Bittersweet

Our old house, circa 1977

It should have been a wonderful time in my life, and it was, but I guess you can't stay happy for long.

The '90s were a time of change for us. The kids were all in school and after 15 years of self employment I had gone back into the work force at The Hilltop Motel, and those stories could fill another Blog! (And maybe I'll get around to it.) I had a couple of years there, and the work was hard, the standards were high, but I learned a lot there and still consider it a great experience.

A few years later, and I went into business for myself, took out a loan, and bought "Stitch 'n Time," our local fabric store and I was completely happy.

Our little old house, however was needing a lot of work. Mr. Clean and fresh paint weren't enough anymore.

We doodled and dreamed about what we could do. Jamie was and still is a hard worker, and I was happy to be back at work and contributing. And I was willing to pay almost anything to never have to hear or see another mouse. I kid you not.

So we worked with Valerie at the Credit Union to get a plan in place to fix up the house. First off, it needed to be lifted and a foundation built. A new roof was next and all new windows and doors. Since originally it had shingles, then was covered over with Abitibi siding, then covered over with vinyl siding, it needed to be stripped right back to the studs, insulated, and shingled. It had to be done right. So a start date was picked.

We had Yogi Van Weichan on standby and he left his truck and the beams for lifting in place in the yard.

Chris Cahill did the planning with us, and it was finally the day before go time! I could hardly believe it was actually going to happen. The inside of the house was pretty sound, but the outside shell was awful. And Jamie had never really felt that it was his home. He did his best, but he had no real sense of ownership. So this stage, plus a hefty loan, was sure to give him some peace.

Until the day before the lift was to take place. We checked the mail and found a letter.

A letter from a lawyer in Charlottetown, it was pretty ominous. He was representing my brother Michael, and we were given instructions to vacate the house within 21 days. Kids, belongings, lock, stock, and barrel. We were blindsided.

This couldn't be real.

We took the letter immediately to the Credit Union, and they verified that it was real. Across the street we went to see a lawyer, who assured us that it was very real, that a firm in Charlottetown felt they had a case. My brother in effect, was contesting my grandmother's will. She had left the property to me.

And shortly I was to learn that anyone can just pick a name out of the phone book, hire a lawyer and take a chance. Someone wins and someone loses, and usually the only people who come out on top are the lawyers.

But this was serious. We had just signed a mortgage to fix the house up. The work was slated for the next day.

I was beyond upset, I was absolutely frozen. I couldn't make the calls, Jamie had to do it, and call everything off. You can't imagine my state of mind when Yogi pulled his equipment out of my yard. After all this time of planning and dreaming, I was devastated. The skies indeed were black.

We then learned that the will was a complete mess. At one point my grandmother had changed beneficiaries, but a new will wasn't drawn up, just changes made by hand, no witnesses. She had left a "life interest" to my brothers, and anyone who is familiar with this, the person who thought that up should be shot. Butch and Darrell both signed off, they weren't interested in taking possession. But Michael, who wasn't even a Chaisson, took claim to it. All he had to do was get us out, and it was his. Just like that. And admittedly, the house wasn't much, but it had been in the family forever, and had a lot of warm and happy memories. Jamie still says he had a lot of good times, and always found the house cozy.

But now it felt like a prison. If there was anything to test a person's strength, this was surely it. Knowing that someone could just come along and kick you and your four kids out, well, it never felt the same again.

So doggedly, we went on and forgot about the renovations. Jamie continued to haul wood home for the woodstove, and every fall he'd bank the house. Once it was banked he'd watch for signs of rodents, and do his best to get rid of them before winter set in. We lived in a sort of limbo, since a couple of times a month there'd be more mail from a lawyer, more details, phone calls, another meeting. We learned what "discovery" meant. And unfortunately poor Uncle Art was in it up to his hips, because he was the executer of Momma's will. He got all the same mail we did. It was very intimadating, I can tell you. The next few years dragged on, with lots of appointments and appearances in Charlottetown, while we juggled our jobs and kids, and finally just let the law firms do their thing. Let us know when it was over.

And since we had made the kids part of the renovation plans, we felt pretty bad to have to tell them there would be no new roomsw. No nice open basement to play in. B.J. and Chance were quite young, and to try to make up for all the broken promises, I broke my own promise, and got them a puppy. An animal lover I am not, but is there anything cuter than a puppy? Jade was a chocolate lab, just a sweet temperament and she was part of our family for fourteen years. I got the dog for the kids, they were fully responsible for her, but as luck would have it she stuck to me like glue, she never left my side. And she adored Darrell, but that's a story for another day.

