Oops

I broke the magic doorbell.

You know, the one that's connected to the thermostat. It stopped working a few days ago. (I didn't notice right away because, well, I didn't know anyone was at the door. I wonder how many deliveries I missed.)

Anyway, I was removing some wires from the downstairs dining room that weren't being used. Or so I thought. I still don't know how they're related to the doorbell, which is mounted one floor up, but they must be because now it doesn't work. Perhaps it's all part of an elaborate inductive loop that I've ruined. Or a weird coincidence. But now I'm doubly mystified.

Chim-Chiminy, Chim Chim Cheree...

Cue Dick Van Dyke.

Today we had the chimney sweep over. Seriously. He's a nice young guy with an amazing ability to get filthy when he's working yet not get your house dirty when he walks through. I tried to watch but I'm not sure how he does it.

Today he wasn't sweeping the chimney, though. Today he was installing a chimney cap that keeps out rain, birds, rodents, and whatnot. It also prevents sparks from escaping, so it's generally reckoned a good thing.

Apart from his ability to keep clean, he's also part mountain goat. He has no problem scrambling out on our third-story roof with a 12/12 pitch (i.e., 45 degree angle). He just prefers not to do it on rainy days. Which I can understand.

The Representative From California Has the Floor...

Today we peeled up some carpet to expose the hardwood floor.

It's... uh... not terrific underneath. But it's still worth keeping. The wood is badly spattered with paint, which we already knew. It's better in some places than others -- which only means it's really bad in some places.

Cari helped immensely, mostly by hauling out the nasty carpet and carpet padding. She got to roll up the heavy material, drag it through the house, and lob it off the second-story stairs into the back yard.

Which Way Is the Ground?

The electrical system in the house is... quaint.

Electrical service was pretty unusual in 1894, the year this house was built. We can tell it used to have fuses; I've found some old used ones in the dirt under the house. Now it has not one, but two, panels of modern circuit breakers.

Even so, there's still lots of old knob-and-tube wiring under the house. Y'know, the kind you see in old black-and-white movies where the hot and neutral wires are run separately, about 6 inches apart, with ceramic spacers every few feet? Yup, we've got that all over.

There aren't many outlets in the house; usually just two or three per room, and they're never where you want them. And very few of those are grounded. Oh sure, they have three-pronged outlets because that's what the previous homeowner(s) could find at the hardware store. But they're not actually grounded.

Which wouldn't be a huge problem except that some modern gadgets, such as flat-screen TVs or computers, really want to be grounded. Replacing some outlets with GFCI receptacles protects us, but doesn't protect the electronics. Figuring out how to ground all these outlets (or even some of them) is going to be a trick, especially up on the third floor. The ground is a long way down.

Brain Damage, Pt. I

Having an old house is like having Alzheimer's: you meet new people every day.

In our case, it's new contractors. Every day brings a new electrician, new plumber, new brick mason, new chimney sweep, new structural engineer... We're making friends with a whole section of the Yellow Pages. Our goal is to collect a business card from every known trade. We're well on our way.

Classical Gas

The garbage men play classical music.

I don't know why that seems odd; it just does. Here this big ugly truck rolls up, and big burly guys in orange vests jump out, and... there's a Bach cantata blaring (if that's the word) from the truck's radio.

Keeps them stable, I guess. I like it.

Street People

Saturday was a good day.

Clear sky, warm weather, blue ocean. We had a nice day out, did some gardening work around the house, had lunch out, and generally behaved like happy adults. There were lots of people out on the sidewalk, filling the restaurants and packing the local shops.

Around sunset we took a little walk around the neighborhood, sat down on the front steps, poured ourselves a glass of wine, and watched the world go by. People strolled by patting happy tummies or just taking in the evening warmth. We chatted with a half-dozen couples and generally congratulated each other on our mutual good fortune.

All in all, a very good day.

Got Wood?

Kathy and I always wondered... what's under the carpets?

Most of the house has wall-to-wall carpeting. It's nice enough but not our favorite color. And it's badly stained in a few places, which is not surprising considering the house was housing restaurants for many years.

Still, we hoped against hope that maybe, if the Victorian gods were smiling upon us, that there might be hardwood floors underneath all the carpet.

Today we found out.

We peeled up a corner of one bedroom carpet and... hardwood!

It's very paint-splattered, as you can see. Some Philistine evidently rolled light green paint on the walls and cared nothing for splattering it all over the floor, too. I scratched away a small patch of the paint (see photo) just to be certain and, sure enough, there's good-quality wood under there.

Woo-hoo! Now we merely have to peel up all the carpet, dispose of it, remove the carpet padding, dispose of that, tear up the tack strips, pull out several thousands staples, clean off every last spot of paint, polish and oil the floor...

Piece of cake.

All the World's a Fair

It's fair day on our street.

