Home-Work

So I am planning a basement remodel project to create an efficiency-style apartment that could be used by my kids as they are in college, and just to add value to an unfinished space. Here are some things to know:

• The basement is wet. Drylok paint to seal walls and floor will help.
• There is damage to an interior wall where my Golden Retriever dug his way out one stormy night while I wasn't home. That's an easy fix - sheet-rock repair.
• The old garage door is in terrible condition and will have to go. The garage is too narrow to use effectively anyway. Replacing that with french doors to let in light seems like the right idea.
• The concrete floor is cracked, but that can be (and has partially been) patched.
• It needs more outlets - there are very few electrical outlets in the basement, but I think we can expand that circuit to add about three more, which should do the trick.
• The soil-stack comes down nearly to the floor in the back corner. I think a bathroom could be put there fairly easily. I'll need to build a form and pour a raised concrete floor for the space in order to have a drain line for a shower, and I think a rear-flush toilet would work admirably, especially one of those industrial-type high-pressure flush toilets.
• The space is eleven feet wide. The original area I considered remodeling (garage) is 11x24. But! If we put a door in the back wall, we could create the sleeping space and the bathroom in the rear corner of the basement. A bit more work, but much more value added to the house.

I've had several ideas for the area, but these are the ones that have stuck with me. Painted concrete floors, drylok painted walls, will help with moisture control. A dehumidifier will also help. The walls are cinder block (mostly), but there is some interior drywall as well. The entry will be through the french or sliding doors at the front. That immediate area can be set up as a living-room, with a TV, sofa, and coffee table. Next, the space can be made into a small kitchenette. A 42" cabinet base with a small sink and countertop for a microwave and toaster oven should be sufficient. Upper cabinet or open shelves for storage of dishes can hang above the counter. An under-the-counter fridge can go in this area as well, along with a cafe-sized table and a couple of chairs (maybe a fun, metal patio table). Here we come to the dividing rear wall - a closet for storage can be built into this area. We can install a door or just an open doorway into the bedroom/bathroom area. Another wall, perpendicular to the divider, would be built out to enclose the space for the bedroom. Across the back corner, a small bathroom with toilet and sink - and maybe shower-stall - could be built in.

Materials List:

• 2x4s for framing closet and wall
• Concrete backer board 
• Patch kit for cracks in floor
• 10-20 gallons Drylok for surfaces
• Interior wiring roll
• Outlets and light-switches
• Bifold closet door
• French door or sliding glass door (source used from salvage or wholesale outlet)
• Rear-flush toilet
• Pedestal or wall-mount sink
• PVC piping and glue
• Quikrete or Sakrete

I already have solid-wood interior doors that can be used. Might be able to use a large one for the closet as well. I think the biggest expenses will be the paint, the toilet, and the exterior doors. I'm going to try to source most everything used or salvaged and hope to bring this project in under $1000.

A clean heart

Create in me a clean heart, O God.

It is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, a time for repentance, for abstinence, for fasting.  A time of giving up, and a time of beginning anew. Most of us think of it as a difficult journey of sacrifice. But the truth is that I look forward to Lent the way some people look forward to Easter, or even Christmas. In making my choice about what to relinquish for Lent, and what to take on, I try to be mindful about what might ultimately bring me closer to God. The sacrifices I've made for Lent have enriched my life so much that for me, Lent is something to be celebrated.

We talk about what we will give up. Some people give up meat, or dairy, or chocolate. Some give up smoking, or coffee, or sex. Some even give up Facebook. Whatever you give up, it must be meaningful. It must be something that comes between you and God. A couple of years ago, I gave up self-deception for Lent. My life was so profoundly changed that even today I am experiencing ripples from that decision. Some people take something on - a new spiritual discipline, perhaps, or a volunteer opportunity. Whether you decide to take up a new cross or lay down an old distraction, make sure that the objective is to clear the pathway between you and God. 

In 2011, I posted about the Lenten service I attended. The meat of that text is below - it is as relevant now as it was then. I hope your Lent is meaningful, and that it leads you closer to God.