All the renovations were put on hold, this legal issue couldn't go on forever. Could it? It sure felt like it. I would ask our lawyer what our chances were of winning this case. He'd laugh and say, "The same chances as anyone else in a courtroom. 50%. Someone wins and someone loses." He never encouraged us to get our hopes up, because you really can't predict the outcome in a domestic dispute. I still don't understand how I didn't get a bleeding ulcer out of it, I was tied in knots all the time, while putting up a front for my customers and staff. The days at the shop were sometimes my salvation, as we were busy and a tight little unit. My three ladies, Betty, Louise and Glenda were the best staff and friends you could imagine. They were patient with me, understanding of the situation and I got hugs when I needed them.

That nightmare continued for the proverbial seven years, give or take. Every time a car drove by slowly, my stomach would clench. What were they looking at? Once when we were home, a strange rig drove in, took a picture of the telephone pole, and I almost took a stroke. Is this someone staking their claim? Jesus anyway. But end it did. And it ended in my favor, but it was bittersweet. I hadn't spoken to Michael during the whole debacle and I never spoke to him again. If there had ever been any sort of relationship between us, because he was hard to like, it was over now. You can't pull a stunt like that and expect to be rewarded. The whole family turned their backs on him, and I was never so glad as when it was over, not just for myself, but for Art and Kathleen. They were there for every dirty detail, they had to be. I remembering remarking to our lawyer, "It's hard to believe a family member would do that. A stranger I would expect." And he replied, "In my experience, family will do it first."

Although seven years earlier our dreams and hopes had been dashed and smashed and kicked to the curb, we weren't down for the count yet. A casual conversation with Kathleen rekindled a flicker of hope. Chris Cahill is her son-in-law and somehow we connected again.

He came to the house one evening and we talked about the renovations again. We were in desperate need of upgrades. And by now his construction business was getting busy.

So he took down our ideas, went home, I expect to plug the plans into a software program. He came back with a price and a start date.

He said, "I can do it for you for $60,000.00." That was an excellent price, covering all our needs, if not all our wants.

Then, to reel us in, he added," But, I could build you a brand new house for $80,000.00." I know, I know, that's nothing. But in 2000, with one kid in University, one graduating High School, and two younger boys to keep fed and shod, that was a LOT of money.

I think I got dizzy. I could hear my heart beating in my chest. I'm sure I went white. Again, for one of the few times in my life, I was speechless.

He was leaving, and he said, "Just get back to me, I have some time coming up in September."

And little did Chris or even Jamie or anyone else know, that through the heartache and years of disappointment, I had kept a little newspaper clipping in my bedside table drawer. Those of us who were regular Guardian readers will remember on the back pages of Saturday's paper was a feature, a weekly profile of a different set of house plans that you could purchase. For some odd reason, I always looked at it, every week, and dreamed about such an impossible thing, that I would ever have a new home of my own. There was one set of plans that just drew me in, it was a little house, the picture was neat and sweet and just the sight of it would make me smile. I cut it out of the paper and slipped it in to my dresser, and every now and then I would take it out and dream. And now, after all this time, a qualified contractor was offering us the dream. My heart just flipped over.

After Chris left, there wasn't much discussion. Jamie said, "If the Credit Union will give us a mortgage, let's just go for it." We were both in our mid 40s after all. They might think going into debt was a bad idea. And anyone who knows Jamie, would realize how unlikely he would be to say that. But we'd had enough stress and crying and disappointment.

So, we took the house plan picture to Chris. He did a little doodling and a little math, and said he thought he could manage that. The square footage was good and we'd get three nice bedrooms. He asked if we had a mortgage in place, he needed an idea of budget of course. I looked him square in the eye, and said, "We have $80,000.00. When it's done, so are you."

Chris has an amazing sense of humor and I was just trying to be direct. He just roared.

But true to his word, on September 29, 2000, Cahill Construction landed in the yard with the work trailer. For the next nine weeks we watched from the old house as the new house was taking shape, and more than once I just stood and cried. I still couldn't believe it. More than one night after work when the boys were busy with homework or whatever, I would go into the new house, still unfinished, shut the door and sing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs. With the 12' wooden ceilings and wooden floors, the acoustics were amazing! And there was no one to hear me.

We did all the clean up after the crew left, every day. We picked up shingles, swept the dust and discarded nails and staples. The boys tarred the roof and we carted the trash to the dump. It felt good and gave us the sweat equity we needed to feel the home they were building was ours. And technically, the "house" was more like a "cottage" and that suited us fine. We knew it wouldn't be long til it was just the two of us, and we'd have no need of extra space to keep clean and maintained. But there it was. Big enough to house us, but reasonably small enough to pay off.

On the night of December 4, we were in the new house, as just about everything was finished now, flooring, painting, just looking around. I said, "You know, if we had our beds in and the fridge and stove, we could move in." And between Jamie and the boys and me, we got a few things in, and slept there that night. And we never slept in the old house again. A good thing too, because the boys said the sound of the mice ripping through the ceilings upstairs in the old house was deafening. They were so glad to get out. (The boys, not the mice, the bastards) (The bastards refers to the mice, not my boys.)

