dawn.

New neighbor

Our neighbors in the building next door had a baby! She was due June 23, and we enjoyed a day or two of the nervous father-to-be shouting updates off the roof. It was a home birth, and I believe it was something like 39 hours of labor. Yikes. And the baby wasn't born until July 11.

A few of us went over to their place about a week later. We hung out with the baby, drank some tea, ate frozen peaches, and talked about life. It was the perfect summer day.

Little things

The garden is going really well. We're a little worried because it's been such an unusually chilly summer and it's not looking like our vegetables will grow fully. I'm still excited because I'm working out plans to turn the little patio area behind the gallery reception desk into a green house. More on that soon.

Beach wrestling is now recognized at the official sport of Renard.

We're developing plans for the basement bathroom (at long last), but the upstairs bathroom is still incomplete. It's a little annoying and I fear that houseblindness has settled in. At least I make it a habit of buying slate every time I hit Home Depot. Piece by piece, it's all coming together. So the kitchen is very close to being finished.

I promise to stop slacking on updates.

we're still here

It's been a long summer of hard work and good times.

Updates soon.

in other news...

Seamus is the king of the house.

Watching fireworks.

Yeah. This is our view.

Now that's an organized closet.

Alley mural

Closet mishap.

What's that sound?

No, this isn't an outtake from the "look at this dilapidated building" episode from every sitcom of the 70s and 80s. This is our kitchen. It's raining inside the house again.

It started as a drip late last night while we were all on the roof watching fireworks with the neighbors. By 2 a.m., it looked like a well-placed beer spill on the cardboard box I've been using to protect the slate. But within the hour, there was no denying that it was a leak.

We put that pitcher in place, and it was full by morning. It's much later in the day and we now have four leaks. There's no apparent issue with the neighbor's water heater, which caused the first downpour some weeks ago. And it's not from the rain, either. If Brad hadn't drilled holes in the ceiling during the first episode, we'd be in some serious trouble.

The landlord's out of town until tomorrow. So now we wait, and try to think of a way to get a new ceiling out of the deal. This is a problem that won't fix itself. I don't even want to think about the possible mold situation.

Bug-killing trials, day one.

We're entering hour 37 of air conditioned bliss and have had no problems - except one.

We're not historically "air conditioning people," meaning that we agree that even in stifling heat, fans and open windows are just fine. But there are no screens in the windows, and we're now paying the price in the form of an exceptionally aggressive swarm of fruit flies.

We made two traps tonight to combat the little beasts and will report back on which one works the best.

Option one: Standard soda bottle wasp trap.

Pretty simple stuff. The bottom pool of death contains water and dish soap. At the last moment, we decided to throw in a couple teaspoons of sugar for added intrigue. The nozzle of the bottle was dipped in apple butter. Soda bottle traps are traditionally reserved for larger bugs (such as the Buick-sized flies cruising the perimeter of the living room), so we may end up putting this guy outside for bees and mosquitoes.

Option # 2: Fruit fly kryptonite.

As it turns out, fruit flies are partial to red wine. Aside from getting wasted, this smaller trap isn't as fun for the insects (read: no slip 'n' slide, no tasty apple butter), but is supposed to be a guaranteed death trap. And in my humble opinion, drowning in a silver chalice of Malbec is the classiest death this side of Isadora Duncan.

We'll see how it goes.

heat

Hit "play" and let me tell you a little story while the Specials provide the soundtrack.

It's hot in here. We're not boiling yet, but the weather reports say to expect a week of 85+ degree weather, including two upcoming consecutive days of a balmy 95 with accompanying thunderstorms. Since we found Renard the week of Valentine's Day, most of my climate memories of the joint involve multiple layers of clothing and lots of shivering. So that we're starting to sweat is a new experience.