Receiving the Mark

On Ash Wednesday the Christian world begins its wilderness journey with Christ in commemoration of his forty days in the desert. At my church, the Sanctuary is quiet as we come forward in long, solemn lines to receive the ashes. Before me, I hear the ministers whisper about how we are all made of dust and must therefore return to dust – exhorting us to repent and believe what the Gospels have taught us. I pray the prayer of contrition, confess my sins before God. I stand with the rest, my forehead bare, waiting. Knowing that the season of Lent begins in that moment, when the minister’s finger draws the midnight-black cross on my skin, marking me as a follower of Jesus, as one who stands in solidarity with the Son of Man in his long suffering, his work for human-kind, and his violent death on a rough piece of wood. In addition to the imposition of the ashes, we are to think and pray and choose something to give up, or some discipline to adopt to mark the forty-day journey through the wilderness.

If you make a sacrifice, it must be meaningful. It must be something that comes between you and Christ. Something that ties you to this world and keeps you from focusing on Kingdom-business. Some give up meat. Some give up liquor. Some give up sex. Some give up coffee, or cigarettes, or chocolate. Somehow, I cannot imagine coming to God’s altar and laying down coffee or cookies. It must be meaningful. It must be something that I can hardly bear to part with, something without which I cannot imagine my life.

But honestly, there is nothing I have or want that seems good enough. I wait with the others and I remember how I stood before the church and read the words of the Fifty-first Psalm earlier in the evening. There is no acceptable sacrifice except hearts that are broken, and spirits that are crushed. God wants to make all things new. He wants to enter empty vessels and fill them. I receive the Mark of Christ, the Body and the Blood of Christ, and then I go to the altar and I pray in the words of the Psalmist from so long ago –

Create in me a clean heart, O God; renew a steadfast spirit within me… Restore me to the joy of your salvation, and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me. Hide your face from my sins and do not count them against me. Create in me a clean heart.

I came away feeling emptied, ready for whatever the journey brings. I am here, Lord; we can walk together.

The Sky is Falling

As told by Oskar, a wiener dog of unmatched valor

9:13 pm, Friday night, July 4, 2014

It has begun again. The skies near our home have exploded in a blaze of multi-colored lights. Neither I nor my companions - the Tucker and the Crab - can discern why this keeps happening. The Tucker is convinced that it is the end of everything - he is in the basement right now, digging what he believes to be our graves. The Crab is showing signs of deep anxiety but has not yet resorted to joining the Tucker in his grisly pastime. Instead, she walks a tired circle around the couch where the human is seated, stopping occasionally to put her feet on the human's knee and gaze imploringly into the human's eyes, as though the human could put an end to the thunderous noise and horrid lights if only she would.

But I am ahead of myself. The story really begins several weeks ago. My human and I were outdoors, and I was patrolling the perimeter, paying special attention to the boundary between our enclosure and that of the GOATS. My human was speaking into that small, black square she carries in her pocket. She sat in the grass as I made my rounds. The first fireflies were beginning to pop up from the grass and my human was charmed by their glow. She continued talking, and everything seemed as usual, until it happened.

The sound - as of hundreds of angry bees exploding from a hive deep in the earth; the sight - fierce white-gold sparklers that I could have mistaken for fireflies bursting into the air and then streaking back to earth with ear-splitting shrieks. I uttered one sharp yelp of warning and darted back to my human's side. She seemed oddly unconcerned by this detonation and continued her conversation, saying, "Fireworks. Can you believe it? And it's only the eighteenth of June."

I took my cue from my human - if she found no threat in this strange phenomenon then I could see no reason to continue my vigilance of the skies. I went back to my post by the large maple tree, glaring at the hideous yellowish GOAT who stood by the gate. And that was that - or so I thought.

When the human and I went back inside, I was surprised to find the large yellow furball known as the Tucker cowering under the table in deep terror. Fortunately, the Crab was on holiday with one of the lesser humans of the household and so was not affected by the Tucker's rampant cowardice. As my human went about her business, I stopped at the edge of the table.

"What has frightened you?" I asked. He turned upon me a face blank with panic. His mouth was hanging open, and his great, pink tongue lolled nervelessly from one side of his mouth. I was shocked by his transformation. Granted, he is not the most perspicacious of dogs, but this was incredible. "Tucker!" I cried, "speak to me! Is there an invader in the house? A burglar? A GOAT!? What is it?!"

