Asbestos Abatement. Or, Why Our House Smells So Bad Right Now

 The internet is a place of many opinions, and it is the opinion of some DIY folks and some contractors that asbestos tile can be left if its not cracking or flaking away.  Or that it can be covered.  We rolled the idea around for awhile but ended up choosing abatement.  This process is now complete, and though it cost us dearly, I feel this was a good thing for us to have done in our situation.  

From the beginning our basement has been the icky/scarey kind of basement.  But it had potential, and we saw that it really wanted to change.  And we will help it to change, as finances allow, into a place we feel we can go down to without having to put shoes on first.  Up until now, this has not been the case.   

We always recognized that our basement has got character.  And asbestos. 

A marlin basement tile

 So many basements built around the same time as this house have asbestos.  I'd say many of the houses in our price range had some asbestos somewhere.  Do you leave it?  Do you remove it?  Do you cover it?  Many people are in the cover-it-up-and-forget-about-it camp.  Probably due to the prohibitively high cost of asbestos abatement.  To be clear, I didn't want to pay for this either.  After all, it wasn't cracking.  Put some carpets down!  No big deal!  Fun orange and green tile! 

Hunting dog basement tile

Character, right?  We liked the quirky kitsch.  Not only the (admittedly hideous) tile floor, there was also the weird dog mural.

Dogs at the bar

Behind the possibly functional wet bar in the basement there is some sort of pasted-up mural of dogs at a bar.  I first saw this and mentally facepalmed.  Of course, now I kind of love this thing.  It's weird as heck, sure, but there are dogs at the bar.  Combined with the orange and green floor, the overall effect made D just fall in love with the house's ... is "charm" the right word?  Yeah, I'm not sure about the word "appeal" either.  Because the truth is, we never wanted to go down there in stocking feet, and even though the exercise bike is down there, I never wanted to ride it.  I mean, come on, there's asbestos down there. 

This part of the floor looks old and shabby, but fine.

Our friends didn't want to hang out at the fun, dog-mural bar, because, you guessed it, there's asbestos down there.  Our tile was intact in some places, cracked in others, and gone in other places.  The tile had long since given up along the walls, and in the corners of the basement.  And the black, carcinogenic mastic was just sitting there on the exposed surface.  The same surface the cats were walking on. Cringe. 

by one wall

by the laundry area and what used to be a bathroom

random peel-up and breakage

 Like I said, I'm not fond of footing this kind of bill.  But this is our home, and if nothing else I can make sure it is a safe place for our family and friends.  We weighed other options, covering it up with rugs or carpeting or cement, but none of them was a very good option for our situation. 

This process took two days, three contractors.  After the first day it was all just sealed up.  With the giant condom balloon coming out of the window.  This was from the air vacuum they had set up down there.  The tiles had all been removed, and all of the special tiles, the marlin, the hunting dog, the incredibly cheesy anchor, none of those had survived the process.  They had just fallen to pieces.  

After the second day, the mastic had been removed.  They used some sort of low VOC solvent to clean the crap off of the floor.  My god, this house smells terrible.  After awhile its like I forget to sense it.  My nose just ceases its distress transmissions.  And then every time I leave the house, to go to work or even for just a few moments to water the plants, I walk in and the smells hits me all over again.  It's really, really powerful.

I was going to post photos of what it looks like now, but I had to work today, on a Saturday, and the day has just gotten away from me.  So even though there are photos of the asbestos-free (and don't forget utterly rank) basement, I'll not post them this evening.  Call it a tease. 

Also D has been in the yard the past few days, and made some new discoveries.  It also looks quite different!  See you next time! 

Our Asbestos Den

 These are the lovely heuchera I bought from the garden center.   

Twenty Dollah.  They love me long time. (ideally. they are perennial.)

  

Potted, Day 2, haven't killed it yet. 

 I was checking on the ones I potted the day before, you know, making sure I hadn't already killed them.  And I caught a glimpse of this over the porch railing, looming upward inappropriately.  Yikes.

What the... phallus?

Yes, it looks like our basement is blowing a condom balloon.  One more day of work and the contractors should be done. Today they are laying the solvent, and then we will be asbestos free, environmentally friendly. 

