Sifting through the potsherds

It is somewhat cleansing going through the process of throwing away your files. Our attorney suggests saving any files within 10 years. So, we have been fastidious about that. But I'm thinking, what is the point, really? The whole reason that drives a lawsuit is to win it, NOT to determine the truth. there is no room for truth in our justice system. In fact, it really isn't a 'justice' system, but a 'legal' system. Truth is the LAST thing you want if you're trying to win a lawsuit.
So I'm thinking, why not just throw everything out? I probably will.
I've run across several projects that for some reason all the design sketches were kept. I go through them like an old man looks at early photos of his now grown or deceased children. Why am I so emotionally attached to this shit? I guess that's why I never was a good businessman. I had a heart. Business requires lack thereof. It's why I failed. I tried to help others rather than help myself. And to think I started life as a conservative from the Midwest. Bloodless heartlessness wins every time - Oh, the shame.
Goodnight Pen.

Watching your friend die

I decided to lighten things up from the foibles of house demolition and remodel. My friend is almost dead. Her name is "my career". She has been a friend for all these years, troubled at times, unfaithful at times but an old friend nonetheless. I hooked up with her in Junior high school. She wanted me to come with her on a journey. A quest of trying to find something within myself that remains elusive. Architecture is a cruel maiden. She will not be tamed or held as yours for long. She is fickle and will betray you while yet savoring a kiss. But she is finally leaving me. And I am sad. I was not a worthy suitor and so she goes on. I search to find another love. Goodnight, Pen.

What will go wrong next?

I haven't been keeping this up. I care about this house. I care about it a lot. But it has beat me to shit. The building department has beat me to shit. I suppose there will be some fun in this sometime but right now i just can't see it. I remain manic depressive. I remain unemployed. I spend my days trying to find something for employees to do, figuring out how and when we will finally close the doors, and working on the house. I have never ever felt so low and without hope.
Good night

demo

no Photo

You can't take a photo to replicate my state of mind tonight. I've become more manic-depressive lately. Listening to Imogen Heap tonight has helped. Egad, what an artist.

This will not make any sense. I am lost. I am found, and lost again. It is elusive. Shit. I have to go to bed soon - to waste 6 hours in a process of dying yet regenerating for another day. How perverse it is. And, my God, the waste of 6 hours saddens me so.

I have not been drawing. I so need to. I've mostly just sat in a stupor, joining my fellow americans who do the same each and every night. Watching their hate-of-choice. Watching their heroes of caustic retoric. the politics. the waste. The venom filled place this country has become....the enormous hypocracy and despair.

fuck it. good night.

Those of you who have been in our house may recognize the stained glass sailboat window. it used to be over the bath tub in the downstairs bathroom.

We discussed doing things differently than we had originally planned this weekend, now that the space is opened up. But the planning is sound and we keep coming full circle to the design we have chosen. We've been planning this for about 4 years now.

I am considering entering this remodel in a local Seattle competition. more on that. I want to share and show that the world doesn't need big, new houses - that small can work, and better yet, small saved and reused. It's folly to think one cannot leave a carbon footprint but wise to walk softly on the earth.

More demolition

Having your house demolished, or at least the insides and the adjacent buildings, fence, etc, is a clensing experience. The house really doesn't look the same on the inside today. Lots of lath and plaster. Lots of 1 inch by 6 inch wood sheathing slats on the sides of the house. They didn't have plywood in 1906. In fact, I would guess most of the original lumber and materials used to build our house in 1906 were brought to the site by horse drawn cart.

Carpenters made about $2.00 per day in 1906. That was in New York. Who knows what they made in Kirkland, Wasington? Power tools? I don't think so. Fork lifts and Genie loaders/haulers? I don't think so. No, the guys (and it WAS only guys) showed up around sun-up with their wooden tool boxes, hand saws, planes, etc. They sawed the planks, planed the edges, nailed them in by hand. They even were able to build from drawings done by hand as well, AND without computer generated dimensions down to 15/16ths of an inch. These men were true builders. Of course, I say that and am yet reminded every time i walk by the 1888 brick house down the street with the crooked brick window header that "oh, well, got 'er good 'nuf" said at day's end echos to this very day.

Things have changed. For the better? Perhaps. Perhaps.