But I Don't Care...

This week's blog entry will be relatively quick. I'm preparing my file for promotion, so I'm feeling the time crunch.

Taken September 6, 2014,
facing what will be the front door.

Saturday, we met Mike at the site while he was moving dirt around. We were specifically meeting him because we needed to get one of the sets of full-sized blueprints from him so that our masonry contractor can mark up exactly where the support for the masonry heater needs to go.

We have dirt! Last week, there was a ditch around the perimeter; now on most sides, there is dirt filling in around the foundation. Mike says that he'll need to bring in a bunch more to get the yard even with the foundation. You can begin to get a sense of how high up we will be: In the top picture, I'm standing on the front yard, and those are tree tops in the background. It looks like the view out of our back picture window will be into those tree tops.

Taken September 6, 2014, looking into the garage.

We also have a rock! For reasons I don't yet know, we have a rock in the middle of what will be our garage. I will ask Mike about it next time I get a chance, but I kinda like the idea that there will be some natural, non-conforming rock in the foundation. Of course, it could be a disaster waiting to happen, but that's why we listen to Mike. If he says it needs to go, it will go.

So now for the part I don't care about. While we were out at the site, Mike had some questions about roughing in the basement bathroom. We are planning on setting up the plumbing for a bathroom down there partly because I want a dog wash in the basement (and if you'd seen Durin today, you'd know why this is a necessity!). So Mike wants to know where he should put it. He has a preference, I'm assuming for logistical reasons, but he's not going to move forward without our say-so.

But actually, I don't care. I figure the basement may or may not ever be finished; it's certainly not on my top ten list of upgrades after we move in. And besides, most basements are a hodge-podge of oddly spaced and shaped rooms and dividers. I don't much care if ours joins that company.

Sketched September 7, 2014, the basement
bathroom, back doors, and dog wash.

But Mike wants to know. So this evening, I pulled out a copy of the floor plan and started sketching. At first, I think I mapped out a bathroom about twice the size of the master bathroom, which would be above this one. Out comes the eraser. Make it smaller. How will it work with the door out to the backyard? We might have to make a funky hallway and the bathroom will be separate from the bedroom/sitting room I'm imagining will be down there some day. Do I care about that?

Nope. I don't really care. But I do care that I am on the critical path, and I don't want Mike to be waiting on me. He wants the sketch this week; I'm really busy this week. Now is the kairotic moment.

Clear Windows

Photo from
Andersen Windows

I teach writing at the college level. Not creative writing (though I have taught creative nonfiction… once). I teach expository writing, persuasive writing, professional writing, technical writing, writing about science, research writing, just about any other kind of writing – and I am in the process of working with every department on our campus to develop writing goals for their majors. So when I say something like “clarity in writing is important,” I have a bit of expertise behind me.

Clarity isn’t a simple concept. Each of us says and does things that we think are perfectly clear but that others find confusing. Clarity involves cognition and perception, as well as the contexts in which texts are both written and read. At a minimum, a writer has to know the audience and the situation if she has any hope of being clear.

Now for the irony: Our windows aren’t clear. We are one or two steps from a Purchase & Sale Agreement, but we’re stuck on the windows (yes, our windows are stuck, too).

Problem 1: Casement vs. Double-Hung
As long as we were picking and everything was equal, I wanted double-hung, tilt-wash windows. Carl did some research and found that Andersen 400-series is worth the investment. So we put that in our addendum of changes to the specs and plans fairly early in the process. In response, we heard about problems with sizing and getting the Andersen brand (to which we said “equivalent is fine”), but we didn’t hear anything about a requirement that the windows be casement until a few days ago. And even then, I thought that the requirement only referred to the windows on either side of the picture window we’re putting in place of the fireplace.

It has taken about four or five email exchanges for Carl and I to understand that the reason Gary, Mike’s realtor, has been saying “casement windows,” instead of double-hung, is because the builder’s plans list casement windows. I am guessing that this means that the plans would have to be significantly altered if double-hungs were used.

If someone had said, “Look at the plan. See that box in the upper right corner. Look at the list there. They almost all say casement. If you want to have double-hung, here is what would have to happen…,” then I would have understood much sooner.

