Home Repair Book Roundup

First off, I am a very anxious person. Like a lot of very anxious people, I've gotten good at working with my quirk--I sublimate a lot of energy into work, cleaning, physical activity, and a monstrous amount of planning. The thing that causes me the most amount of anxiety? My house.

I own an old house, a fixer upper I got a great deal on because it had been a rental for 10 years and had had a list of unfortunately lazy owners. It's still a fixer upper. It's a cute little house, but I feel bad about it because it just seems to decay. I am not a handy person, despite my Slovak heritage. All that lends is a good hand with noodles and a love of bright paint. I grew up in new houses. My parents? Ingenious, but not handy. My ex thought he was handy, but--no.

Which all lends to this story.

I got a call yesterday to take an emergency foster of a cat. She's pregnant, has bad ear mites, but so sweet. She was almost certainly someone's pet who got turned out. And if you don't spay your cats, guess what? They wind up with a belly full of kittens. I agree, because I've got the space and a soft heart. So I ready up the red room because it is mostly clear of crap. I put in a litter pan, a quilt on the floor, open the windows and turn on the fan. We get her settled, and she seems happy. She immediately climbs into the window to spy on the street.

We have some trouble opening the door to let ourselves out, but finally the latch catches and we manage to get it open. Uh oh.

I come back to the room a little while later to check on her, and I can't get the door open. It is stuck. Crap.

So I work on the outside taking it apart. I've done this before, all you have to do is loosen the little screw.......

And within 2 hours I have made it worse. Not only can I not see what the deal is with the latch, and I've taken apart the outside lock's hardware, I've also in a fit of boneheadedness locked the deadbolt, which is also now refusing to move. The hinges are on the other side, so I can't take it off the hinges and get to the kitty that way. The only bright thing I've done is remove the lock on my bedroom door to see how it works, because it's the same.

I've managed to pass her food and water under the door and kitty is taking the whole situation quite well.

I hit the books. I have quite a selection, mostly bought used and published in the 1970's. With an old house, things are not as tidy as they are written of in newer publications. I had a furnace that was the same age as my mom. My washer drains into a sink and then a big hole in the basement floor. My windows are wood, the kind the historical preservation folks are always begging you to not replace with vinyl--"just reglaze, and they'll be like new!" The newer books have short memories.

Fortunately, locks are simple. If you can't take it apart, and you can't get it to catch using liquid graphite, you have to call a locksmith. Shit.

I go to bed, ready to try again in the am.

I'm psyching myself to try again when Bill the Dog Walker calls. He's going to take care of my cats later this week. I've never met him before, so he's going to stop by to meet me and Mencken and Cain. He arrives and he's very nice. I explain that I have another cat, but he can't meet her because she is locked up. He offers to take a look at the problem.

Now it would be really great if Bill had been a locksmith who gave it all up to wrangle dogs and cats, right?

No such luck. But he agrees with my assessment of the situation, which is that we have to see the other side of the door. Which means

1) going to the Tuscan Nightmare Room, which is full of clutter,
2) propping open a window,
3) climbing across the lower roof
4) tearing open the screen to the red room
5) climbing in.

Bill is quite the second story man.

Preggers is glad to see us, and pretty affectionate considering the lunatic circumstances. Once again, my suburban hi-life is quite the modern Wodehouse tale.

We look at the lock, and try the key from that side, but it's hopeless. Even if his references don't check out, I'd still give Bill my business for being so helpful and game.

We crawl back, this time with the cat.

Bill bops off to his other clients, and I get her settled. I go to work on the door. It takes me an hour to get the faceplate off. I can't move the hinges. It's hopeless. I'm going to have to hit Ingersoll's tomorrow and chat up the locksmith on the way home.

I turn around, and little kitty has joined me in the red room. It takes spunk for little Preggers to crawl across the roof, and you've got to admire her for that. I take her back across and shut the window this time.

Ay yi yi.

I've decided the cat's name is Gimlet. I really needed a drink after this fiasco.

