December, 2011
A Year and Three Months After the Fire
It does not matter
how slowly you go,
as long as you do not stop.
– Confucious
Dear Friends,
Last week I had a meltdown in the parking lot of Ferguson’s Plumbing in Denver. I walked out of the store, got in the car, put the key in the ignition, and promptly burst into tears. I put my head down on the steering wheel and sobbed those long, choking sobs that come from pure grief, from a place so deep you can’t even name it.
When I realized I couldn’t stop crying, I started punching numbers on my phone, and finally got a hold of my friend Karen in Dayton, Ohio. When she picked up the phone, I sobbed, “Karen, I’m in a parking lot in Denver and I can’t stop crying.” She said, “Oh, sweetie, what is it?” “Everything,” I said, “It’s just everything. I’m doing my best but I feel like things are going so fast and I just can’t keep up. I want to get off this roller coaster. I just want to GET OFF. And I can’t believe I’m crying in a plumbing supply PARKING LOT for god’s sake…”
So what brought on this recent meltdown? What traumatic experience made me sob in a parking lot on a sunny Tuesday afternoon? Was someone mean to me? Did I get some bad news from the insurance company? No, it was picking out plumbing fixtures. That’s right, I completely lost it after looking at too many faucets, toilets, sinks and bathtubs.
I know, I know, you’re thinking, “Wow, people are starving and out of work, and she’s crying over faucets? Get over it, will you?” Well, as I’ve said before, it’s all a matter of perspective. Building a house from the ground up, all by yourself, on a limited budget, is a daunting prospect, especially when it’s not something you ever wanted to do. In fact, many people from the Four Mile Fire opted out of rebuilding – the very thought of it was so exhausting that they cashed out and found another place to live.
Building a house is a hopeful endeavor, to be sure. Watching my house literally rise from the ashes has been amazing. Seeing the first walls go up took my breath away, and brought happy tears to my eyes. But now that the house is being rebuilt, everyone asks me, “Aren’t you just having fun with it?” Having fun? Not exactly. As I told an interviewer recently, there are moments of fun. But the overall process is frankly overwhelming and exhausting most of the time.
It’s a huge and complicated process – one that involves making hundreds of decisions, and choosing things that you’ll have to live with for the rest of your life. The human brain is wired to make lots of decisions quickly in times of crisis – I remember the overwhelming amount of details my mother had to deal with after my father died – but we’re just not built to do this for months and months on end. We get tired. The hard drive that is your brain starts to beep and say it’s “full.” And then you melt down, right there in the plumbing supply parking lot.
So, back to the plumbing supply store. When I drove out there that day I was full of enthusiasm. I walked in and met the very nice saleswoman, who pulled out a sheet of paper and said, “Where do you want to start?” I looked at her and said, “Uh, I dunno…” Keep in mind that I have never so much as remodeled a bathroom in my entire life. I have never chosen a paint color, or a sink, or even a towel rack. My home was completely redone right before I bought it twenty years ago, and my concept of remodeling was to paint all the walls white and call it good. “Where do you want to start?” That’s a huge question. My enthusiasm started to wane. This might be a little harder than I thought.
She saw the look of panic on my face and said, “How about the master bathroom? Want to start there? Let’s start with faucets.” Okay, I said, that sounds easy. So we walked over to where the faucets were and I found myself facing three entire WALLS of faucets. Just faucets. Oh my god, I thought, I’m supposed to pick ONE? “Well,” said the cheerful saleswoman, “What do you see here that you like? Do you want single handle, double handle, wall-mounted, or touch-free?” I looked at them and just blanked. There were flat faucets, curved faucets, gooseneck faucets, faucets that looked like Japanese bamboo, tall and short faucets, modern and classic faucets, chrome, brushed nickel, antique bronze, and colors that I don’t even know the names of. Walls and walls of bathroom faucets. And some of those faucets cost FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. And I was supposed to sort out what I liked from what I can afford, try to imagine what my future bathroom is going to look like, and then pick one that I can live with for the next twenty years? One faucet?
The Little Voice of Panic that lives inside me popped up and whispered, “You are never, never going to be able to do this.” Then my other voice, the Irish Warrior Princess Voice, told the Voice of Panic to Shut the Hell Up, and then said, “Just take this one faucet at a time.” I took a breath. Okay, one faucet at a time. We proceeded to walk around the store, she with her clipboard, me trying to breathe, and I looked at the walls of bathroom faucets, and kitchen faucets, and tub fillers, and shower fixtures, and hand-held sprayers, soap dispensers, kitchen sinks, laundry sinks, laundry faucets, bathroom sinks, vanities, toilets, bathtubs…it seemed to just go on and on and on.