Sometimes it’s helpful to speak in short, simple sentences, even to those of us who work in language all the time. Remember what I said about context? In this context, I am out of my depth. I have research expertise, but I don’t know house-building lingo, my ability to read a floor plan is amateur, and I don’t know what to be on the lookout for. With just a bit more information, I could have understood the problem.

I still don’t know for sure why the windows can’t be changed out, but at this point, I’m ok with casements. I just want windows that work and that I can clean relatively easily (not that I clean windows often, mind you). Carl has decided he’s ok with this, too.

First problem solved.

Problem 2: 400-Series vs. Energy Star
We have been told a number of things about the 400-series windows. The most recent is that Andersen doesn’t make casement windows in the 400 series. Color me very confused, since I can find that information easily online.

As a replacement, we’re told that Andersen has an “Energy Star” line that will be used. The upcharge is $10,000. Now, I’m not only confused, but I’m also bothered.

My understanding is that all Andersen windows are Energy Star efficient. The company has had the certification for more than 10 years. And there is no “Energy Star” line. A-Series. E-series (E for “Eagle”). 400-series. 200-series. 100-series. No “Energy Star” series. Or, more accurately I believe, all Energy Star.

In our face-to-face meeting, Mike said he normally uses the 200-series. The 400-series is one step up, and that’s what we want. If we’re not getting that step up, I’m not interested in paying an upcharge.

I am certain that the problem is confusion, not an attempt to get something past us. Neither Mike nor Gary has struck me as that kind of person at all. So I’m back to clarity.

I sent an email to Gary saying the Problem 1 was solved, but asking for clarification on Problem 2. In that email, I tried to lay out my confusion as clearly as possible. I haven’t heard back yet, so I don’t know whether I succeeded.

If Gary doesn’t understand, though, I will have to try again – because the onus for clarity is mostly on the person trying to communicate.

Problem-Solving on Paper

At the end of June, Carl and I had a two-hour meeting with the builder and his realtor. The four of us (our realtor couldn't be there) went over all of the changes that we had been working on, and the builder gave us his recommendations. Very productive. I took on the job of writing up all the notes from the meeting, and I sent them out to everyone a couple of days later. We got them back with a few handwritten comments, mostly about how some of things we wanted would be more expensive, which we knew. I thought our plans and adjustments to the specs were fairly set, though there are a few things that we still need to talk about, at least according to those notes. So it was time for the builder’s offer letter.

But that letter still hadn’t come last week, despite emails from our realtor to the builder’s realtor. We got email assurance from the realtor that the builder was just really busy and that we would have the response by Monday. But.... I found myself thinking that maybe we should look at other land. I still liked the idea of building, but maybe this wasn’t the right place or the right builder. Besides, some of the things about the house aren’t perfect. And if we’re going to pay $16 gagillion for a house, it ought to be perfect, right? Cold feet, anyone?

Friday night (Yes, Friday night. What do you do with your Friday nights???), I decided to look online at other floor plans to find our perfect house. I got excited looking for houses between 2300 and 2600 square feet with master bedrooms and laundry on the first floor, islands in the kitchen, and bedrooms that share a wall. Suddenly, I am seeing lots of floor plans that could work. Tweak this here, that there. All we need is a piece of land, right? The problems were bigger than that, but I could pretend, at least for the night.

My pretense led to dreams of carrying a masonry stove trying to find a place to put it down, which then dissolved into my waking contemplation about what to do with an extra living room we wouldn’t need, a feature included in many of the floor plans. I decided to do the smart thing: Talk to my professional worrier husband.

He quickly got the heart of the matter. "What's bothering you about the floor plan?" he asked. "The second floor," I answered immediately. Because of the roof line, the layout of our offices is never going to work right.

Here’s the problem that led to the second floor problem: Carl and I both have home offices, but we cannot share the same space. He spends much of his time on the phone in conference calls, and I need quiet most of the time to work effectively. He likes music with words, and I can’t work to that music because words are my work – and I need them to be my words, not the lyrics of a song or the distraction of an aria. Our offices had been in the same room, and this arrangement worked fine when Carl was going into Boston most days. I could work around his being next to me on the weekends. But not once his company started letting him work from home. Suddenly, I couldn’t get anything done.

