So it's now been sixteen (16) months since Hurricane Gustav demolished my home of the past sixteen years. I've been welcomed into temporary lodging that is warm, safe and dry.... but no matter how swank a retreat, there's nothing like having a place of one's own.
I rode out the hurricane with my sister and her family in Zachary, but the commute to work in Plaquemine, school in Baton Rouge and back soon took its toll. One night at my parents' house in Plaquemine (one block from my library) proved untenable. Miraculously, a gracious offer was extended: sharing a relatively new home on a quiet street near work, without the distractions of kids in the household so I could concentrate on my studies and finish out the fall semester. I got A's in all three classes, maintaining a 3.8 GPA. Amazing, since every minute NOT at work or school or studying was spent trying to salvage remnants of my former life--those not covered in mold--to shove into storage. I had some help with the big stuff at first, but Gustav did not just hit me.... most of my neighbors, friends and relatives were dealing with their own varying degrees of destruction. Some were hit harder than me. I retrieved, sorted, cleaned and hauled what I could by myself. Looking back, I wonder where I got the strength, but one thing is for sure: I will never regret buying a truck.
By the time that semester was over, I realized how naive I was to think I'd be in a new place by Christmas. The media kept trumpeting that it was a buyer's market in real estate, but I sure didn't see it. People here were holding out for top dollar on even the most obsolete, dirty, ragged-out foreclosures. I decided to go modular, but the price on modulars skyrocketed in this area after Katrina, and went up even more after Gustav. I decided I could build a custom home for less and set out to do that.
The first months of 2009 were spent finessing paperwork with FEMA, the SBA, having land surveyed and subdivided for purchase, and appearing before planning & zoning committees and town hall meetings to get things approved and authorized. I decided to sit out a couple semesters in order to deal with my housing situation. I found a contractor who said he could build my 2010 sq.ft. two-story house for $160K. I had the house plans drawn up by a friend for half what an architect would charge. That same contractor submitted an official bid of $250K. I was devastated. I decided to eat the cost of the drawings rather than get myself in debt by going $90K over budget.
Back to the drawing board. Cut down to 1600 sq.ft. and single story. Hired architectural firm to customize one of their in-stock McMansion floor plans with an Acadian roof and Craftsman facade, which would fit better in my older neighborhood. The architect was snooty, overpriced, jittery like he was coked-up, never returned phone calls, and had the audacity to leave the full set of my final drawings in a locked courtyard on a rainy night. Unable to shimmy over the courtyard wall myself, one of my brothers obliged, but I decided I would never recommend that firm to anyone.
The original contractor bid $220K on that one. Ridiculous. Spent the summer shopping my latest plans around to contractors who apparently hadn't heard about the housing market being down or the economy about to go bust. A contractor who promised he could build a 1600 sq.ft. custom home for $120K could only do so if I used HIS floor plan, his plumbing and lighting fixtures, his limited selection of laminate flooring and countertops. He also wanted me to sign over the deed to my property before he started. Not exactly custom.... or kosher. Another highly-recommended contractor insisted that I'd need 180 truckloads (13 cubic yards each) of dirt hauled to my lot before they could pour the slab. That's $30K in dirt. Insane. I'm not in a flood zone and don't need my own levee system. I accused him of trying to jack me up to Jesus. His bid was $210K.... still too high.
Finally, I called a local contractor who has built a good business reputation, but whom my sister can't stand personally. The decision to do so was not made lightly. I ran the two-story plans by him first. His bid was the lowest, but at $195K, still too high. On the single-story plans, he bid lowest at $172K. Doable. My sister said she would not think any less of me for doing what I have to do.... just as long as I know that she considers the man a snake. I love my sister, but homelessness is greatly overrated. I hired the snake.