 

Yesterday this was the entry to our basement.  I can't wait to see what it looks like.  Although, it'll probably be gross.  If it is we are just planning to go to the Re-Store in Cinci to get some giant/ugly/cheap carpet remnants.  Or, if its hideous beyond all tolerance, we'll have to epoxy the floor right away.  Fingers crossed. 

Our Asbestos Den.  Won't you come in?



The cats were locked in the office all day with D, who worked from home. This morning it was stuffy and smelled like moist cat food this morning. Mm, liver flavored.  We give them the moist food when we feel guilty.  True statement.  Normally they have the run of the whole house, and the office has only one perch by a single window.  But yesterday, and today, they are unable to terrorize eachother with stalking and ambushing, as they are wont to do, plus the fact that they couldn't get away from eachother, it's probably like Meowshwitz to them. 

 

Meowshwitz

Hopped Up, Worn Down, but Environmentally Safe (or soon to be)

We met Murphy the dog.  He is a good looking dog, and he's happy to see you and jumps on you with his big paws and untrimmed nails, which isn't so pleasant if you have bandages all up and down your arms in an attempt to cover your gross rash compliments of a mystery allergen.  He's barking because he wants to play with you, with the dog playing fetch across the park, with the joggers, with the bird that flew overhead that he thought was a ball.  And it is a piercing bark.  Yes sir, it is. 

And he dashes back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, bounding with somewhat more energy than I'd have expected given the description "likes to pace."  He has a black spot on his tongue, like he has a giraffe in his parentage.  He's cute.  I'm nervous about him.  There's a lot of energy, he is not trained, and I'm concerned he'll bowl the cats right over.  Maybe he just hadn't had his walkies that day.  But it made me lean toward Bob the Prison Dog.  Of course maybe he's ADHD too.  You just don't know a dog until you meet the dog.  But I have to admit it.  I left the meeting with, dare I say it, doggie disappointment. 

As we ponder a home visit with Murphy the dog, we have been trying to empty out the basement in preparation for the great Asbestos Abatement.  Something D has finally come around to.  After all this time, we still had many boxes to go through, full of stuff from my childhood (thanks parents) and unbelievably, even more books.  Which makes no sense.  Somehow they all fit in our shelves in the apartment. (didn't they?)  Yet, even those same shelves made the journey with us, and even though we have made like 4 trips to Half-Price Books, and each time we went laden with like 40lbs of stuff we weren't likely to re-read, the books still overpower the shelves and have cascaded into small piles like prarie dog-sized monuments growing up from the floor.  Not that you can see them at present.  Oh no, they are buried. 

Because emptying out the basement was like bailing a sinking boat.  You bring up that chair, you heft up that rickety shelf, and there's always more.  The old trumpet.  The cat boxes.  Still more.  More and more and more in a tidal wave that has finally settled into every corner and space available for it to lurk passive aggressively at me. Boxes and plastic bins have filled up the guest room, the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen.  These formerly tidy spaces are now warehouses of stuff and nonsense.  Again.  Yes we've been paring down.  Dejunking.  Love the feeling.  Love it.  And yes, I'd like to throw this stuff out the front door too, but those are for christmas.  And those are for thanksgiving.  And those are winter clothes.  And that's the humidifier which we might need this winter.  And those over there were gifted to me by any of an assortment of now dead relatives.  So they stay in our brand new obstacle course until we can hide it all in the basement again.  The sheer volume of crap in front of my face is maddening. 

The walls of the basement need to be washed with TSP, to get rid of the mineral deposits and other unsavory things before we drylock it.  And now that its empty, I don't ever want to face doing this again if I don't have to.  So even though I was going to drylock over the winter, maybe its better to get all that nonsense out of the way in one fell swoop.  Opinions? 