Nine weeks to the day, we moved in. That sounds like a pretty fast build, but it really wasn't. The team took the time to do everything right the first time. When we needed a plumber, he was available. Same for the electricians and painters. It just went smooth as silk. Mike MacIntosh, God love him, remarked at the Hardware store, that it was the first time he ever saw a build go on time and under budget. We were due for some good things to happen.

It was liberating, so freeing. The law suit got settled, we didn't even have a big bill to pay, as the other side had to bear the court costs. Our lawyer was very good to us, I have to say. A new deed was drawn up, and the property was ours to do what we pleased. Yes, I was born and raised there and brought each of my four children there to their first home. But after that seven year episode, this new house felt as if I was shedding an old broken down shell, and emerging into a fresh new one, with room to spread my arms way out. I never felt the same about the old house again.

The very first visitors we had were Art and Kathleen, we kept them up to date on every detail. They dropped in the very next day with a lovely gift and so many hugs. They were so genuinely happy for us. All I was any good for was bawling. You can only handle so many emotions in a lifetime.

At the time people asked if I missed our old home. The year following the move into the new house, we let it be known that anyone who was interested in the old house could have it. We did not profit from it, it had become a money pit. Helen Cliffy Joe got in touch with us, her sister Margie and husband Joe Cheverie were interested in taking it off the lot to be used as their fix-it-upper summer home. So one fine day PD Construction landed in the yard, lifted the house, and hauled it to Sheep Pond. The Cheverie family kindly came back and filled in the hole, that was the only payment we asked,and we were set up for landscaping.

A couple of years after that Jamie built his workshop on the space, and where the little deck and porch had been, well that's where we park our rigs now.

As for missing it, at times I miss the nostalgia of cold fresh winter days when I'd spend 20 minutes getting the kids geared up to go out and play in the snow, or skate in the low spots in the yard. They would stay out for hours and they had to make their own fun, since we had no neighbors with children.They would come in, loud and boisterous and rosy cheeked, and starving.

That wasn't yesterday! Chance learning to skate.

If lunch or supper was too long to wait, I would make up a big pan of Bacon Cheese Fingers to toast nice and bubbly in the old wood stove oven. There would be drip trays behind the stove where all their snow covered boots would be lined up to dry. Their snowsuits hung neatly in the porch, and all those sopping mitts would be piled in the warming oven on top, drying nicely.

We did our share of snowshoeing too, loved it.

Didn't everything taste better back then, coming out of that old wood stove oven? It was a beast to learn on, as you had to rely on experience for everything, so setting timers with accurate oven temperatures was pretty futuristic at one point. It all depended on the wood, how much of it and the right kind. In the summer, we'd switch to oil for the Kemac, and it seemed such a luxury, but man, it could get hot in August!! I'm still so thankful that all my lessons were learned on that old Kemac burner, and if I was pinned down to one thing that I missed, that would be it. The stove.

When the snacks were ready they would settle down with their feet propped up in front of the oven door, getting those healthy little bodies all warmed up for round two.

They had no problems sleeping at that age!! They played hard!

But I learned to love my new home pretty quick, I was as excited as any new bride. We've worked hard to make it a warm and happy place for our children, their families and their extended families. We've hosted a lot of celebrations over the last 20 years, and hope to host many more. We've had challenges, like every other family, deaths of family members, new jobs, old jobs, retirements now.

I hope to never go back and dwell in the past. I've long stopped being resentful of the circumstances that brought about the building of our new home. There's nothing to be gained from holding onto the past and hating people. As I said in an earlier Blog, I've learned how to just let things go.

I'm over it.

But bittersweet? Ya, that's the word.

Here's a neat little perspective on my front deck on a gorgeous summer day. I still think I'm dreaming, but every chance I get I sit in this swing and just watch the world go by. This is the street side of the house, lovely and cool under the veranda. When the house was being built, my Uncle Freddie was a frequent visitor in the yard, he was always very interested in the goings on "down home." And of course he knew Chris and Dale and all the others who were working on it.

He saw the veranda going on and he asked me if there was anything I wanted that he could build for me. I already had several things in my house that he'd made and gifted me over the years.

But I knew right away what I wanted, since I felt I was already the luckiest girl in the world.

"Would you ever be able to build me a porch swing?" I dared to ask.

He said, "Sure. With a front deck like this, it would look nice. And Chris can brace the beams for it before they close it in. For how many people? One or two?"

I said "How about two?"

In typical Freddie fashion, you just had to know him, he snapped back a quick, "Side by side or stacked?"

We still miss him.