It’s been ‘a winter of discontent,’ to borrow from Steinbeck. On December 16, 2012, a large SUV roared over the curb, through my iron fence and across the front garden; then, after rocketing up the big front porch stairs, it plowed into Sunnybank House’s front wall. The front door, and surrounding hand-hewn wall timbers, installed in 1893, buckled. The decorative window next to the door fell apart. The aftershock vibration shattered one old, curved tower window and reduced the ancient plastered front hall walls and ceiling to rubble. Three upstairs bedrooms suffered deeply cracked ceilings. Outside, the porch stairs, pillars and banisters flew across the yard. Workers must climb up a ladder to bring in supplies. Amid snow and ice, that’s been a challenge. (Fortunately, the roof has hung on.) A temporary mailbox perches precariously on the porch floor’s edge. Reaching inside for mail while kneeling on the icy floor is a tricky business.
A protective, temporary wall extending well out onto the front porch keeps winter at bay as rebuilding continues. The exposed foundation underneath reveals more shattered support timber, unnerving me every time I climb up the ladder and step onto the weakened porch. These major outdoor structural problems will be addressed as soon as the weather warms.
It’s been very difficult to stay at Sunnybank, as three bedrooms have been totally dismantled. Dust, plaster chunks, special equipment and large vats full of various necessary glop have cluttered the upstairs bath, blocking access. Furthermore, there is little privacy, as workers are always moving around. It seemed reasonable for me to relocate to our little farmhouse in Saginaw four days a week.
Lately, shifting from town to town every few days, I’ve caught depression trying to sneak into my tired brain. I keep asking myself: what are the odds that this sort of accident could happen? One friend, deep into mathematics, reckoned it was a one in a trillion chance.
There are bright spots, however. Our State Farm Insurance agent has not only written a big initial check to cover all the work done so far, he’s also approved our move into the Park Place Hotel when we return to Traverse City on weekends. The hotel’s beautiful rooms, cheerful, considerate staff and excellent food have kept depression at arm’s length most of the time. Recently, we were settled into a lovely chamber on the eighth floor. Seeing the city and Grand Traverse Bay from that height during a big snowstorm was a memorable experience.
Still, one gets tired of living out of a suitcase for months.
Our bedrooms were finally done! But, just as we sighed with relief and prepared to unleash the cleaning team- bad news! The plasterer was forced to tear away a considerable amount of wallpaper to shore up the lower stairwell wall. (And I’d been so happy that it had survived!) Horrified, we also realized that every bit up and down the second story hallway have to be removed.
What an awful mess that will be! Worse, there is simply no time for me to choose a new pattern. Instead, the walls will be painted, because I must soon leave for England to scatter my mother and David’s ashes, as I’d promised I would. I’ll be gone awhile.
This latest setback means I haven’t much cheer to offer this week, because I’m feeling thoroughly sorry for myself.
The one constant in life is change. People who don’t/won’t adapt can become difficult to be around, not to mention annoying. I have no patience with moaners. And I see one developing when I look at my reflection. So I’ve vented my frustration by kicking the impervious garage walls, and trying out new swear words in the basement.
On the plus side, my friend Les has cracked some pretty good jokes to lighten me up. Sometimes they even work.
There is an ancient Chinese curse:
‘May you live in interesting times.’
And I respond to that with a sigh.
I do.