In an attempt to give us both work space in our current house, when one kid moved out, we moved me into one of the bedrooms upstairs. As in, away from Carl, with my own door. Mostly I’m happy with this arrangement because I’m able to be productive, but Carl hasn’t been. He wants me nearer. And honestly, my marriage is more important than my productivity. What we have now is only sustainable because it’s temporary.

So when we were house dreaming, before we ever started looking, we decided to set up adjoining offices, probably in a couple of bedrooms with a shared wall. We’d put a door between them, so that when Carl needed to talk or his computer needed to ding at him or he was having a real hankering for opera, we could shut the door. While it might seem a little odd, I’m fine with this. I don’t mind having a connected space for work, as long as I get a room of my own for my office.

The house plan we are currently using has the perfect first floor: great room, kitchen, mudroom with laundry, dining room, master bedroom. No extra living room, which many of the plans I perused on Friday night included. Fabulous. (Well, there’s the half bath that Carl would prefer that we get rid of….)

But the second floor has to be jerry-rigged into adjoining bedrooms by killing a closet and putting three doors very close together, so much so that it would make more sense to leave the area open. Except that I can’t work that way. We tried to rig the plans and the builder has been trying to work with us, but I know in my heart-of-hearts that we aren’t going to be happy with the result.

So when I called in the expert problem-warrior (no, that’s not revenge of autocorrect), I identified the second floor. Carl agreed, saying that he’s never liked it (why didn’t he say so earlier?), but he thought he could live with it since I seemed to like it. But I don’t.  Without a hesitation, he says, "Let's see if we can get the second floor redesigned."

Huh? Really? It never occurred to me to contact the designer of the original plan to see if modifications are possible. But that’s immediately what Carl thought of. He called Shane Structures, and I emailed the designer a PDF of my very crude attempts at whiting out and moving walls around, along with an explanation of what the wall migrations were really about. The designer says that he should be able to look at them today. We’ll probably go to his office later in the week to talk about the results.

This is an example of how Carl and I work well together. Carl doesn’t talk much about the things that are bothering him unless they are a major bother. I’m the one who brings most of this kind of stuff up. He’s a problem-solver. A very good one.

I’m looking forward to seeing the solution.

"Give Him The Contract"

It's just the usual; summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth.
Funeral arrangements? Oh, up to but not exceeding one fourteenth total profit if any. Seems fair. Present company shall not be liable for injuries including but not limited to laceration, evisceration... incineration?
Oh, aye. He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye. Think furnace, with wings. Flash of light, searing pain, then poof, you're nothing more than a pile of ash.
No. [Bilbo faints]


"Due Diligence" translates from legalese as, "looking both ways before spending a humongous amount of money."  (Or joining a expedition that will last a year and a day and take you there and back again.)  There are a number of things Trish and I did before risking $1000 when we made an offer.

The first was to investigate the builder:

• Check Angie's List and the BBB
• Verify his state licenses were up to date
• Talk to the references of other people he's built for
• Find out what the people at Town Hall think of him

I also spent time investigating the site.  One of my dealbreaker "must haves" is "rural area."  Which is hard to find in Eastern Mass, given that one of Trish's dealbreaker "must haves" is "45 minute commute to work."  The lot for sale is in north Mendon, right near the Upton town line.
 

Yes, lot is rural now -- but would the adjoining undeveloped land stay that way?  What is the future for the rest of "Lot B"?  I would not want to see it turned into a housing subdivision by driving an access road through the red dots.
 

All of a sudden, I'm surrounded by neighbors and unexpectedly now on a corner lot.

How to mitigate?  Well, the land is currently zoned for conservation, and the current owners (the Gannetts) have a long-range plan to keep it that way.  We are negotiating to have them add restrictive language to the deed of Lot B so that we would have a "right of first refusal" if any future owner attempted to change the zoning.