JOY

I missed a dentist appointment this morning. It was scheduled for eight o’clock, a time I normally don’t go to see the dentist. It’s possible they will charge me for the appointment, since I didn’t call beforehand. I hope this isn’t the case.

This day was cold, with the afternoon turning even colder. The half-wit told me that she liked the trees, added that a house just burned in the next town over, due to something related to Christmas trees. I thanked her for the information, scratched my head and thumped my belly and said, “I sure hope nuttin’ like that happens roundabouts here.” Then, pointing to the house, said, “Sure would be a shame—see them poor old trees and the house all sizzled up, like.” Then I belched to help emphasize my point.

I put together the crowning jewel of my little Christmas display: The word “JOY” outlined in letters that I cut from scrap wood, screwed together against some more scrap pieces, then stapled strings of clear lights to it. I hung it from the space between the two trees, framing it perfectly—its scale just proportionate to everything around it. One slight problem, however: You have to use your imagination to be able to read what it actually says. If you stand on the front lawn, there is no doubt whatsoever; the word stands out against the white letters that comprise it, the little lights doing a good job of illuminating everything. A little further off, however, near the road, things get blurry. Most people, I imagine, will see a three-letter word, scan their brains for what they know of Christmas, and will probably come up with the correct translation. Some might even be able to make out what it says. No matter—I’m happy with how it turned out, will turn it on every evening with the trees, and enjoy the little light show next door whenever I drive by. Just so long as it doesn’t get all sizzled up, like.

Just a word about the wood I cut the letters from, then I’ll let the matter drop. Back when I was tearing apart the bathroom, I set aside a square piece of white-painted plywood. This came from what made up a crude access panel at the front of the bathtub and shower. Behind it were the pipes that made the shower and bath work. I thought maybe I could put it to use some other time, for some other project. It later turned into JOY.

Now the outside temperature is closer to what I consider “bitter,” I finished up the little JOY sign in the cold house next door, the space being mostly used to fabricate Christmas decorations at the moment. With the new power tools I just bought, the work went rather quickly, with few, if any, delays.

December 18, 2007

Off to a late start today, I began by taking care of some housekeeping, going to the bank—that kind of thing. Morning was pretty well spent by the time I finished with these few chores. Then I headed next door to see what I could do about the residual water remaining in the heating system. With prolonged periods of freezing temperatures looming, I wanted to make sure the pipes would weather the cold snap. If I took no precautions now, I was looking at the possibility of many burst pipes—the victims of solid ice expanding in the old heating system and rupturing the steel tubes that had held up for so long.

I cut away some shelving near the ancient furnace—the old heating machine dating most likely from the days when coal was delivered. Now converted to oil, it was probably among the most inefficient of furnaces around. When the time comes, I plan to replace it, hook up the natural gas line, use that fuel to fire up the new furnace. For now, this is what I have to deal with. I found a faucet down near the bottom of the unit, at the rear. With the shelves removed, it became easier to work down there. I was able to remove just a few of the home-made workshop shelves, leave the others in place—so that it looks like they were the only ones that were ever there. You don’t miss the old shelves. I like that.

I turned the faucet with the help of a pipe wrench, got a good flow of water, and turned it off after a minute or so of filling a bucket. I heard the whole house gurgling, great bubbles of air belching toward the roof as the house’s old pipes and radiators emptied down towards the basement. That sounded encouraging, I thought. Since I didn’t really know what I was doing, was acting more on instinct or intuition, I felt that the sounds I heard were a good sign. It may be the case that—when it comes time to actually refill the system—it will be a real pain-in-the-ass; nevertheless, I think it would be more trouble to replace the old cast iron pipes that burst during the winter.

I hooked up a garden hose to the faucet at the bottom of the furnace, snaked it through the basement door, and out into the yard. There it produced a good quantity of water for the better part of a half-hour. I know that this water was coming entirely from inside the house, for I’d already disconnected the water supply some time ago. I then went upstairs and loosened the connections at the individual radiators, allowing them to drain more easily. More gurgling ensued as I undid the bleeder screws and the large pipe connectors in the different rooms. I looked at my hose out in the yard; a good flow was still coming out, but I decided to cut it off. No sense in overdoing it; I think the system was mostly drained, and any additional water was coming from the furnace and possibly the expansion tank.

Casting about for something to do, I cleared some odds and ends out of the kitchen and started to cut away the floor covering there. This consisted of some newish vinyl tiles I’d installed when I first bought the place, followed by some thin, wooden lawan—followed by the old greenish tiles that were so popular in the 1950s. I’d meant to rip everything out, but those 1950s tiles stick like you wouldn’t believe. They’re very tenacious. They are also probably made out of some fairly nasty material that I don’t want to be ripping into. So they’ll stay. They’ve been here this long, no sense in upsetting them now. I’ll lay another sheet of the thin flooring material over them, then put the final floor covering on top of that. I’d wanted to start with a clean slate, because—once I’d removed all the cabinets and fixtures earlier on—the flooring was at different heights underneath. The metal cabinets and counters were some of the earliest things in the house, judging by the condition of the floor under them. Among the trash and debris that I scooped up from the floor was a tattered piece of calendar from 1957.

With the scraps from the floor piling up, I decided to quit for the day. I’d taken the enormous radiator away from the wall, and was pleased to see that it dribbled only a few drops of water from each end. To get it to budge, I’d used an old pine two-by-four—eight feet long—as a lever. The radiator is about five feet long, a couple of feet in height, and weights probably three hundred pounds There still remained the refrigerator and stove to deal with; I would have to move them out of the way to finish removing the flooring material. I put most of the debris into a box and my big plastic trash can, and called it a day. I will try to finish removing the floor by Thursday, when my next trash pickup is scheduled.