His foul breath washed over me as he crept close. "The sky," he whispered, his voice constricted and weak from fear. "The sky is falling."

I ruminated over his words and his fear on and off for the rest of that night. Because my human obviously experienced no horror over the events, I could not muster much worry myself. But the Tucker had truly been distressed. His terror was palpable - the air stank of it.

In the morning, I endeavored to speak with the Tucker about his experiences the night before. He seemed to have no memory at all of the events that had occurred that evening. When I pressed him about it, he shrugged me off and went on about his day. Things progressed much as normal over the course of that day, and the next few days. And then, the unthinkable happened.

It was a night much like any other. The Crab and the lesser human had returned home earlier in the day. The usual rituals of welcoming and walking ensued. The Crab and I walked the perimeter together, and we both strove to pee in all the appropriate places. The Tucker followed us - he had no guard duty to perform but sometimes accompanies us anyway. And on this night we were some distance from him, both of us staring at the GOAT, when the darkness blossomed with light and exploded with thunder. My first thought was that a storm was upon us, but the air held no tension, and no scent of ozone; nothing but the foul stench of GOAT. I turned toward the Crab and saw that she was staring at the sky, where red flame blazed. "Ah," I said. "Fireworks." And I turned back to my duties.

The Crab stood still, staring upward. I nudged her forward but she ignored me. Then there came a scrambling sound from the dusk and we were both bowled over by the Tucker, who galloped right through us, uttering in a peculiar, shrieking whisper, "The sky is falling!"

The humans quickly ushered us back inside. The Tucker roamed the house, moaning piteously. Each time he passed me, he gave me that blank, terrified stare, and whispered, "The sky...the sky is falling..."

The Crab came and sat beside me on the couch as we watched the Tucker's bumbling journey around the rooms. He paused and pawed at each closed doorway as though some unknown salvation lay beyond. The human's sharp yelps barely registered with him. He trotted up and down the basement stairs, pausing to dig at any surface he thought would yield. When I called down the stairs to him to ask what he was doing, he shouted back, "the sky is falling!"

The Crab became concerned. "What if he's right?" she asked. "What if the sky is falling? What should we do?"

"The sky isn't falling," I replied scornfully. "If it were, the human would speak of it."

"What if the human doesn't know?" the Crab asked.

"Inconceivable," I replied. "Of course the human knows. The human knows everything."

The Crab shot me a doubtful look, but did not speak of it again.

***

We were all tired the next morning. As long as the explosions continued, so did the Tucker's frantic digging, pacing, and drooling.Only the Tucker seemed normal when daylight came. He behaved as he always did; moving from one comfortable sleeping spot to the next on his tight, predetermined schedule. He peed in the same spots as usual, and he defecated in much the same manner as always, with the same results. The Crab and I were perplexed by his demeanor. How he could go from abject fear in the night to complete nonchalance during the day with no seeming recollection of it was beyond the both of us.

The next few nights passed quietly and without incident. We were beginning to believe that no further problems would occur, but our happy and peaceful existence was soon shattered. Tonight, the explosions seem to be without end. My human seems unconcerned with the noise and light, but is very upset at the Tucker's behavior. He digs desperately in front of every closed door in the house, and she has to follow him around and repeatedly pull him back to her side. She gives him some strange sort of snack that she doesn't offer to anyone else, and she holds his snout closed until he swallows it. She rubs his ears and wraps him in a blanket, but none of the soothing techniques she tries work. He keeps up his groaning and pacing and trembling, repeating over and over that the sky is falling. After an hour of this, the Crab starts pacing as well. She is not as terrified as the Tucker but it is plain to see that she is worried. I lie by my human's side, watching the show with interest.

A particularly loud blast shakes the windows and the Tucker lets out a piercing shriek and bounds down the basement stairs into the darkness. I follow him and call out after him. His voice drifts back to me, pinched and terrible. "It's the end of the world!" he shouts. "I must dig! I must dig our graves!" And his claws scrabble frantically at the hard slab floor.