Turns out, I'm dealing more with his project manager and construction team than with the big contractor himself. That's okay by me. The project manager is friendly and from my neighborhood. I goaded him into giving up cigarettes by telling him he's too young to look leathery. The finishing carpenter is a young man I used to babysit and he's giddy with excitement about working on my house. There was a time when he was headed down the wrong path at lightning speed, but now seems to have matured, mellowed, and is quite happy about the work he's doing. He's quite good at it, too, I must say. The contractor's secretary is sister to my sister's best friend. His brother-in-law is the mayor that my mother works for. The rakishly handsome construction engineer on my project is way too young for this old cougar, so I try not to drool in his presence. I'm not sure how it will all work out in the end, but for now, I'm liking the fact that I somewhat know the people working for me and I'm hoping to keep things pleasant and professional.
This fall, there were more paperwork snafus and what I've dubbed The Courthouse Shuffle in getting all the permits, licenses, affidavits, titles, taxes, liens and abstracts for the mortgage signed in blue ink, notarized and recorded. Down the hall and to your left... across the hall and to your right.... through those doors and up those stairs.... back downstairs and straight ahead. Once all that was copied in triplicate and the originals sent certified mail to Dallas, I started picking out appliances. If I get this house built with a strand of hair left on my head, it'll be a supreme wonder.
With all the financing in place, I can now concentrate on actual construction. Wait! It's Christmas again already! No one wants to start a construction job during the holidays.... but my team is game. All I want for Christmas is foundation, but it's not going to happen-- the weather won't cooperate. They had my land cleared before Christmas, but then the rains set in. Removing an old 1955 trailer home increased property values in the entire neighborhood immediately. They got the dirt hauled in (38 truckloads, not 188 thankyouverymuch), and then it rained some more. Good for compaction, everyone tells me. I relax a little and enjoy the holidays with my family until the weather clears.
My mother is scheduled for rotator cuff surgery on January 18th and I have taken on the project of clearing out her master bedroom, cleaning it, painting it, and having it refurnished in time for her to recuperate comfortably without being jabbed by my dad in his sleep. Three days and ten (10) pickup truck loads later, the room is clear. Did I mention my mother is a hoarder? So is one of my brothers, who was the previous occupant of said room and owner of seven of those truckloads of stuff. In the midst of all that, my dad imagines he has a medical degree and adjusts his medication, with disastrous results. I had to leave work to drive him to the doctor, who diagnosed him severely dehydrated and completely out of his mind. His imaginary doctorate revoked, he's taking his meds as prescribed and forcing fluids. He's also still smoking, but otherwise pinking up quite nicely. Yesterday, I was up and down a step-ladder washing walls. My back and knees know it.
My spackling was interrupted by the project manager calling to ask if I realized I'm getting a wooden instead of a concrete front porch on my brick home. That irritating pissant of an architect did that--and moved a toilet to an unusable position--against my wishes. We reached an impasse when I refused to pay him $50 more to modify his own mistake, but I was very clear in pointing out those two things to the contractor up front. He just forgot to mark them on ALL the copies of the plans. I went to knock heads with them, clear up a permitting problem at Town Hall, get culverts ordered for my driveway, and tromp around the site in my new plaid rain boots photographing the extent of the work to date. Everything (except the concrete porch) was framed up for foundation, but a little more dirt is needed. By Tuesday, they'll build up the driveway, set the culverts, and be ready to pour concrete by the end of the week. Weather permitting. It's 27 friggin' degrees here now. Hell has frozen over.
There's been very little time for writing, as evidenced in my stress levels throughout this ordeal. Writing is not just a craft or creative outlet for me.... it's therapy. I can't wait to get back into a place of my own and settle into a good routine that includes writing.... and maybe a little standup for comic relief.
Speaking of which.... I'll share one of the little humorous exchanges that seem to get me through this stressful time. The project manager, construction engineer and I met to look over drawings and figure out how to make my front porch concrete instead of wooden. It soon became apparent that not only do I speak with a sultry drawl, but I also listen in Southern, even when plain English is being spoken. I questioned why they were insisting that I put Hardieplank around my concrete front porch. The engineer said I could plant whatever I want, but it needs to be Hardie to prevent erosion. What? What?
TRANSLATION KEY: "siding" and "sodding" are pronounced exactly the same in Southern. And "Hardie" is pronounced exactly the same as "hearty."
I'll post pix soon. Next week should be a busy one.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
