Window Week, Day 1

Here we go: sheetrock is being ripped out as I type this and, as you might imagine, this is just the teeniest bit stressful for someone like me. Walls, in my actual HOUSE and STUDIO, being REMOVED.

OMG. It makes everything seem so, so ephemeral. Walls, made to go away. Poof! If walls can go away so easily, why do we think of our homes as "shelter"? What protects us? How are we safe? It sparks a whole existential musing that serves no useful purpose.

Parts of my studio going out the soon-to-be-not-here window:

Like that. So I just try not to think about it and ignore the banging and pounding and the sounds of ripping and the fact of having two strangers in my house.

Well, one stranger and one not.

You remember my search for a contractor to do this, the half dozen guys who came to give me estimates, some who never came back and some who didn't really seem to have a clue and some who showed up with an estimate weeks after I'd given up on them? Because here's the deal: Midland's unemployment level has now dropped below 4%. There are jobs for almost anyone who wants one--people are leaving their jobs (with the city, with the school system, with just about everyone) to go work in the oil field, so there are oil field jobs and then all the other kinds of jobs that have been vacated. My vet told me Friday that the City has only two animal control officers on patrol on any given shift because all the rest have--all together now!--Gone To The Oil Field. Frakking has been very, very  good to The Permian Basin, and there are pages and pages of want ads in the newspaper. What isn't there: houses for sale or rent (And no rooms to let for 50 cents, either, for those of you singing along). Contractors have jobs lined up out the wazoo, and finding someone to do ANYTHING is nearly impossible. I had almost given up, but finally my constant nagging paid off.

For months I'd periodically been telling The EGE, "Call Robert Porter." And, as usual when I nag him or tell him what to do, he kept on doing what he was doing in the first place before I said anything. See, that's what makes a happy marriage: you get to do what you want to do (in my case: nag and be reallyreallyreally bossy), but you don't have to worry about your partner's reaction because they're going to do what *they* want to do, also. In his case, that's nod or make a throat noise and keep on keeping on. It's why we get along so well. I get to be my lifelong bossy self, and it doesn't bother him a bit.

Finally, though, it worked out. We were at SeptemberFest, and one of the police officers doing security was one of The EGE's former students, and I said, "Hey! I'll bet he has Robert Porter's number! Ask him! Ask him, ask him, ask him!" (He actually did it, no throat noises or eye-rolling, although he wasn't too thrilled that he actually had to Talk on the Phone.)

Here's the story: Robert is one of The EGE's former students from long ago. He is now a retired police officer--a detective--and has his own construction business. He was doing construction on the side, but he used up all his vacation time. Since he was eligible to retire, and since construction is way more lucrative than working for the city, that's what he did. He's never advertised, working only through word of mouth. But think about it: you live in a town where contractors and fly-by-night construction guys have been flocking in for the last several years, and you're not sure you can trust anyone because crews start things and then disappear, and then here's this hometown guy who went to school here and was a detective everybody knew. Who you gonna call?

Plus, for me, there's the added bonus of his business being a locally-owned, black-owned business. There aren't a lot of those here to support, so you do what you can when you get a chance. Ellis & Sons did our central heating/ac, and they're also our plumbers. (And the sons were also former students.) These are people The EGE has known for years, people I know and around whom I'm comfortable, and that's a big deal when people are coming in and out of your house.

[I love that these guys here today all call each other "sir" and say "please" to each other. Sure beats some of the other conversations I've overheard in the past, like the young guys who did one of the bookcases and discussed women in terms that made me gnash my teeth. Yiiiiii.]

So. In the time I've been typing this, they've finished ripping out the sheetrock, discovering in the process:
~~every electrical outlet on that west wall is on a different breaker. This makes no sense, but there you go.
~~they didn't use plywood, as expected, when they built that wall in 1953. They used actual boards, which surprised everyone.
~~there was fake tile behind the baseboard. Why not remove it before adding the baseboard? Too much trouble, apparently. It's an amazing green fake tile:

~~there is absolutely no insulation in that wall. Never was, not a bit. Just boards and then sheetrock. This explains a lot, and it makes me think there's probably not a bit of insulation in our bedroom, either, since it was part of that 1953 addition. Or out here, either, which would explain why my feet are freezing right now. Sigh. Another project for which I'd better start saving up money *soon.*

OK. That's it for now. More photos later~~it's going to take all week.