As for the home repair books, I recommend:

• The Home Problem Solver by Don Vandervort. This book really breaks down the home systems simply and tells you what the problem likely is, what you might be able to fix yourself and when to call in a professional. Like a locksmith.
  
• The Time Life Book of Repair and Restoration. I like that each chaper starts with a list of the projects detailed rated by skill level, and tells you how long it should take and what equipment you'll need.
  
• Time Life Books: Your Old House. This one has good pictures. I found the lock diagram really helpful.
  

Too Grimm

Four copies of Grimm's Fairy Tales I have found! Four! In one house.

Maybe one of the cats is really Puss In Boots.

In other news, I successfully resisted temptation to by The Virago Book of Fairy Tales for $6. Edited by Angela Carter, whimper. It was really hard.

Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince

Oh, Snape. I still feeel you could be redeemed with a steady diet of home cooking, the love of a good woman, and some Muggle shampoo.

Mr. and Mrs. Bo Jo Jones--Ann Head

One of the downsides of my particular field of librarianship is that I don't get to follow the trends of literature the way I might like to. And what with having a job and school and such, it really cuts down on any personal research and learning you might be interested in. Such as this--at one point I was trying to amass a collection of teen pregnancy books to do some sort of anthropological/sociological bibliographic essay on portrayals of the pregnant girl in American culture over time. Yes, I do wish it was 1925 and I could join the Red Bank Women's Club to keep myself up, what with my college degree and all.

Anyway, I came across this book in paperback in my weekly cleanout and immediately sat down to reread it. For a book written in 1967 about teens who have to get married, s-e-x awfully obliquely implied. I think that when I first read this book I didn't get it at all. But I keep returning to the story because of my own romantic views. To whit, there is none in this novel. July and Bo Jo are not having any sort of great affair when they marry--they barely know each other and admit as such. But marriage is what they choose and continue in. It isn't the flush of infatuation that keeps them together, or even emotional intimacy, but the commitment and the ideal of growing together. It's more adult than most novels in that way.

Which says a lot about me, too.

Sights Unseen--Kaye Gibbons

I threw this back to Genevieve as a recommendation for more in the genre of Southern Lit Lite. I hadn't read Sights Unseen, but did love another book of Gibbons's, Charms For The Easy Life.

Sights Unseen is Hattie's reminiscence of growing up with her mother, a manic-depressive back in the 1940's-1960's, a time of few treatments and resources of families with mental illness. The Barnes do the best they can--monitoring her mother Maggie's unstoppable manic streaks, trying to keep her safe and oriented during her depressive cycles. It's a story that is often repeated in Southern culture--you're crazy/eccentric but it's allowed, keep up an appearance to the outside, and the family as a unit that is at once divided from and a part of the community. It's a stressful situation, but a workable one until Maggie's final transgression that puts her in the hospital for treatment.

The refreshing thing about this story is that the adult Hattie, while recognizing that her childhood was at times horrible due to her mom's illness, doesn't hold a grudge. And while it's a sad and brutal story that she tells, it is a redemption tale for Maggie. Her hospital stay and treatment allows her remake her life, while acknowledging the pain she's caused. It's a mature and grave tale that reminds you of the forgiveness you have to summon within your family sometimes..

In Praise of Robert Newman

There have to be other 30-somethings or refugees of odd library systems who remember this series fondly. Robert Newman was a British writer (I'm pretty sure he's dead now) who wrote a great series of Victorian mysteries for preteens. They starred Andrew Tillett, the son of a famous actress, and his friend Sara Wiggins, a girl of various talents due to her previous life in the toughest parts of London in the 1890's. Together they assisted their friend Inspector Peter Wyatt (later Andrew's stepfather) in solving various crimes--discreet murders, jewel thefts, lies, assumed identities, blackmail, fraud.

I loved anything British in those days. And anything that took place in the Victorian age. One of the things that I notice (correct me if I'm wrong) and think is a shame is that most kids' lit these days is so contemporary-based, as if the ability to imagine the past or another place is gone. And these books are pretty much candy--well-written, a starting place for stories or imaginings, but not really preaching or setting examples. Which kids need, I think--my life as a kid sucked, and I lost myself in this sort of literature gladly.

