Her Side Funnies

This post follows “Slipforming, part 3 – The biggest obstacle.” For a complete list of my other articles on this project, click here.

It is not that doubt vanished when we began the house, it was just bound and gagged for the time being. Ken knew that we had some successful real estate remodeling projects under our belts. Whatever confidence that afforded him was removed when he realized we were beginning to build a house and had no plan.

I hate plans. Even today, I avoid planning whenever possible because some hotshot always manages to divulge critical data right after you complete your plan thus requiring you to change it, which becomes a teeth-gnashing experience. Perhaps subconsciously, I figured if I did not have a plan, no one could plot to wreck it and I could remain nimble about necessary changes. At any rate, regardless of the lack of a complete house plan, I knew I would need the slipforms, so I started building them that summer.

I also went to every auction possible where I found all sorts of treasurers like the house lights, shown at left. Auctions are a great source of unique finds that add character to your house. I got four of these wonderful lights (perfect for the castle theme) for a song!

Ken and I went to the site and stomped around. We bought string and stakes and measured the approximate size of our house. I found this process challenging. Trying to determine how big a house you want, is like asking yourself how much dessert you will eat. “I don’t know. Enough, but not too much…unless it’s really good. Then, too much is better.” I finally called the insurance agency and asking them how they determined the rates for insuring a home,figuring this would shed some light on the problem.

“How many corners does it have?” the lady asked. “More corners, more money.” So, not wanting a triangular house, I opted for a four-corner house. Then, I had to decide how wide and long. I ended up driving the cars up next to each other, opening all doors, leaving enough room to navigate between the cars, and some extra for a work bench for Ken, and that measured 32′ (interior diameter). Now, we had the width figured out. On to figuring out the length.

Because we did not know if it would be a one-story or a two-story home, we needed to make the ground floor big enough that we could house our two kids and us comfortably. It was a by-guess and by-golly approach, but we agreed that 64′ long (interior diameter) would be big enough to house the kids, and us and if we still had energy for a second floor, the cars would fit, too.

Ken’s thoughts on this process?

“I thought it was girl measuring! But, I also thought the garage measurement was pretty smart. Most cars and trucks are within a foot of being the same size and her method was very functional. Maybe not traditional, but functional.

She actually did the same thing with the kitchen, living room and bathrooms. She copied a kitchen we had downtown because she loved the layout so much. She added a couple more feet of space, so she measured it off and then added that data to her napkin sketch. I will say having my “life” scribbled out on a napkin and wadded up inside her pocket was not reassuring to me.

The finished kitchen, (see photo at right) has been really comfortable.  The cabinets were knock-down maple cabinets that we purchased through Home Depot and assembled over the winter when it was too cold to do stone work.

Is it true, Dani, that you poured the footers without a plan in place?

No.  Of course not.  I bought a plan.  Paid $400 for it through a house magazine.  It just wasn’t the plan we were using.  (Picture Dani smirking here.) It remained in that cute cardboard tube and I brought it out periodically to marvel that some poor person took a lot of time to complete it – and now, as I predicted, no one was following it!  In fairness, the plan I purchased had like 25 corners, a lawn on the roof, and corners made of windows – which none of us could figure out.  I concluded that the architect who drew it up did so to fill the mental asylums with contractors in a twisted plot of revenge.  It always made for some interesting brain candy whenever we brought it out.  So, yes, we scrapped that plan and forged ahead with the napkin sketch, which I later upgraded to a full piece of typing paper – which, I might add, still did not satisfy Ken’s “traditional” plan envy.   (You guys…you make things so HAAARRRRDDDDD!!!)

What happened next?

Well, it was the first day of school for the kids, and the first day of real construction for me. We were preparing for the foundation and getting a better idea of where the house would sit.

Compaction of the front edge of the site was necessary, and the compaction machine would arrive the next day. It was an expensive machine, but viewed as necessary since we had changed the direction of our home to capture the view.  I really wanted the front edge of the house to run parallel to the mountain range, shown at left.  By early afternoon, someone drove up to alert us that our old horse was “four toes up” in the field or, in other words, dead.

That is never good news.  He was 18 years old and healthy when I had last checked, so this was a decidedly unpleasant surprise.

What did that have to do with the house?