It started in the back bedroom. Jeremiah summoned me to check out the humidity in their room. About two feet from their room, I got socked in the face with jungle-grade humidity. My room was fine. But a couple of days later, the humidity crept into my room, too. I think the roof is the culprit. It's black tar, not the nice shiny reflective silver stuff I've seen on most city buildings. And our bedrooms are right underneath. So, I'm working on a plan to get some flimsy plywood, cover it with foil, and deflect a little bit of the heat away from us.

We started running the air conditioner just to check it out. In less than five minutes the whole place was cooled down and opening any doors or windows resulted in gusts of air hotter than an oven. There has to be a catch somewhere. There's no way fate would allow the air conditioner to work efficiently. It's going to explode or something, because that's just how things work.

Anyway, just a little update. Up soon: stories of the Great Utility Closet Organization Project, more decorating, a gardening update, and plans to destroy the plague of bugs that has arrived.

Natures!

It looks small now, but this moss doubles its size every week.

Tomato plant's growth stunted by someone's affinity for eating the leaves off it.

This guy lives in our shower.

Failure.

Jeremiah's surprise birthday party

Jeremiah's birthday was a couple weeks ago, but he was out of town when it happened. So it passed kind of quietly. Little did he know that Michelle was planning a surprise party.

We're all kind of stunned that he let the morning and afternoon of the party pass so quietly, what with the rest of us cleaning and organizing the house so frantically. And by helping Brad move stuff to the basement, he was inadvertently helping us prepare.

The two of them went to dinner with Ms. Ray Ray. He didn't suspect a thing. The rest of us ran around like crazy trying to make sure we were ready.

Yeah- cannoli stuffed with cannoli. We don't mess around when it comes to dessert.

The result:

I'm not going to force anyone to watch 5 minutes of nothing, but the silent nervous giggling is pretty amusing. Skip to about 5:05 for the action.

farewell, old friend.

We finally moved the two heaviest things in the house - the filing cabinet and the fridge that has our landlord's face printed on it (?!) - to the basement.





I can't say anything nice about the filing cabinet, but the trusty mini-fridge did a bang-up job keeping our Red Bulls and beers cold when we were knocking out walls a couple months ago. Even if it did have that black sludge in the bottom of it.

early stages of soundproofing.

Jeremiah took down the lighting fixture in my room - the one they cut a giant hole in the drywall to accommodate when the walls were going up. I use lamps, though, and track lighting is on its way. So the hole really only serves as a means of letting in light and sound directly above my bed. He had a tough time getting it down and we couldn't figure out what the holdup was.

So let's play a little game - it's called Guess What's Holding This Light Fixture to the Ceiling.


Think carefully about your response, based on what you know of Renard. The way this building was constructed, it could be anything. Shady wiring, duct tape, a colony of wasps, chewing gum...

So what is it?












If you guessed "supernatural involvement," you're correct!

the duplicity of industral neighborhoods.

Yesterday as I walked the dog, I got about twenty yards from Renard's front door before coming to a vacant patch of overgrown land. It smelled strongly of honeysuckle and queen anne's lace. Having been left undisturbed for so long, it was its own tiny forest starting to spill over onto the sidewalk. If I'd been there at night, sniffling the air with my eyes closed, I would swear I was out in the country.

You can see stars from our back porch way more clearly than any neighborhood I've lived in, including my first apartment that was two blocks from a dark and quiet beach.

Most of our neighbors have lived on this block for upwards of seven, eight years. Maybe living in an industrial neighborhood for extended periods of time forces a person to seek out greenery. I have learned that my next door neighbors are organic farmers, and they were of the opinion that I should "go meet Al." Al is something of the oracle of the neighborhood. He's the scatterbrained but lively expert on all goings-on in our neighborhood. After I met him (and was prompted to remind him my name about five times), he led us to the yard behind his house, which is bursting with greenery. There, under the big ugly slabs of concrete from the expressway, is a little community garden on a man-made hill. It was raining when I was first shown the garden, and my next door neighbor took the opportunity to produce a handful of cantaloupe seeds from his pants pocket and plant them right there.