I've got two of the series, The Case of the Baker Street Irregular and The Case of the Somerville Secret, up on half.com. I found them during my daily trawl through the bookstacks, and since I don't have any kid friends to pass them onto I hope someone else with more space who's trying to recapture his or her childhood buys them to read or pass along to children.

Ruddy Gore--Kerry Greenwood

So why is wealth, no worries, and absolute confidence and style so annoying in a modern American character but so enjoyable in a 1920's flapper living in Melbourne, Australia? Such is the mystery at the core of the Phryne Fisher series. Poisoned Pen Press is doing us a favor by becoming the US publisher of these tales--not just the current stories but the backlist too, it looks. They also have stylin' dustjackets. Which is good, because when I found them 3 of the 14 were available from CPL, and another 3 were in Ohiolink but did not circulate. And I did find them used, but at $25+ per paperback. Yipes!

So yes, these books are candy but delightful. Phryne barely breaks a sweat as she investigates her crimes, armed with money, a title, a lady's maid, two adopted teenage daughters and a Chinese boyfriend. I love the Australian details. This one has Gilbert and Sullivan, missing babies, a haunted cast, poisonings and the obligatory murder by spotlight. A quick read, totally beachy.

Pad--The Guide To Ultra-Living by Matt Maranian

It's called maturity when you finally realize that you are who you are and you can't change it. For me, it was finding this book after a couple years and realizing that while I might admire offbeat decor and secretly want to be someone who paints her ceiling gold and has a tree growing into her house--it's not me. I am a woman of sober temperment and stripped down tastes. It's just too much visual stimulation, not to mention trouble, to encrust my bathroom with glued on toys. And think of the resale value!

So I'm not a creative ultra-living kind of girl. Whatever.

Never Let A Man Tell You What To Buy

For you may wind up shelling out $18 for a crappy book like Men and Whales by Richard Ellis, which he thinks is so funny for you to purchase due to your 20+ year phobia of whales.

And you have only yourself to blame, you ninny.

You Can Have Too Many Books

Here are some signs that you have too many books:

• Forgetting what you own

So for the last reference class last semester the topic was fun or offbeat reference books. And one of the items handed around was the 1979 edition of Trader Vic's Bartender's Guide. Now, for a girl who has maybe 10 drinks a year, I am mad for cocktails. Yes, it is always 1955 at my house. Or maybe 1995. So there were a bunch of drinks I'd like to make, notably an Aunt Agatha (gotta have that recipe handy for breaking out the Wodehouse) and I made a note to try and track down a copy to buy.

Fast forward one month. I am emptying a box of books from the attic stash and what do I see? The 1972 edition (with dustjacket) of Trader Vic's Bartender's Guide. It's a larger volume than the library book and has the recipe I was looking for.

This scenario has been repeated with a variety of books, notably Persuasion (2 copies), Grimm's Fairy Tales (complete and unabridged is the only kind I buy, and I've got two copies that I know of and suspect there are more in the attic) and a great YA book called Midnight Hour Encores (purchased again and again and again.....)

• Not being able to access the books (or information)

So I had this little patch on my calf, an irregular spot with a reddish border and more normal looking skin within. I googled ringworm images and figured that's what it might be. Problem was, I was going out of town and couldn't work in a trip to Dr. Julie for at least 10 days (I was going to SLA, the pipe saga, etc). What to do?

Well, I remembered that in one of the Judy Bolton mysteries she had ringworm. And since those novels were mostly written before the advent of antibiotics and antifungals, she bathed her ringworm spot in boric acid or hydrogen peroxide. Something like that. But I couldn't remember which book this happened in and the books are located in at least three different spots. Oh well.

The patch seems to have gone away on its own, but the lesson is that if you can't find what you need informationwise, it's useless. This is how treasures get lost, people!