Signs From Beyond

Friday, October 1, 2010

Sometimes I really wonder if I'm getting messages from beyond but am too obstinate to accept them.  The hubby keeps telling me we have ghosts, but I keep coming up with ways to debunk him.  On this occasion, I really have no way to debunk him. 

The guest room recently became a literal hot bed of activity. 

If you notice in my previous posts, after three years of stalling, I was finally able to finish remodeling that godforsaken room.  Though it was intended for my stepdaughter to use on her visits, she prefers to sleep in front of the TV on the couch, so it was relatively unused.

In August, we had unexpected company.  My stepson and his girlfriend came to stay with an open-ended departure date.  Two weeks into their visit, a foul stench started emanating from the guest room.  The only way to describe it:  cooking rotted-fish smell.  Initially, we accused the young folk of significant hygienic indiscretions.  What could possibly cause such a smell other than dirty laundry and harboring nests of rats that may have expired.  They tried to placate the hubby by sorting through all of their clothes, proving that they and their belongings were not the source.

I refused to go into the room beyond the doorway.  The smell was knocking me out.  My stepson went into the attic to see if something died in one of the rat traps.  It was August, after all, and a hot dead carcass would definitely be rank up there.  Nothing.  The crawlspace was clear as well. 

By 10:30PM, I was thoroughly frustrated and focused on putting the little guy to bed.  From his room next to the guest room, I could hear darling hubby performing a seance, coaxing the angry spirit to reveal itself.  The chanting was the last straw for me.  I stormed into the room and told them all to go to bed.  We would find the cause of the smell in the morning when we had the light of day to hunt through the attic.  For all we knew it could be a dead rat in the wall.  No one listened to me, but they coaxed me to come into the room all the way to get a good whiff.  The smell was apparently migrating throughout the room.  The girlfriend thought something had either touched or burned her leg.  I decided the three of them were getting hysterical.

I sent the hubby to try and put the kid to bed since he was starting to get panicky.  I moved close to the bed where they were claiming the smell was shifting and took a big inhale.  What was that smell underneath the rotting fish?  Was that hot metal?

I pointed at my stepson and said, calmly, "Help me move the bed away from the wall."
"Reach back there and check the plug."
"Ouch!" He said.  "It's hot!"
He pulled the plug out of the socket behind the headboard.  It was blackened and smoldering.
"Is the wall hot too?"
"Yeah, it is."
"Crap, I'm gonna have to call the fire department." 

After that, the real comedy of the evening ensued.  I wish I could get a copy of the 911 call.  The fire engine from the station down the street arrived quickly with all the lights going.  They were kind enough to not run the sirens.  Should I mention here that this is the second time I've had to make a call like this to the fire department?  The first time was about a month after we moved in and we kept smelling smoke in the hallway.  It turned out to be a short in one of the hallway recessed lights.  It only took me five years, but I finally replaced all those lights.  See the earlier post documenting THAT journey.

Anyway, the firemen (all very cute and tall I should mention) pointed their heat detector at the wall and determined some cutting was necessary.  I tried to find my trusty drywall knife, but I was a little panicked, and by the time I had found it, they had already used one of my utility knives to hack an opening around the guilty outlet.  Thankfully, the fire hadn't spread to the surrounding beams.  If we had waited until the morning, it could have been a different story.  They cut off the power to the bedrooms and told me to call an electrician to check it out.

The following day, the electrician confirmed it was a loose wire in the socket.  He went around to all my sockets and told me I should probably swap out most of them.  Really?  Another project?  Could I be so lucky?  It has been more than a month, but I haven't had time to work on this newest project yet.  I've been focused on repairing a burst pipe and knitting a sweater.  Those will have to be covered in another post.

So where does the message from beyond come in to this story?  No, I didn't waste your time with this long boring post just to mock my hubby for talking to the air in a room about to catch on fire.  This is where my skin crawls a little when I think about it.  The lamp that was plugged into the outlet used to belong to my now deceased friend, Tosha.  The picture on the wall over the outlet?  The painting I had done of her that used to hang in her bedroom until she passed.  Aside from me, hubby and the kids, Tosha is the only person that has ever come and stayed in the guest room.  She never got to see it remodeled.  For some reason, I really believe that she was trying to tell me something.  Or maybe she was trying to help me get up the courage to ask the guests to leave even though it was totally not their fault.  The fire ended up being a catalyst.


The wall has since been patched, spackled and repainted.  Since the departure of the guests, the little guy has taken to coming into our bed at night.  In order to avoid continuous sleep deprivation and constant neck pain, I leave for the guest room the minute he arrives to crawl over me.  I have to admit, it's nice to have my guest room back.  Thanks, Tosha, for seeing into my future and knowing that I would need my spare bedroom back.  And thanks for not burning down the whole house while trying to get my attention.   

Finished Business

My greatest skill is starting new projects and not finishing them.  I think I've managed to bring this skill to somewhat of an art form.  The house is always in a state of partial upheaval.  Sometimes, I think the universe is plotting against me, and other times, I acknowledge I'm just biting off more than I can chew.  I have bought into the DIY philosophy on more than one occasion with lackluster results as my skill set falls short of expectations.

A fine example of disappointing results would be the guest room.  It took three years, but I finally finished it - well, almost.  I still want to replace the closet doors with mirrored ones, but the funds aren't available anytime soon.  The color choice is outside my usual palette, but I actually like it.  I put quite a bit of thought into the curtains and the ribbon tie offs.  I spent almost a whole week trying to find bedding that would go well.  The room is still a catch-all for my arts & crafts, as well as my closet and jewelry room.  The one thing that is truly disappointing is the ceiling.  There are some spots where the drywall needs smoothing, patching or repair, and I opted to try and texture over the imperfections.  If anything, I think the texture just highlights the imperfections that much more.  They are the figurative giant zits on an otherwise pretty face.

The hallway project, which came to a grinding halt when the front doors fell apart, was finally picked up and completed.  We had some mis-steps with the color at first.  Our perception of blue in the store manifested itself in a very unsettling Pepto version on the wall.  I finally clued in and bought sample jars.  The color we finally settled on was something in the Ocean Spray naming category.  A little gray, a little dark, a little blue.  Very nice. 


I scoured Sacramento stores for picture rail.  I had my heart set on being able to hang paintings on decorative ribbon, chains, etc. along the hallway walls.  I wanted to be able to move things around as the mood struck me.  Now that the picture rail is up, it would be foolhardy to risk hanging anything heavy on the picture rail.  I should probably redo it, but I doubt I could do any better a job the second time around.  Besides, that much picture rail isn't cheap.

In addition to the big projects, I decided it was high time to fix that leaky toilet.  Five years of listening to it hiss at random in the middle of the night, sleeping in the guest room was never totally peaceful.  I bought one of those nifty kits and gutted the whole thing.

I gave myself a big pat on the back for this one.  It was a fast and easy project.  About a week later, I was emptying the trash and discovered some moisture on the floor.  Woops!  Apparently, I didn't tighten the two main bolts and I had some leakage.  I've decided to ignore the fact that all of the grout around the back of the toilet is now cracked.  That wasn't me, I didn't do it.  In less than a month, the plastic handle snapped right off.  I took MLH to Ace, and we picked out a new handle with metal parts.  Much more effective.  Live and learn.


 
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