I had asked a friend to fill in for me to teach a class last night, which got me down. Wednesdays are normally the highlight of my week.  But the asbestos crew was showing up at 8am this morning (they did turn up at 8, yes).  I wandered over to a garden center on my lunch break to cheer myself up.  Garden centers are all closed at 5pm here, and I work until 6, so I cannot even window shop after work.  I found a flat of heuchera for $20 bucks, which I thought was just wonderful.  This was the bright spot of my day, these silver scroll heuchera.  I love love love coral bells.  I've wanted to plant flowers, I have so wanted a garden.  I've email bombed D so many times with the kinds of plants I wanted.  I have had plans within plans.  But my desires to cultivate have been thwarted by groundhogs (ninja groundhogs, no less), vine orgies, and unhappy buried concrete surprises.  Now at last, I thought, I'd get some color and texture (in perennial form!) in my yard. 

D didn't feel like helping me work outside last night, and I didn't really have much time to spare (because the basement hadn't yet been unclogged).  So I had two pots to plant some heuchera in, which I did, excitedly.  And then there were no more pots, but that's ok because I knew where I wanted to plant the heuchera, by the deck which would shelter them from too much sun but would still give them a dose of rays without allowing them to scorch. 

But tree roots.  There are big tree roots.  Almost as thick as my pinky.  Foiled, but not defeated I dug elsewhere, in the far part of the sidebed.  Tree roots. Big ones.  And orange-colored ants.  But mostly big tree roots.  So I dug elsewhere, a little further away.  Tree roots.  I dug four holes in four different places and was presented with thick tree roots from the gdarn tree that his its limbs splayed like a big old yard whore.  And I fear damaging the roots this tree is massive and old, and could crush our house for vengeance. 

I have no idea what to do with the heuchera I bought.  Tonight I'll try to buy a planter for the front porch or something.  On the side of the house they'll get too much shade.  And be invisible.  On the front of the house I'm afraid they'll get too much strong sun.  So I threw my arms in the air, mad at myself for trying despite the trail of dead plants in my wake and all my ill-conceived plant plans.  I feel at a loss but I have to do something with them.  The planter is my only idea.  The tragedy is that they're perennials.  Most of them won't survive overwintering in a planter, I bet.  I wanted them in the ground to come back and play next year.  That's why you buy perennials in the first place.  But I've got to make do, and try to do right by the plants I purchased.   

I consoled myself last night with manual labor and medium lifting, breaking open the sores on my arms.  The basement looks like a yawning chasm once more, with asbestos tile in 70's colors.  Soon it'll look totally different, but clean and environmentally sound, and not prone to giving any of us mesothelioma.  I'm not real eager to repeat the process when we put it all back, but hopefully I'll be normal again by then (dermatologically speaking).  And I have tomorrow to look forward to, wherein I'll be cutting a check for asbestos and mastic removal to the tune of $Unholy Amount of Dollars because I am made of money, tra-la-la.  The steroids are giving me vicious moodswings, as I now recall not so fondly from the last time I was on them for about a month.  That was an epic red disaster there.  My heart races at random times during the day, and also when I try to sleep, and I have strange jitters.  My rash isn't gone, and though yesterday it got worse, today its not worse (nor is it better).  So I just have to be patient.  Patience.  ha haha hahahaaa.  omg I'm going insane.

Photos tomorrow.  Maybe. 

Coral Bells photo from The Primrose Path. 

Good News, and News that Sucks

Yesterday I took off work to go to the doctor, which went well.  It’s good luck within bad luck really, because I think I like this practice and I’ll be sticking with them.   I used to accompany people to doctors visits all the time when I was a translator, and I’m well accustomed to the brusque office staff, interminable waiting periods, and chilly physicians.  But actually everyone was nice, and the office ran pretty smoothly.  Even the wait was probably less than ten minutes.  And later I emerged triumphant with a prescription for steroids for the mystery dermatitis caused by whatever it is that I’m allergic to.  And not a moment too soon! 

I also tried to change my name at the social security office so I could assume my married name.  That didn’t go so well, because I didn’t understand the documents I needed to have in order to submit the other documents.  But now I have all the puzzle pieces, I think, so I can put them together the next time I take a day off.  Which may be next month, when/if we pick up Bob. 

While I was home I got some unpacking and organizing done.  There’s really not much more, and it isn’t pertinent stuff.  It just has to be organized and out of the basement so we can have the contractor come in this week and do some work.  I went out to check on the still surviving plants (the jade, the astilbe, the parsley, and the tomato is barely hanging on, because its been attacked again) and the neighbor lady was out with one of her dogs, so I went to go say hello to them both. 