After two hours, the list wasn’t even half finished, and the cheerful saleswoman was frustrated and burned out, and I was exhausted. She had another appointment, and I had only a rough idea of what I wanted. She looked at me and said, “According to your building schedule, we really need to get these choices to the plumber, so you’ll need to come back again really soon.” That meant making the hour and a half drive, each way, all over again, taking time out from work, and from all the other house decisions I have to make, to look again at walls of faucets and sinks and toilets. “Okay,” I said, “I can come back day after tomorrow.” I smiled and shook her hand, and then I walked out to my car, got in, and started to sob uncontrollably.
I did finally get my meltdown under control, and my friend Karen made me laugh again, and I hung up and started the long drive home. I was way out past the airport, on a little-used highway at the edge of the city, out near the eastern plains. As I drove toward Boulder I watched the late afternoon sunlight paint the Rocky Mountains pink. I popped in a CD with a talk by spiritual teacher Eckhart Tolle, who spoke about staying in the present, and how most of our troubles are brought about by dwelling in the past, or fearfully anticipating the future. I took a breath, and tried to forget about faucets and sinks and hurried salespeople and plumbing schedules, and focused on the moment.
In that moment, I was driving an empty Colorado highway, on a winter afternoon, with beautiful mountains in the distance. Around me, the lights of houses were starting to come on; houses full of people who were already home, people with their own problems, many of which were surely greater than mine. I was on my way back to my little rented cottage in a beautiful park, where a small, furry bundle of love was waiting to greet me, tail wagging, full of joy, as if I were the Greatest Person on Earth. I had loving and faithful friends who could talk me down from silly plumbing meltdowns and make me laugh again. And because I had parents who told me I could do anything I put my mind to, I had an Irish Warrior Princess inside who was going to cheer me on, every step of the way.
As I drove, I felt a smile creep over my face. “I’m going to do this,” I thought. “I’m actually going to build an entire house, and I’m going to pick all the damn appliances and faucets and light switches and doors and plumbing fixtures. And then someday I’m going to be home again in a beautiful new house, and it doesn’t matter if I’ve never done this before or I don’t have a lot of money or I’m doing it alone. I’m going to do this. One faucet at a time.” And I smiled, and turned off Eckhart Tolle, and turned on the radio, and started to sing.
Sometimes, after a great loss, the strangest things send you over the edge – an unkind word from a stranger, or dropping your favorite cup and gasping as it shatters on the floor. And sometimes it’s the smallest things that get you through – a beautiful sunset, a talk with a friend, a little dog. There is so much grace in our lives, and there are so many small things waiting to lift us up, and talk us down, and help us breathe again. Each day I’m reminded of the great paradox of our lives on Earth – how each day brings so many challenges, so much heartache, and also so much unexpected joy.
Each day when I open the door to go out into the world, I know that there are traps waiting for me – mean people, bad traffic, and tiny, sharp hurts. Life sometimes feels like wading across a river full of piranhas; it’s not the big shark bites that get you, it’s those hundreds of little nibbles. And there are also gifts waiting around each corner, little acts of love and kindness – a card in the mail from a stranger, a friend who calls out of the blue and tells me she’s thinking of me. Each day, it seems, is the Best of Times, and the Worst of Times, and it’s all part of this great Dance of Life. I think the important thing is to just keep going, to get up each day and go out that door, and peek around that corner, and see what’s out there. It might turn out better than you think – even the plumbing.
Wishing You Days of Joy, and Hopeful Prospects,
Andi
The House in the Snow, and Kenda, Jerry the Contractor's Cute Dog
Andi, I don’t know if this is any consolation, but doing it with someone else and for the umpteenth time doesn’t make it easier. I had my own melt-down moment last night. My husband and I can’t agree on the outline for the tile at the entry from the garage, the color of the carpet, what faucets to get, etc. I’m so tired of re-picking out things, and re-negotiating with him on each decision. I just want to have what I had–but those don’t exist any more. When we finished the last remodel (closed out 3 building permits just shortly before the fire), I said I was done, I was never doing this again. Hah! My daughter keeps reminding me that these are #firstworldproblems, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m worn out and tired and I just want to go home.
For me, the gift waiting around the corner after last night’s meltdown was your blog post. Thank you so much for yet again giving that gift to so many of us.