This weekend is the annual Good Old Days street fair in Pacific Grove. The 53rd annual one, in fact. And it's right on our street, directly in front of our door and stretching in either direction. We've got kiddie rides on one side and vendor stalls on the other, with food, dancers, musicians, and assorted whatnot all over. It's like market day in a medieval town, with vendors coming from miles away to set up shop and hawk their wares.

Kathy and I took a stroll out the front door and down the street to take it all in. It's pretty fun, knowing you can stop and grab some exotic food on a stick, watch some dancers, enjoy the Brazilian drummers, buy a cool gift, and still walk back to the comfort of home when your feet get tired. This could work.

Demolition Day

First Law of Household Thermodynamics: to make something clean you have to make something else dirty.

There is no creation without destruction, or so the saying goes. Today I destroyed stuff. It was a good day.

I demolished some big ugly shelves in the downstairs "waiter station" closet. It was blocking what little light came into the room and it was just plain ol' ugly. I also tore out the built-in microwave from the upstairs kitchen, since it didn't work anyway. That left an ugly hole so I cobbled together a quick wooden shelf to take its place. I cavalierly swung hammers and prybars at all kinds of nasty shelving and add-ons. I feel better now.

The Thermostat's Connected to the... Doorbell?

Okay, so I'm not an expert on old-house wiring, but this seems wrong.

There's an old thermostat on the second floor that "controls" an old wood-burning stove in the upstairs dining room. (Yeah, yeah, I know...) This one's unrelated to the spanking new thermostat downstairs that controls our new furnace. It's basically a relic and we'll probably remove it and store it in the "old stuff" box in the garage.

But first, curiosity got the better of me and I traced the wires coming out of the old thermostat. They went down the wall, along the baseboard, and directly to... the doorbell?

Seriously? I even removed both units from the wall just to make sure they weren't hiding some other (more sensible) wires underneath. Nope. The thermostat really is wired directly to the doorbell.

And the doorbell works. That's the weird part.

More on this later, if/when I figure out what's really happening.

The Heat Is On

Central heating was not a forte of Victorian technology.

For starters, only the first floor of this three-story house had/has any heat. The design relied on heat rising to the upper floors. The furnace under the crawlspace was on its last legs after decades of steady service, but now it spews heat and carbon monoxide in equal measure. The PG&E guy refused to turn it on, and the heating contractor's hair stood on end. "This thing was running before? Are you sure?"

So what are you saying? It's time to replace the furnace?

So selfsame heating contractor is now under aforementioned floor replacing said furnace with a modern, high-efficiency Energy Star-certified one. It's not a cheap piece of machinery but (the thinking goes) it'll pay for itself in lower heating bills.

So now we have heat! Any time we want. It's like magic! I turn it up high, just because I can. The novelty wears off after awhile; the default setting of 70 degrees seems too hot, so I'll probably program it for 66 degrees or so. I may name my next kid after this thing.

The Shoebox of Doom

Kathy and I made a deal: every time we buy something for the house the receipt goes into a shoebox. I cut a hole in the top of the box so it's like a ballot box: receipts go in but you can't easily take them out.

Someday down the road we'll open the box, add up the receipts, and faint.

The box is already getting full. I think we need a bigger box.

Art Imitates Life

Kathy's office friend Jeanne painted this picture for us.

It's awesome. It's a watercolor, about 8x10 inches. She also made us little notecards with the same image, and gave Kathy the framed original. Wow.

Want something like this for yourself? Talk to Jeanne at JeanneSmith12@yahoo.com. She's great.

A Big Step

Schmaltz alert: those with weak stomachs read no further.

When we first got the keys to the new house, Kathy and I left the movers to themselves for a few minutes as we drove around the corner to ceremoniously enter the house for the first time as homeowners. We unlocked the door, held hands, stepped across the threshold simultaneously, and shared a big kiss in the entryway.

That's one small step for a couple, one giant leap...

Priorities

It's the first day. We've got no heat, no phone service, no hot water, no stove, no microwave. We can't find our clothes and everything's in badly labeled packing boxes on the wrong floor.

But I've got the liquor bottles unpacked and the wireless Internet is working. Have I got my priorities straight or what?

To be fair, the moving company wouldn't move the liquor bottles so we had to bring them over by hand. So they were, y'know, right there. And the Comcast cable guy showed up early to install/verify the Internet connection, so that one's not my fault.

Still, it made for a good start to the day.

My Nose Is Cold

Hoo-wee, it's cold in the house this morning!

We spent our first night in the "new" old house last night, waking to a beautiful morning streaming through the stained-glass windows. Covers were warm. Honey's by my side. All's right with the world.

Until we threw the covers off. Jeesus, it's cold in here! There's no heat in the house yet 'cause PG&E hasn't connected our gas. That means no hot water, either, and Kathy's got to go to work. Me, I just putter around the house anyway.

Head next door to the coffee shop, grab two cups of ambition and it's time to start the day.