I go back to my human, who has picked up one of those delightfully chewy things she calls a book. She lifts me up beside her and I settle back in to wait. With the Tucker out of sight, the Crab quickly calms and finally curls up at the human's feet. The human's black square jingles and she speaks into it, talking again about fireworks and this time, mentioning that they are used in human celebrations. Who knew? I would have thought that humans would celebrate more quietly, and with more dignity. But then again, who can claim to know the mind of humans? After what seems ages, the human turns out the lights and we go to bed.

I am awakened much later on in the quiet darkness by the sound of heavy breathing. I immediately recognize the stale breath of the Tucker. He has come back from the basement and is creeping into the bedroom to take up his place on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"It is over, Tucker," I whisper. "The sky didn't fall. You are fine."

"O yes it did," he replies. "I saw it. It sparkled"

"No, for if it had, we would all be dead."

He looks puzzled. His head tilts to the side, and then he scratches his left ear. After a few moments, he speaks, sounding perplexed. "It did not fall?"

"No, Tucker. It did not. What you saw and heard was fireworks. They are a magical substance that the humans use in celebrations, in much the same way as we use our toileting rituals or roll in something stinky. I am not sure what the humans are celebrating today, but as you can see, the fireworks did not harm us, and everything is quiet.

"So I dug all those graves for nothing?" Tucker asks.

"Apparently so," I reply. "But cheer up. Perhaps the GOATS died of fright during the fireworks. If so, we can use the graves for them."

"But I feel ridiculous," he complains. "All that running around, all that drooling, all that groaning...it was all useless?"

"Unfortunately, yes," I say.

"And the sky won't fall next time the...the fire-works come?" he stumbles over the unfamiliar term.

"No. It is loud and bright, but not dangerous. Now lie down, and get some sleep. You will feel better tomorrow."

"Okay," he agrees, and he lowers his tired body to his bed. Almost immediately, he begins to snore.

I snuggle back in beside my human and allow sleep to wash over me. Nearby, the Crab stretches and rolls over. In the distance I hear a rumble, followed by a series of crackles and pops. The window lights up as a shower of stars rain down.

The Tucker springs to his feet and screams, "The sky! The sky is falling!"

The human sits up and yelps. The Crab leaps to the floor, quivering. I sigh, and roll onto my side. It is going to be a long night.

Earthsong

I sat outside in grey twilight, looking up into the night sky. Clouds amassed in the south and west, and heat-lightning flickered along the horizon. From across the street, the sounds of a happy gathering echoed. Someone was playing a guitar, and people were singing. The rumble of a Big-Wheel being ridden up and down the street provided a kind of percussion. The usual evening sounds added to the music. Occasionally dogs barked, doors opened and closed, and cars passed by. Night deepened.

The clouds climbed the sky. A half-moon hung just over the maple tree but soon its light was filtered, softened. I watched as fireflies rose, glowing, from the grass and danced in the darkness. One by one, the noises faded. The children were called indoors. The guitar subsided and the singers headed home. Neighborhood traffic ceased its movement. I waited.

In the dark hour after midnight, when everything was stilled, the clouds overtook the moon. Thunder rumbled and the wind picked up. I pressed my feet against the dry ground, feeling the crumbly soil beneath the matted roots of the grass. The earth cried out for rain.

In solidarity, the sky wept cool tears. A few at first, then more - the pattering sound of the drops hitting the leaves above my head whispered through the night. The earth sighed and a sweet smell rose from the grass. The fireflies continued their dance but gathered low under the trees. Rain filtered down through the leaves and struck my skin, my hair; droplets rolled down my face. I breathed deeply and let the night and the storm wash over me.

Silver lightning streaked down the sky and illuminated the mist rising from the valley. The scent of honeysuckle crept through the darkness and mingled with the wild roses that climbed over the fence. Thunder echoed. Across the neighborhood, security lights and windows went dark all at once. In the space of a few seconds, darkness reigned. The storm quickened. Wind gusted. The trees swayed, reaching their limbs into the sky in celebration of the torrent. In their movement I could hear phantom voices praising the rain, praising the thunder, praising the God of creation who first imagined the forests and the mountains and the valleys, who painted the sky with lightning and shattered the air with thunder.