"This little patch is empty," Al said, kicking at some tall grass with the toe of his shoe. "If you have anything to plant, go for it. Everyone'll leave it alone."

Even our landlord was just featured in a local newspaper for his efforts to organize a neighborhood-specific recycling program. He was delighted when we led him outside to show him our big DIY recycling barrels.

In short, for all the times I reference the house on Paper Street in "Fight Club" when discussing Renard's problems, it hasn't yet been my experience that we live in a typical industrial neighborhood.

But there are exceptions.

I will not write another sad-panda entry like the one from earlier in this week, because we're all staying positive. I will spare everyone the long list of offenses committed in our alley, tales of aforementioned spider invasion, or the odd occasional weird smell outside. Instead, I have to lament on what's turning out to be a big problem to me:

I can't sleep in this house. It has not been soundproofed, because it was clearly not built to be lived in.

I've never had a problem with sleep in my life. It used to be that I could sit anywhere and fall asleep within 20 minutes, and stay out for hours. I have slept through two earthquakes, the better part of a home invasion, problematic bouts of jet lag, and dozens of noisy roommates and neighbors. But Renard has proven to be a problem.

It would seem that the walls built in February provide zero reduction in noise. In my bed at night, I can clearly hear Michelle and Jeremiah speaking in hushed tones. I can hear their cats sneeze. Sometimes in that late-night haze of keen awareness, I can hear a single book being removed from a shelf and put back.

And if there's anything happening in the studio directly below my room, forget it. Paper cutters, machinery, the radio, people talking at normal volumes - anything - will wake me up. I had my suspicions this would be the case. Having a firm knowledge of the sorry state of these floors (and being able to identify what flavor shisha my roomies are smoking in their hookah in the basement while I'm in my bedroom upstairs), I had a feeling sound would be an issue.

While I could once slip into a solid ten-hour coma after five minutes of rest and unwinding, it now takes me an average of two hours to fall asleep. And if anything disturbs me, I wake up like a shot and require another hour to fall back asleep. Three days in a row, it's been people talking at completely reasonable volumes and rather late in the day, since the restless nights have been making me sleep past noon on a regular basis.

This morning, someone decided at 8:55 a.m. that since his or her constant knocking on the neighbor's door wasn't cutting any ice, he or she would knock harder, for a solid eight minutes. (Maybe it was knocking, maybe someone was using a hammer... at this point, I wouldn't bat an eye if it was an ant climbing up a wall based on what I know of the acoustics in this place.)

I'd only been back to sleep for two hours and was so crippled with exhaustion that as badly as I wanted to answer the door while dragging my baseball bat behind me, I couldn't stand up. The southern sun was blinding. An ambulance went by. Trains. Trash-pickers. I was awake and staring at my clock until the sun obscured the time... and when I finally dozed off, it was people talking and laughing in the hallway. Ugh.

I really need to find a solution. But the walls are built, my bedroom floor is finished, and I can't very well tell people to refrain from talking at 12:30 in the afternoon. But something's gotta give, because I'm turning into a zombie.

updates

Apologies for the long delay, but we've hit a couple snags. It's been a bad month.

We thought basement flooding problems would be solved with a three foot wide, fifteen foot long, three and a half foot deep trench in the studio. Sump pump was installed and secured and cemented over. It worked. The groundwater is now redirected through the foundation wall and into the empty field next door.

Now that that's out of the way, the cursed walls of Renard continued to emit moisture - only this time through the sewer and the living room ceiling. It would seem that the upstairs hot water heater has been spewing water, and the new upstairs tenants didn't stem the flow or call the landlord. I guess they didn't know it was such a dire situation. So imagine Brad's surprise this morning to come upstairs to see a lovely waterfall cascading down the living room wall.