Turns out while we were wrapped up in the minutiae of our daily lives, and I was itchy and feeling sorry for myself, the woman who lives across the street from us was shot in Price Hill.  She’s a taxi driver (or was, she may find a new profession), and some people got in and asked for her money, and she gave it to them  but she had just started her shift.  They told her it wasn’t enough and they shot her in the face and in the shoulder. http://www.local12.com/news/local/story/Female-Cab-Driver-Shot-Twice-in-East-Price-Hill/g1g0imu8yEGcF9Jto2F-zA.cspx 

We haven’t introduced ourselves up and down the block.  We met some of the neighbors when one of the guys down the street saw us moving in, he came up and introduced himself and invited us to the picnic he was putting on for his family.  Some of the people on the block were there, and it was just really considerate and charitable.  We didn’t meet the woman at that time, but we have seen her around, and her kid plays in her front yard. 

I feel this urge, this ambivalent urge to go to her house and introduce ourselves, see if we can help her out at all.  Which is weird, because she doesn’t know us and we don’t know her.  And she's still in the hospital.  I'd probably overcompensate for awkwardness, act like a weirdo and just end up frightening her son.  Maybe I could get with some people in the neighborhood and we all pitch in and send her flowers at the hospital.  Or maybe that’s silly, because who cares about flowers when you've been shot in the face.  Maybe we can bring her and her family some… jello? 

I don't expect to get anything out of this.  Maybe they are all nice, sure, and this could be a nice neighborly beginning.  Hey, maybe she's a dick.  I don't know.  All I know is that this woman was out trying to earn her wage and somebody shoots her in the face just because she happens to be there.  Wrong place wrong time?  Or maybe it was premeditated and the gunman called up the cab service for the sole purpose of robbery.  Imagine how you feel at the end of an average day at work, only to have some douchebag shoot you in the face.  What if that doesn't even count as worker's comp?  It really sucks for her.  I’d like to, I don’t know.  Do something.  Do something for somebody who has recently endured suckage.   

Only I don’t know what to do.  What could I do?

So did I google it?  Yes.  Yes I did.

Unfortunately I got very inappropriate returns, like “sympathy for neighbor who has passed away,” or similar condolences.  I could just go and talk to the family, ask if they want to hear about some surgical references.  I could ask the surgeon who put the bone graft in my jaw.  Or is that insensitive and none of my business?  Maybe I should be anonymous. 

I must ponder this. 

In other news we may get to meet Murphy the dog tonight.  That's good news, I hope!  Fingers crossed for no scheduling conflicts. 

Chock full of finishings and an Edible Adventure : The BBQ Revue

This past weekend was another busy one.  We went to Oakley After Hours, which was kind of a let-down. i don't know what I was expecting, but I was a bit underwhelmed.  It didn't seem that much different than turnout at Oakley Square when there wasn't an OAH going on.  Soo....  The weather was great though. And I ate ice cream, so all is well. 

 

It wasn't what I expected, not that I can articulate what I expected exactly, but it was nice to just be outside and people watch.  Just to hang around and take a leisurely look at the town I live in.  People seem nice. Lots of young families, it seems.  Joggers.  Lots of dogs out for walks in the late summer evenings.  When you're not occupied with going from point A to point B, you can better take everything all in.  I like what I see though.  A friend once told me that so few people ever look up in life.  And so I often do when I'm looking at a building for the first time.  Some of these old touches on buildings, just these tiny embellishments, are a pleasure to see.  

We also did some work Saturday, and now have basically finished off the office for now.  We've made even more trips to 1/2 Price Books and have another Goodwill Box, and we've thrown away a mountain of old papers.  With the help our new friend, Roomba, this room looks so much better. 

bleh, the original dingy yellow

Suspicious grunge that I washed off the walls

Painted in Manhattan Mist

With a ton of crap from the apartment

Not perfect, but a hundred times better

Looks much nicer from the hallway

And we've made space for our little treasures

Because so much room was taken up by books, even after we've taken four boxes to 1/2 Price.  The shelf with the red boxes contains my collection of Post-Apocalyptic Literature.