Deb
P.S. You might try looking at faucets and sinks and such online, such as at faucet direct.com. It’s become a sinkhole of time for me, but at least it avoids the driving and the sales reps.
Thanks Deb. That is one advantage of doing it myself – Nellie has to go along with whatever I choose! Hang in there with your post-fire rebuilding – we’re all going to get home some day. One choice at a time…
Thanks for reading and keep writing!
Andi
Andi – Another on-target observation that sometimes “the smallest things” push you (and by extension all of us) over the edge and sometimes they bring us consolation and comfort. As I scrolled to the end of your post to the picture of your Phoenix-like house that has risen from the ashes and looked at the picture, I thought I had forgotten what Nellie looks like — until I read the caption. – Hugs, Claire
P.S. Enjoy your faucets — and all that surrounds them.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Claire. Nellie is about the size of Jerry’s dog’s head! Since she is a Princess, most of the time she prefers a warm bed to a snowstorm. Thanks for your support,
Andi
Oh Andi, I had to laugh at this one- not taking pleasure in your meltdown- but I had the same meltdown from the same thing- faucets! Except for me it was in front of Do- It-U-rself Plumbing in Denver. I told my husband that if I ever wrote an essay about our renovation it would be called “Death By A Thousand Faucets” (voluntary renovation- no comparison to your rebuild even though it was going on during the fire last and on Sugarloaf). The offer still stands if you ever want to see our semi-finished house- might help with ideas and inspiration and to know that it does end, eventually. We chose this renovation, and it still drove me to the brink of madness!! Mountain girlfriend, you need a cup of tea.-amy
Thanks for this article, Andi. I, too, have been breaking down at decisions around dishwashers and kitchen plumbing in my new home and your article provided comfort. Although I understand the power of grief and anniversary triggers, mine is for a lost love, not a home, and seemed unrelated to faucets and granite. You reminded me that grief is grief. It coats our decisions and makes “permanent” ones seem monumental. I don’t have the trust to rely on friends to be there when I need them, but I do find comfort elsewhere: my choice of granite was influenced by the Rorschach-like images I found in the pattern–a horse, a turtle, a bird, a pyramid, and a teepee. Toddlers may take baby steps, but they eventually manage to run with some practice. Here’s to knowing that we aren’t born with the skills to manage grief, but as we hone them, we grow wise.
Andi,
Through your writing, and our mutual experience (the club that noone would like to join), I could feel the pain and resilience in your journey.
One vibrant memory for me is the day I went shopping for our bedding. We were a little further down the line than you are now with plenty of meltdowns along the way. I went into the local department store. I needed mattress pads, sheets, blankets, bedspreads and pillows for our beds. I started piling all that stuff into a cart and pretty soon I was swerving and things were falling out of the cart and I was increasingly unsure about the sizes and colors and what I was doing.
Pretty soon I was in the middle of the store, with bedding all over the floor around the cart, sobbing uncontrollably as every other customer and all of the staff stared at me as though they were trying to decide between calling 911 and giving me a hug.
All I can say is that this happened many years ago. I remember it and revisit it with your story. And there have been many healing and “ordinary moments” along the way since then that soften those memories.
The funniest thing for me right now is that the refrigerator we bought after the fire just died and we had to get another. I had never bought a new refrigerator and used it every day of it’s life. And so….on we go. One faucet, one pillow sham, one refrigerator at a time! 🙂
Peace and Blessings to you and Nellie……………Candace
Dear Dr. O,
When it comes to bathtub fixtures, I think of comedian Rich Hall and his creation of sniglets (i.e. invented words). I think you should look for ones that support your being aquadextrous–that is the ability to turn off the faucet with either foot.
Seriously, I think just having someone else as back-up and company in a store or in life can be the difference between decision making and crumbling. It isn’t always possible but it kind of helps out in a pinch. I wish I lived there again so I could fill in that role when needed.
Amore and Couragio,
Dr. G
Oops, that is Brad Hall not Rich.
Hurray for the Irish Warrior Princess!! I like her and her butt-kicking ways!
Andi, your meltdown in the face of faucet overwhelm reminded me of a friend’s uncle who lost it in an American supermarket. She was a refugee from Castro’s Cuba in the 1960s, the uncle remained behind with the other half of the family. He finally got a visa to visit the family in the US after 40 years, and when he set foot into the supermarket in Miami and saw the bewildering and massive array of food and products, he burst into uncontrollable and inconsolable tears.