It's a long story, but many holes were drilled to relieve the pressure of 70 gallons of water that have all this time been hanging out on top of the drywall. Lovely.

So the studio is dry... but the sewer grate spews all sorts of horror every time the water is used upstairs.

A chain of highly improbably vehicular incidents has left us minus one car and plus hundreds of dollars in parking ticket/boot fees, money that was supposed to be spent finishing the kitchen.

The landlord's younger family members are apparently still under the impression that our house is their playground, and have taken to breaking into the basement and screaming and knocking things over.

Spiders. We have spiders.

The trash-pickers and vagrants of this neighborhood are causing problems with the alley, ignoring the sign painted on our back door, and conducting all sorts of fascinating business just inches from bedroom #1.

There's nothing positive to say lately.

this and that

Brad cutting tile for the bathroom

Row#1 is down and ready for cabinet installation

Laying the slate

Creative ways to contain bisbehaving wildlife, number 738

Grilling

Just before the rest of the cabinets went up

plumbing and electrical surprises.

This is an old one and I don't know how it slipped through the cracks, but since Blogger's tweaking out and won't let me post any photos, let's have another video. It's from three weeks ago when we were trying to figure out some solutions for the bathroom walls.

kitchen counter

We entertain, therefore we are.

Last night was our first miniature shindig at Hotel Renard. A couple of bags of charcoal, a reused circle grill discovered at the property, a run to Dominick's and Whole Foods, and we were set. Many were invited, only a few showed up, but that's why you invite so many in the first place.

A mixture of vegans, vegetarians, pescatarians and carnivores made it a Chicago experience. Battles on the grill for clean space ("Don't let your lamb touch my meatless sausage!"), a fine time outdoors with a worklight blasting 300 watts at us all, and closing the night with peaches and cream in the hookah.

As people dispersed, we were all impressed with how well everything held up. We still have no kitchen sink (or floor, or upper cabinets). The bathroom has a floor and equipment but is unpainted and has no real lighting. The living room holds more boxes than people, but it all went smoothly.

As things progress in the coming weeks, the sense of dominoes falling will overwhelm all of us as work clutter disappears, leaving real clutter that has to be sorted, stored and shelved. The final step is making the official announcement: "we're home."

at least we got it out of the way early.

Nothing like a good dose of blood-curdling fear to begin a new era.

Michelle, Jeremiah and Brad moved in yesterday. I think they had something ridiculous like an 18-hour day. Luckily, they had the all-day use of a giant moving truck. They left to pick up their final truck load at about 7:30 PM. 

Meanwhile, Man with the Plan and I ran out to Home Depot to buy some supplies for an interim shower curtain while we wait to save up for an actual shower door. We swung by Dominick's to grab some celebratory beers. We set up the shower curtain and paced the length of the kitchen and tried to come up with flooring solutions. (We decided on slate and are all gung-ho on it, except a few of the tiles we laid down for the purposes of cabinet installation of broke overnight. We have too much work to do before we can seal/grout slate, and it's not feasible to cut off the front of Renard from the bathroom and bedrooms while we wait for it to dry. We'll think of something.)

I walked through the living room for reasons I don't remember and stopped dead in my tracks at the end of the privacy wall by the reception desk. My senses became overpowered by this sickly sweet smell, like burnt sugar. I took a quick mental assessment - no food in the house. No spills. No open drinks. No garbage sitting out. The bakery had been closed for hours. I took another whiff, and this time I smelled that weird ozone/electrical smell that people will tell you doesn't actually exist. I checked all the outlets. No sparks, no charred outlets. Nothing. So for a brief moment I decided that either Renard is haunted, or I was moments away from my first stroke at 25 years of age.

Anyway, it was dark outside and the wind was kicking up. It had been a lovely 80 degrees out all day - perfect for moving - but there was supposedly a thunderstorm on the way. Man with the Plan and I stood in the gallery, drinking beers, when we heard a sound like a loud groan - as though the building was in pain - and all the lights went out. The emergency floodlights flashed on instantly. "Aaand the power's out," commented Man. "That's great."

