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Mar. 10th, 2009 10:27 ami had a busy weekend.
a brad hired a high school friend of Tory's to re-wire the house. this place needed it too. it was originally wired in 1927, with additional wiring in 1940 when great-aunt Dietz added on to the back of the house. single-strand cloth insulated wire strung between ceramic insulators all through the attic. fire trap much? I'm no electrician, but i volunteered for grunt-work to help keep Brad's bill down. i spent all of friday up in a hot smelly attic pulling out all the old stuff when i wasn't running over to the grandparent's house 5 miles away to check on the crew who was trimming their gustav-damaged trees. late that day, J, one of my late father-in-law's students who i knew back in the mid-80s, drove in from florida. f-i-l was a major figure in J's life. adviser, mentor, friend, drinking buddy (J was in his late 40s then, freshly retired from the military and was lost in the university system).
Brad and i have an undeserved reputation as world-class boozers. trust me, there are 20 year old frat boys who can out-drink us. J showed up with a bottle jameson's and 4 cases of yeungling beer. i made one last trip to the grandparent's paid off the tree guys, sat with grandma for a bit ("honey, you look hot. have a beer before you go." she'll push a beer on you at 7 AM if you've been sweating). then it was back to brad's, covered in sweat grime and insulation, where J already had the beer out. there was drinking and fried chicken.
"Let's go see Herb"! J said.
we're southern. we like graveyards.
some friend, relative, or former student goes to f-i-l's grave in the middle of the night so often, the church put up a light in the graveyard. so far, the priest hasn't called the cops on this pilgrimage of (usually) half-lit former liberal arts majors.
there wasn't as much for me to do with the electricians on saturday. they broke in the middle of the day to escape the heat. brad took a nap, and i was subjected to 4 hours of J's sea stories. one of the contractors (Thibodaux) who have been working on the outside of the house was there too, doing prep work for painting. the electricians were all in the attic, so we heard them rather than saw them. Thibodaux came up on the porch, "hey, my ride's gonna be late, mind if i wait here?" "sure!" said J, "have a beer! have you ever tried jameson's?" 4 hours of yakking and drinking later, i wandered off to bed. in the dark still, because we'd ripped out all the wiring the day before. when i got up at 7 the next morning, Thibodaux was asleep in their tool trailer- his girlfriend never did come and get him, because he said, she'd hooked up with another woman. he acted like it wasn't anything new.
we had coffee, and he went back to work on the house like spending the night on the jobsite happened all the time. i went up n the attic and dug insulation out of the area the electricians were going to work. J came shambling out, looking like he was feeling every one of his 68 years.
i did some more unskilled labor for the electric crew, Thibodaux finally got to go home, J left, tired, hungry, and hungover, Brad did.... something, and by 8 that evening, peace reigned here at camp france once more.
the painters are doing the porch now. there is a lot of yelling, banging, and vacuuming going on.
a brad hired a high school friend of Tory's to re-wire the house. this place needed it too. it was originally wired in 1927, with additional wiring in 1940 when great-aunt Dietz added on to the back of the house. single-strand cloth insulated wire strung between ceramic insulators all through the attic. fire trap much? I'm no electrician, but i volunteered for grunt-work to help keep Brad's bill down. i spent all of friday up in a hot smelly attic pulling out all the old stuff when i wasn't running over to the grandparent's house 5 miles away to check on the crew who was trimming their gustav-damaged trees. late that day, J, one of my late father-in-law's students who i knew back in the mid-80s, drove in from florida. f-i-l was a major figure in J's life. adviser, mentor, friend, drinking buddy (J was in his late 40s then, freshly retired from the military and was lost in the university system).
Brad and i have an undeserved reputation as world-class boozers. trust me, there are 20 year old frat boys who can out-drink us. J showed up with a bottle jameson's and 4 cases of yeungling beer. i made one last trip to the grandparent's paid off the tree guys, sat with grandma for a bit ("honey, you look hot. have a beer before you go." she'll push a beer on you at 7 AM if you've been sweating). then it was back to brad's, covered in sweat grime and insulation, where J already had the beer out. there was drinking and fried chicken.
"Let's go see Herb"! J said.
we're southern. we like graveyards.
some friend, relative, or former student goes to f-i-l's grave in the middle of the night so often, the church put up a light in the graveyard. so far, the priest hasn't called the cops on this pilgrimage of (usually) half-lit former liberal arts majors.
there wasn't as much for me to do with the electricians on saturday. they broke in the middle of the day to escape the heat. brad took a nap, and i was subjected to 4 hours of J's sea stories. one of the contractors (Thibodaux) who have been working on the outside of the house was there too, doing prep work for painting. the electricians were all in the attic, so we heard them rather than saw them. Thibodaux came up on the porch, "hey, my ride's gonna be late, mind if i wait here?" "sure!" said J, "have a beer! have you ever tried jameson's?" 4 hours of yakking and drinking later, i wandered off to bed. in the dark still, because we'd ripped out all the wiring the day before. when i got up at 7 the next morning, Thibodaux was asleep in their tool trailer- his girlfriend never did come and get him, because he said, she'd hooked up with another woman. he acted like it wasn't anything new.
we had coffee, and he went back to work on the house like spending the night on the jobsite happened all the time. i went up n the attic and dug insulation out of the area the electricians were going to work. J came shambling out, looking like he was feeling every one of his 68 years.
i did some more unskilled labor for the electric crew, Thibodaux finally got to go home, J left, tired, hungry, and hungover, Brad did.... something, and by 8 that evening, peace reigned here at camp france once more.
the painters are doing the porch now. there is a lot of yelling, banging, and vacuuming going on.