Well, it meant dropping all progress on the house to get the horse ready for pick-up by the by-products truck, which involved starting a caterpillar that was older than God’s dog, and dragging said horse across the pasture to where the big dead-animal truck could access it. Now, the caterpillar requires the strength of a bull elephant to start since it has a hand-crank motor. Suffice it to say, you can eventually get it started, but after doing so, you will not be fit to do anything else…for at least a week.  On a bad day, you won’t have any energy to even curse, and you’ll be sore for two weeks.  This was a bad day which meant we were putting up the foundation forms while chanting a mantra of, “Ouch, Ow,…Wow, my muscles hurt!” and so on.  By the second week, you are convinced you’ve contracted polio.  By the third week, you think your prayers have been answered and you’ve gotten a miracle cure, until you realize it was all tied back to starting that stupid caterpillar, a C-22, for those interested.  I note, with hindsight, that Dad’s part of starting the caterpillar always is centered around the ignition – while he offers encouraging words like, “Try again…Now, one more time…”  I wonder what he is doing with the key…I suspect I smell a rat!  “You just about got it – jut give it one more try!”  Next time, I’m calling the ignition job and he can crank 20,000 times.

The kids were of course very interested in the whole process of handling the dead horse.  Ben wanted to do a full funeral for the horse, complete with frankincense and myrrh. I shrugged it off as another parenting opportunity to discuss death, dying, etc. I let Ben be in charge of funeral arrangements, sans anything involving fire. He did a fine job bringing forth every good deed Prince had ever done and defending Prince’s mostly honorable past. The makeshift funeral concluded with draping a large sheet over the horse so that the fly activity could be kept to a low roar.

The next day, after we had worked again on the site, I drove Dad home and we were sitting outside enjoying a lemonade when we saw the compactor go by. We both didn’t want to miss seeing that activity, so we jumped in my F-350 truck, turned around in the driveway and sped off to the site. I noticed a small bump as I backed up the truck, but not seeing anything in my rear-view, I figured it was nothing substantial, feeling a second bump going forward.  Odd.

An hour later, we drove into the yard and there, laying in the driveway was my mother’s favorite Corgi, a registered dog, not the cheap variety.  My mom adored Cricket.

“Man, that dog looks dead,” I said, jokingly.

“Hmph. That dog IS dead,” said Dad.

Upon further investigation, I saw tire tracks over the middle of the dog. “Someone must have run over this dog,” I said to Dad, as I looked toward the front door for a note. Not seeing one, I added, “Whoever it was drove a big truck and didn’t even have the decency to leave a note! What an absolutely AWFUL thing to do!”

Then, I thought, “Wait! I drive a big truck…My truck has tire tracks very similar to this…Uh-oh…” I had killed my mom’s favorite dog backing up that truck and knew this would be devastating to her.

My mom was not home yet, and dad scarfed up the dog, draped it over his four-wheeler, and left to bury the dog. The kids looked on, in horror. “That was Nana’s favorite dog,” said Heidi, as if I needed reminding.

Ben immediately went to bawling and disappeared to the horse pen to gain solace from the remaining confessional horse named Twister. Tears were in all of our eyes when Mom drove up. By this time, Ben is still in the corral wailing that “Mama k-k-k-killed a member of the f-f-f-family.” Mom heard Ben and immediately did a quick scan of the premises. Dad was the only one missing. Her mind immediately went to dark places as her face grew pale.

“I’m so sorry.  It was an accident.  I didn’t mean to run over her,” I said.

“You mean ‘him’?” she said, confused.

I suddenly realized she thought I had killed Dad.  “No, I didn’t kill dad.  I just ran over your dog!” I said.

“Oh, thank God,” said Mom, visibly shaken.  She was so relieved that I hadn’t killed Dad that she handled the loss of the dog very well.

Still, Ben was inconsolable, and I’d have to admit, I did not understand his depth of feeling for the loss of my mom’s dog.  He had never particularly liked her dog since it could not play fetch – a singularly redeeming quality to Ben. The next morning, Ben came sobbing into the bedroom. “Does the ranch rule have to apply to you, too?” he asked.

What ranch rule? I asked.

“Well, when one animal kills another, the first animal gets killed,” he said.   This was a paraphrased version of “the ranch rule” – namely, any time a dog started eating livestock, the habit is virtually impossible to correct.  Invariably the dog begins to stray to neighboring farms and they got shot.  I had explained this to Ben years earlier when we were bringing a young pup to the ranch for a visit.  I wanted to make it clear to the pup and Ben that chasing livestock was a no-no. Ben had carried this lesson all these years. Now, he was convinced I would be the killed since I had killed Nana’s dog. Poor kid! No wonder he was wailing to the horse. It all made sense now.

So, after losing the horse, killing the dog, and having a delay in the expensive compaction effort and narrowly avoiding the ranch rule, all with incredibly sore muscles from starting the caterpillar, doubt was back at it – screaming in my ear, “Do you really think you can pull this off? Maybe you should just give up…while you are ahead.”

Naaahhhhh, I thought.  What else can go wrong?  (Caution:  Never ask this question.  For obvious reasons.)

To see Slipforming, part 5 – Dad’s initial view, click here.

Explore posts in the same categories: On a serious note, Slip Form House posts, Stuff to do when you're over 40

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