"Oh no. How could that have happened? What do we have running right now? The overhead lights, the bathroom light... and whatever Brad's got going in the basement. Oh, the dehumidifier."

"Yeah, but that's not enough to knock out the power. Let me go outside and check."

We keep careful notes on our meters. I checked the sheet where we note the dials on the electricity meter twice daily. In 30 hours, we'd used about $3 worth of electricity, basically ruling out the possibility that we blew a circuit from overuse.

Man came back a minute later and reported that the entire block was out, including a gallery party and the salon where some hapless woman was getting her hair styled in total darkness. We made the requisite calls to ComEd and the landlord, determined that there were no elderly folks in the building who would need help, and then sat down in silence to sip our beers.

And then we heard what sounded like two gun shots a couple of houses down. Pop pop.

"What the hell was that?!"

"I don't know, but stay away from the windows."

My heart started racing. A minute later, a third pop in the same place. We called the police and I ran to the back of the house to try to find some candles. We weren't sure how long the emergency flood lights would last. Man almost tackled one of Michelle and Jeremiah's mannequins because it was leaned semi-ominously around the corner in the work room and was gleaming in the moonlight from the window. 

Outside, the wind was even stronger. I couldn't find any candles in my room, groping boxes and digging through them in pitch darkness. I got back up to the gallery, and we heard a fourth pop.

Man looked at the front door and then turned back. "There was a shooting a few blocks north of here tonight. I don't know if..."

"It can't be gun shots. Why four, all spaced out, sounding totally uniform?"

"It has to be a transformer."

"Yeah. I thought I smelled that electricity smell like ten minutes before the lights went out. But why would I smell it before anything happened?"

"I don't know, but don't touch any metal, okay? No door knobs, no windows, no door frames, just stay put. I've never heard four transformers pop at once. I'm going outside."

Man disappeared. I looked through the open door and watched Man walk down the street. Police cars were starting to zoom in and out of side streets and drunk partygoers were ambling down the street, oblivious to what we thought was certain danger. I sat in the silence of a blacked-out Renard and wondered where everyone else was and why their last trip was taking so long. 

I went outside too. 

Everything seemed okay aside from the minor quake of fear when a small black car slowly turned out of the alley and rolled up a few parking spaces over with their headlights turned out. I froze in place and could only breathe when a woman kicked the door open and went into the back seat to retrieve her baby. Phew.

Back in Renard, there wasn't much to do except wait for the others. I went for a second check for candles and then heard an ambulance. I peeked out my bedroom window just in time to see a truck pull up behind Renard. The others had returned! Man and I went out the back bedroom and told them a whole bunch of crazy stuff was happening, but they didn't seem too concerned.

As the house wimp, I found it necessary to mutter, "Yeah, but we should still make it quick, guys. There's a storm coming and moving stuff into a warehouse by flashlight is going to look really shady if any cops drive by."

"Yeah, good point," Jeremiah said. 

We set about moving everything as quickly as we could. This was not an easy task, as the last truckload was a bunch of old furniture - a drafting table, a light table, tables, counters, and huge metal filing cabinets.

I had the dog under one arm and the flashlight in my other hand. The dog hates wind and was starting to wriggle out of my grasp and whine at the gusts of wind hitting us from all directions. One of those winds brought the powerful ozone smell from the living room. It was then that what we were doing fully set in. We were standing in a large metal truck, unloading large metal fixtures in an alley possibly littered with downed wires and busted transformers, all with a thunderstorm on the way. In the dark.

At this moment, I started to survey the area with the flashlight, and fixed my gaze on the transformers. One of them was completely blackened. 

"You guys, look," I said. "That transformer blew up."

"ComEd's on the way," said Man. "They'll fix it."