Now we both have enough space to work!

We can walk in the office without twisting, hopping, or otherwise contorting, which is a vast improvement.  And now a lot of our old books have ceased to gather dust, as we set them free (to 1/2 Price, where they will indubitably not be free) to be loved again.  I'm really fond of this space, as I could never work in the old office because my desk was right next to the catbox.    

 

Yesterday we emptied out the apartment, scrubbed it down, and handed over the keys. Originally I had fantasized about letting a cleaning service handle it, but in the end we are much to cheap for that.  Taking my last looks at the old place was kind of sad.  I loved how the light came into the window in the morning, softly filtered by the tree.  Our balcony was loved by our cats, who don't understand why we don't let them out anymore.  And it was our first shared home, D and I and Yuuki, and then Max was miraculously returned to us.  Two years.  Man the rent was expensive.  D told me what we spent in total after living there for two years.  I can't repeat it.  It boggles the mind.  But we are finished with the apartment, and its like a weight has lifted.  I'm so thankful that that is over.   

 

We ended up being able to conclude the move-out inspection too, because they'd already had the place pre-rented.  Which means we probably are off the hook for next month's rent.  Which is just perfect. So we are finished with the apartment, and now have no need to ever return there.  It's unreal, because this move has been the most prolonged and annoying one I have ever experienced.  But being at home is wonderful.  Of course now we have a zillion home reno projects to do.  

On the way home we went to a local restaurant that we had often passed by.  We'd been curious about it because, well, there's a giant pig out front.  What's not to like?  

BBQ Revue

It was quiet when we went, although it was about 5pm so it was rather early for the dinner crowd.  It was a decent place, low key and reasonably priced, with a piece or two of conversation-inducing pig-inspired artwork.  We did like the painting of satan fiddling behind a massive pig about to attack frightened villagers.  At least that's what I got out of it.  Anyway, it was kind of like City Barbecue though D likes it better.  The people behind the counter were nice and patient with us first-timers as we umm-ed and uhhh-ed.  The mac and cheese was good, the beans were awesome.  The sauce is not my preference.  Peppery and smokey, which are good things.  I myself like a little more molasses or vinegar.  But that's a matter of personal preference.  But we had a pretty good experience, and we'll likely go back.  :)

And in closing, I have some sort of allergic reaction on my arms and stomach.  It's been getting worse and migrating, despite my best attempts to quarantine the spots.  I called around to five different physicians this morning, and only two offices accepted new patients, and one of them couldn't get me in until October.  But actually the office staff and the doctor were very nice, so its all turned out all right.  And I got some steroids to help me fight off my reaction.  I'm still super itchy though.  Trying to be patient and hoping the steroids finishes off all the red-and-itchiness.   

Nevermind That Whole Death Thing

On Tuesday there was a family emergency.  D's grandmother had been hospitalized and the family had mobilized.  The doctors pronounced that her kidneys were functioning at 5% and gave her the bleak prognosis of 3 to 4 days to live.  We cancelled all of our plans and arranged leave from our respective jobs, and mapped out our drive from Cincy to Kansas City, MO.  It's ten hours by car, but the cheapest flight for the two of us plus taxes/fees/etc. and renta-car would still have been over a thousand dollars.  D's parents left their home at 4am to make the trip.  As I have essentially no vacation time left, we had to plan carefully.  Do you drop everything and rush to be with everyone for her final moments?  Do you wait and arrive into town to pay your respects?  As she was not expected to regain consciousness, D elected to wait until Friday and drive through the night, and we would only miss work on Monday. 

Wednesday afternoon D's mother had informed us that it was all off.  Grandma had awoken, proclaimed herself to be fine and demanded to be released.  (knowing this family, I can totally believe that she did this)  But actually, shortly thereafter the hospital doctors found the problem. 

It turns out that her regular doctor had prescribed her a medication that is well known to interact with the blood pressure meds that she was already on.  He didn't catch the interaction and it caused her kidneys to shut down.  Toxins had built up in her body, she got a kidney infection, and all manner of other badness may lurk around the corner.  What sorts of secondary illnesses?  She's being monitored now, but the good news is that she's not expected to die at any moment. 