I sat still, understanding the danger of the night and of the world at the mercy of the storm, but unwilling to move. I could not leave that place or fail to join the trees in their song. As the paean rose into the night, faint voices seemed to weave together from all around - the grass, the flowers, the vines, the earth itself - all were blended in a melody as ancient as the universe. Maybe as ancient as God. Who could say when the first hymns of praise were sung, or who - or what - sang them?

The night and the storm swept on. As the rain slowed, the song faded into a whisper. The trees ceased their dance and became still. The ground sighed in relief and haze rose like a multitude of spirits from the grass. The fireflies, circled in golden halos of mist surged upward again, taking back their territory in the damp air. I got to my feet. The evening was passing, and I was tired; time to seek dry clothing and a soft bed. But even though I shut the night outside when I entered my house, the beauty of the darkness, the storm, and the song of the earth followed me all the way into sleep.

The Adventures of the Midnight Wiener

As told from the perspective of Oskar, a most bold, magnificent wiener dog.

1:28 am, Saturday morning, May 17th, 2014
I am awakened from a deep sleep by a mysterious sound from the living room. The noise itself is unexceptional. In quality and character it is a dull noise - a thumping noise as if a large bag of meaty bones has been dropped on the floor and dragged across it, slowly. Tauntingly. As if to say, "Oskar...come and get me...Oooossskar...you know you want to..."

I immediately begin to warn my new human, who may not be as finely attuned to midnight noises as I. The alert system begins with a few wiggles and grunts, and then escalates to full-throated baying if the human does not immediately respond. The red-haired human - whom I suspect to be a long-lost relative of mine, since our fur is the same color - awakens and jumps out of bed, also barking. I take a mighty leap from the mattress and slide across the floor into the living room, ready to attack and possibly devour the intruding bag of bones.

But nothing is there. Hmmm. I don't understand. I am quite sure I heard...but no. The only inhabitant of the living room is the large yellow fur-ball that my new human calls the "Tucker". He is sitting by the kitchen door with his tongue lolling out. I could come to two conclusions. One, he was here when the bag of bones was introduced and he consumed them all in one vicious chomp. Or two, he himself IS the bag of bones, and he is engaging in the time-honored ritual of flopping his butt upon the floor and dragging himself across it with his front feet. This is a signal used by some of our kind and it is intended to convey the urgent need to defecate. Upon sniffing the air, I decide immediately upon the latter. My heart is heavy at the loss of the imagined bones, but I shrug off my disappointment. If a poop-outing is to occur, then I plan to take part. I join the Tucker at the door and make it known to my new human that I, too, could use a walk.

My human barks and growls a bit more, and as I am coming to understand her particular language, I can glean that she is not enthusiastic about going outside in the middle of the night. But she dons the detachable skin that humans often wear, and puts on her detachable feet, and collects leashes. By this time, we are joined by the small, grey, curly-haired dog-demon who also inhabits the house. I am not sure what this creature's name might be since she is called by several appellations. The most common one seems to be the Crab, and as it suits her nature, it may indeed be her name. The Crab dances, which is her own particular pre-defecation ceremony. My human attaches leashes to each of our collars and opens the door.

The Tucker is the first one out, by virtue of his size and impatient nature. He lunges away and his leash slips through my human's paw. She barks loudly, but the Tucker has already disappeared. Her anger is palpable and I try to calm her by joining her in barking insults after the ridiculous furball who has disappeared into the night. My human fastens my leash and that of the Crab to a long cord that is fixed to a metal tree in the yard. Then she begins searching and calling out after the Tucker.

I feel much pity for my human. I know that she does not like to be awakened in the night and I also know that she does not appreciate cold, brisk air. I would gladly join her in her search but she has apparently deemed it necessary for me to oversee the Crab's defecation. So I wait, occasionally voicing my approval for both the hunt and the toileting, though only one seems to be fruitful. My human comes back empty handed and growling. She detaches both myself and the Crab and takes us back into the house. Standing at the door, she occasionally pushes it open and calls out the Tucker's name, interspersed with irresistibly sharp whistles. Each note drills to the core of my brain. How can the Tucker ignore them? Unless, of course, he is not within the sound of the call.