"Yeah. At least we know nobody was out here shooting at-" I stopped when I saw a large, black SUV at the mouth of the alley. "Somebody's trying to get in, whoops."

As soon as I said this, the car pulled out of the alley in reverse and gunned it backwards all the way into a parking lot across the street. It sat there for several moments, idling with the headlights on, seemingly pointed directly at us.

Because I was the only one in the bunch nervously awaiting our fate of being electrocuted, then shot by thugs and arrested by police, I paid very careful attention to the black SUV. "You guys, he's not going anywhere, he's just sitting there."

The boys stopped what they were doing and all turned to look at the SUV. The driver immediately switched on the brights, left them on for about ten seconds, and then flicked them off. 

"What the hell is this clown doing?"

The others went about moving furniture into the studio by the side basement door. After a minute or two, the SUV was gone. 

I breathed a sigh of relief, and then was momentarily stricken by fear when a car pulled into the opposite end of the alley. I screamed, "HE'S COMING!"

It was a Lincoln towncar and everyone laughed at me. Jerks.

Jeremiah told me to relax. I had a giggle too, and then cautiously looked southward - and saw that the black SUV was parked right back in the same spot in the parking lot, headlights fixed on what we were doing. This is right about the time that my legs started to feel a little weak.

I know the others weren't afraid, so maybe they were just humoring me when Brad emerged from the basement with two hammers and announced that nothing bad was going to happen to us. This didn't lessen my fear.

While Brad was back situating something in the basement, the black SUV started up and looked like it was heading to the street. I took my eyes away from the scene for a brief moment to look at Man, who was inside the moving truck. I turned with the flashlight toward the end of the alley just in time to see a dark car driving full-speed toward the moving truck with no signs of stopping.

At this point, adrenaline took over and all I could do was scream "HE'S COMING, HE'S COMING.... STOP!" Everything was happening in slow motion as I became certain that this car was going to slam into the back of the truck and hurt Man and Jeremiah. My arm involuntarily wound up because for some reason in my panic, it became my plan to spike the flashlight through the car's windshield if the driver didn't stop. 

The driver slammed on the brakes and I heard Man shout "It's a cop!"

My knees turned to jelly and I quickly aborted the flashlight plan.

And then Jeremiah's dad cheerfully emerged from the car. He'd come to help unload.

I thought my heart was going to explode, so I just went inside to sit in the gallery and unwind a little. I'll spare everyone the details of how the pitch-black basement navigation went.

ComEd came and fixed the power less than five minutes after the move was completed. Of course.

I found the candles at last, put them in a very visible area on the gallery table, and then had a second beer. My hands stopped shaking, Michelle came over, and everything went back to normal.

Sounds like we're off on the right foot.

Tribute to the Beast

This is the Beast, a hole in the kitchen floor that goes straight to the basement. We're eventually patching it from beneath so we can finish laying down the hardibacker and start tiling.  But can you believe this thing?

the bedroom loft

I just though I'd post Michelle's pictures of how the bedroom loft is coming along!

Carpeted. Smart!

Yep, it's taller than it looks.

Cleaning out the ducts. Ugh. The ducts run the length of the space and we're all afraid to open them up and find 20 years of filth, but that's probably the way it's going to go. As soon as i can get my hands on a tall enough ladder, I'm going to get going on that. Yuck.

Testing the depth of the wall to see if recessed shelving will work.

Michelle and Jeremiah credit their friend Alex as being the mastermind of the project. It took the three of them one night to do the whole thing! The closet's going underneath.

All this business about recessed surfacing and maximizing of space has given me flashbacks to the Beatles movie "Help," which I watched every single day from 1996 to 1999. I was enchanted by their house, which I think was supposed to be an example of modern decor highly stylized to the point of comedy. But aside from the spy attempting to bite off Ringo's finger, it was a dream house to me. I'll see if Brad has any opinions about scrapping the basement bedroom and living in a hole in the gallery floor instead.