So grandma is ok at this point.  We're pleased, of course, but we're going to have to stay tuned.  But no Kansas City for us this weekend.  As you can imagine things were suddenly in an uproar, and then suddenly they weren't, leaving me feeling like I'd blown the whole thing out of proportion.  I was slightly embarrassed when I had to tell my boss nevermind about that whole death thing.  One of my Japanese colleagues told me the whole thing sounded like something you'd see on television (embarassingly close to outright saying "contrived"), and asked me if the family would sue, (because Americans are so often portrayed as litigation-happy).  I told him they could, as they seem to have grounds.  D told me they probably wouldn't, but would likely have have considered it if they'd discovered the prescription mistake too late to save her.     

I am looking forward to the Aglamesis ice cream social outide this evening.  The weather is so mild!  This weekend is Oakley After Hours, which I had thought we might try taking the dog to.  (see that?  I just ended that sentence with a preposition, I hate that)  But with my sudden cancellation of our weekend visit, my just-as-sudden un-cancellation attempt might have come off as flaky as hell.  Or the foster mom may not have gotten my email.  At any rate it's likely that circumstances have dashed our chances to meet Murphy the dog this weekend.

Murphy

 

Hopefully we'll get to meet him, maybe next week.  We still have our other contender in the running, Bob the Prison Dog, who gets out next month with eight weeks of training and a Canine Good Citizen Certificate. 

Bob

(The CGC is not only a real thing, it is also recognized in many communities, and is part this awesome program for dog breeds that formerly made it hard for dog owners to get home insurance!)

Doggie Elimination ... ew, not that kind.

This weekend we are going to make the acquaintance of a dog.  He is one of two dogs that we are currently considering adding to our family.  They are both young but not puppies (not puppies exactly).  They are both from rescues.  This process of internet shopping for dogs makes me feel a wee bit weird.  You meet them on the day you take them home.  No matter how glowingly they are praised in the write-up, you could bring them home and find happiness or find it's nothing but turds.  So, it's like we're surfing for an internet bride.  I guess. 

Anyway, the doggies.  One has no tail, and no explanation on where it went.  He is socialized to people, dogs, and cats.  He is proportedly calm and sweet and does not chew on stuff.  Looking at his photos, he has the best doggie smile!  I am a sucker for a good doggie smile.  Just look at this one!   This one too.  Or something more subtle?   Ok, I'll stop, but seriously, I recommend that you just google "doggie smile" and enjoy yourself.  It brightened my day. 

Having no tail has probably reduced his chances of being adopted.  I was kind of weirded out too, because I'd had no idea he was an amputee. (or, you know, was born that way).  Will the neighborhood kids tease my dog for not having a tail?!  I don't know.  How can we tell if he's playing with the cats, or with us, or if he's unhappy, without seeing the tell-tale wagging tail?  It's like sign language without hands!  But if he's as good as his foster mommy says, it shouldn't be an issue. 

The second dog has never been around cats (as far as we know). It'll be more difficult to socialize him to them, as he hasn't already been exposed to them.  It will either make for a much more difficult transition period or it won't be any problem at all.  We won't know until we meet him.  This dog is currently serving 8 weeks in prison, being house and obedience trained by convicts (similar to this program).  He looks fluffy and his coloring is gorgeous, and, supposedly, he will be obedience trained.  Can't beat that!  We cannot see him until he completes his training.  His "graduation day" is slated to fall on my birthday. 

    Jack wasn't at the rescue dog event on Sunday.  We decided to swing by and visit him, see how he was doing.  It's pretty obvious that he's been adopted.  D and I didn't say anything, just held hands and left the event.   

So we aren't sure which way things will go.  This weekend's visit will help us find out if Doggie # 1 is a good fit for our family.  A doggie will be good company.  I've been a little discouraged lately in my whole, "getting to know cincy" endeavor.  I got some advice on how to meet people.  Someone said I should look in the "platonic" section of Craigslist's Personals. 



Thanks for the Heebie-Jeebies



 No. Way.