Friday, February 25, 2005
Page 15
AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)
No Place Like Home—Thank Goodness
By J’AMY PACHECO
‘Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.
—From the opera Clair, the Maid of Milan
Honey, I think the house is broken again!
—Me
It’s been said that a man’s home is his castle. Maybe it’s because I’m female, but mine is more like an albatross.
Allow me to explain (because you know I’m going to do it anyway).
Last spring, I moved into a brand new tract home. It was a former model, and we were the first family to slide in sock-clad feet across its pristine wood floors. We were the first to eat dinner in the dining room, the first to sleep in its bedrooms and the first to…well, never mind about the bathrooms.
Anyway, it was kind of nice moving into a house that had already been painted and papered, even though I hated the dog bones stenciled on one of the bedroom walls. That was easy to fix.
Other things proved more difficult.
I should have seen it as a bad sign when I noticed part of the backyard was sinking. One day, while pushing the lawnmower across the lawn, I fell into a hole that had not been there the first time I mowed.
My husband and I puzzled over this development, then filled the hole with new dirt and waited for new grass to cover it.
It never occurred to us that the hole might signal a warning of things to come. And come those things did.
For reasons I’ve forgotten (and probably blocked), I decided one day to shower in the guest bathroom. No sooner did I get lathered up than the water began to warm up. Warmer and warmer it grew, until it was downright hot and I was unable to stand in the stream. As I moved the handle toward the “cold” side, the water got hotter. I shut it off and screamed for a plumber.
One eventually came, and revealed the answer to my burning question: the handle, and everything attached to it, had been installed upside-down. The thing that was supposed to prevent the water from becoming too hot actually did the opposite—it prevented the cold water from coming in. Sheesh.
The hot water came as something of a surprise, because ordinarily, we have trouble getting hot water in our upstairs bathrooms. Taking a shower or bath means running the hot water for a good five minutes before it finally warms up enough to be comfortable. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve grown impatient and washed my child’s face with cold water. (But I’ll bet she could.)
It seems we’re destined to deal with cold in our house, because we always seem to be shivering. Despite its double-paned windows, the house is unbelievably drafty. I can’t even plug in an appliance without feeling a cold breeze coming from the outlet.
The heater works great—in one bedroom. The entire house can be in the throes of a sub-arctic winter, but the master bedroom will always be a toasty 85 degrees.
That wouldn’t be so bad, if we didn’t spend most of our time in the frozen food section of our house.
We’ve had our chandelier short out, our alarm panel go crazy and one of our electric smoke alarms beep repeatedly whenever we put in a new backup battery.
When I run hot water down my kitchen sink (after the requisite five-minute warm up, of course), a switch on the wall nearby clicks until the water cools.
The electrician who came out assured me everything is okay, and acted like he thought I was nuts. (Who wouldn’t be, carrying around a house-sized albatross?)
Last weekend, after enduring days and days of rain, I went to look out my living room window and noticed my socks immediately became wet.
Pulling a large, upholstered chair away from the window, I discovered our ship of fools had sprung a leak. I’m not sure where it came from, but the wall under the window was soaked, and the paint around it was bubbling.
I asked my husband what I should do. “Bail, Honey,” he said wryly.
I’m not sure if he meant it literally or figuratively, but I got a bucket out, just in case. Because the way things are going with our house, I have a feeling I’m going to need it.
Regularly.
Copyright 2005, Metropolitan News Company