Then, on the breeze wafting through the barely open door, I hear a sound that chills my very bones. It is the mocking voice of the neighbor dog, calling out epithets of such rampant villainy that I am immediately cast into the deepest rage. All my sense leaves me and I must - MUST - find and vanquish the vile creature. I dart through the door into the night, heedless of the barks and calls of my human.

Plunging through the deep grass, I fly into the darkness. The cold, crisp air fills my lungs and I bay out my fury at the ridiculous neighbor dog, whose parentage is of the lowest sort, and whose mental capacity I compare to that of a field-mouse. He replies in kind and the battle is on! Bounding fast, I leave my human's yard and fling myself through the fence and into the trees. Now silent, I tunnel through the overarching vegetation on the forest floor, intending to arrive at the neighbor dog's enclosure unanticipated and thereby win the day.

But then...something goes wrong. The wretched creature is silenced by the angry howls of it's human. The blood-lust leaves me and I am standing in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by oily vines, with the faint calls of my human reverberating in my ears. The disappointment and anger in her voice are unmistakable. The sharp, whistled notes are irresistible. I am a long way from home, in disgrace, and at the bottom of a deep ravine. I turn and look up the slope, which seems interminably long. My human is calling and I must go, but perhaps I could find a quicker way back than up the tangled embankment. I begin nosing my way along the bottom of the vale. Yes - there ahead, a gentler rise. It has been cleared of the ridiculous vines and the way seems easier. My human's calls grow fainter, but I have no doubt she is still waiting for me. The punishment may be severe, but I soldier on.

I reach the end of the vegetation and stop in dismay. There is a barrier here - not the wooden-rail fence of my human's boundary, but one made of long, twisted strands of metal. I must not be vanquished! I sniff along the boundary, and am rewarded by a shallow trough in the earth, which is just big enough to accommodate my long, narrow form. I wiggle through. Then, unexpectedly, a bolt of lightning streaks down my spine! I howl in agony and lunge forward, bolting into uncharted territory. I hear my human's answering yelp of sympathy. What strange wizardry is this, to call down lightning from a clear night sky? I tremble in terror.

Get hold of yourself! I say sternly. I cannot - must not - be defeated! My human calls - I must go. I get up and steel my bones. Looking around, I determine my direction, and begin the journey. Going is easier here without the impeding vines, but my path must take me perilously close to the source of the lightning. I shiver, but press forward. Then, from out of the darkness, I see a cluster of glowing eyes. A low sound, sinister and bleating, flows past me. A strong odor fills my nostrils and I choke, gagging on the musky scent...the scent of GOAT. Rage fills me - there is little I detest as much as I detest GOAT. Daily these creatures, who live in the enclosure next door, mock and scorn me, shaking their horned heads and calling out in their hideous GOAT voices, putting on shows of strength by clashing their skulls together and threatening to trample or even eat me, the Crab, the Tucker and, possibly, my new human. I have inadvertently stumbled into GOAT territory, one lone soldier in the midst of an enemy encampment. And my human lies beyond it - there is no way out but through.

I set my teeth and prepare a volley of barks designed to make even the boldest GOAT shiver. And then - oh then! Wonder of wonders! I see a dancing light and hear the sharp notes of my human's whistle! The GOATS retreat in terror. My human is crouching by the gate, and I see her paw reaching through, showing me the way out. The way out! I muster my strength and gallop toward her, casting a contemptuous yelp over my shoulder at the GOATS as I pass them. I plunge through the opening and into my human's arms.

She growls over me for a bit but carries my tired, shivering form back toward the house. A warm light glows from the door. Through the glass I can see the Crab and yes, even the Tucker, waiting. My human warns me of the dangers of running away into the night, but there is no punishment - while grumbling, she also wraps me in a warm blanket which feels divine to my cold, wet fur and skin. She rubs me dry and deposits me in the bed, then growling about something called "poison ivy", she douses her arms, hands, and feet in a foul smelling, clear liquid. I can only conclude that Poison Ivy is the name of the neighbor dog who started this mess, or possibly, one of the demon GOATS next door.

As she finally settles into the bed next to me, I realize that I never had the chance to complete my defecation. But the bed is warm, and my human is tired. It can wait until morning. I lower my noble head, snuggle into my blanket, and sleep the sleep of the just, the righteous, the pure.