Some (unsolicited) plumbing advice/suggestions…
I think you can make the plumbing selections easier on yourself if you stop thinking of all the decisions as being immutable and permanent. Tubs, toilets, and vitreous china are relatively permanent absent a remodeling, but faucets are a piece of cake to change out, so long as they are fixture-mounted and not wall-mounted. Pick simple ones without high-tech wizardry, e.g. the touchless faucets. The high-tech ones fail sooner than the manual kind, and they don’t work during a power outage (an important consideration up in the mountains). Get yourself decent Kohler or Gerber faucets that you can live with for at least the next five years. You can easily replace them yourself if you end up not liking them. Disclosure: I favor two-handle faucets, but I’m usually in the minority on this opinion. I like washerless faucets for their reduced periodic maintenance, but when they wear out and start dripping (my Gerber kitchen faucet lasted 15 years), it’s often less hassle to replace the whole thing rather than rebuild the cartridges, even if you are doing the labor yourself.
For the kitchen, consider one of those faucets that has the extendable nozzle thing. It’s nice to be able to fill a pot while it’s sitting on the stove instead of carrying a full pot from the sink to the stove, especially as one ages and hands get arthritic. Stay away from gimicky items, such as the aforementioned touchless faucets, built-in soap dispensers, etc. Save your money for where you really need to spend it, and where it will make a difference.
For the tub/shower, spend a little more time/money selecting the controls, you’ll have to break open the wall to replace them, so they are a bit more permanent than the faucets. Don’t overspend on the showerhead, that’s another simple DIY replacement job (10 minutes flat) if you don’t like the spray pattern. Have your plumber install grab bars in the tub/shower, and perhaps by the toilet as well. You aren’t yet at the age where you will likely need them, but you will appreciate them as you age in place in this house.
Laundry sink and faucet… these are utilitarian items, go with inexpensive and functional. No one is ever going to look at them except you.
Bathroom fixtures such as toilets and sinks are a matter of personal preference. Consider the shape of the toilet seat, there’s a normal kind, an elongated kind, and some proprietary kinds (e.g. some of the Kohler units). You won’t be happy ten years down the road when you need to shop for a new toilet seat and you have limited choices because of your fancy toilet design. Deeper sinks splash less, so if you can afford them for bathroom and kitchen, do it. Cultured marble does not last as long as vitreous china, so if you never want to do a bathroom remodel, spend the money upfront on vitreous in the bathroom. Stainless steel kitchen sinks are far less expensive than the porcelain cast iron ones, save your money here and apply it to your countertops or appliances instead.
Most of all, hang in there. We’re all rooting for you. And thanks again for allowing us into a slice of your life.
Andi, I loved your post and the happy ending especially!
Meltdowns seem so daunting and overwhelming, I think, because we don’t see them coming. We can make a ‘plan’ for the anniversary days and such, but my experience has been that I’m usually blindsided by a meltdown and my proverbial bag of tools goes right out the window. For a moment…..or two, ok, sometimes a little more…ha – and it derails me until, like you, I can take a deep breath, look at this beautiful place that we live and find a sense of peace and gratitude for the basic goodness of life. Challenges and all.
Sending hugs!
I’m sorry for your meltdown … as a veteran of many remodels I can empathize but you can at least be thankful you don’t have a husband! Believe me, two heads are not always better than one 🙂
I remember how frustrating it was to remodel our kitchen 6 years ago. It took me a month to pick out the countertop, which drove my contractor bananas. And I didn’t have any loss to deal with. Soon you’ll have a beautiful house, but the process of getting there can be sooo tiresome.
Hi, Andi and Princess Nellie! I got sidetracked by life for a while….jobs and whatnot. As usual, life threw some monkey wrenches into my plans and I have been looking at other sorts of losses and complications. I was recently laid off (my New Year’s present) and my house ,while here (Thank the Universe), has been suffering from age- related breakdowns. I understand about emotional breakdowns…I recently had one because both of my toilets’ guts (which were redone less than a year ago) started running non-stop again and the furnace stopped. When I got back to sanity (or what passes for it for me), I sighed and began turning the water source off between visits, then called for the furnace serviceman. I will survive.
I, too, am single and have to deal with all the confounded breakdowns and niggling little decisions alone. Luckily, I have Max for “fur” therapy when it all gets to be too much. Give Nellie and big hug and a kiss for me. Max sends a friendly woof her way.
Best Wishes for a wonderful New Year, J