Technical Difficulties

We have five computers in this house of only four people. Two of those are my laptops. Neither of the laptops currently functions. This is what my current laptop looks looked like:

Before I performed surgery.

The screen flickers unless the lid is opened to juuuuuust the right angle. That angle keeps increasing, to the point that it had to be opened to its maximum angle. Otherwise, it performs beautifully and has everything I need in terms of performance.

On my previous laptop, the screen is just white. At that time, two years ago, I was told it would cost $300 to repair. I opted for a new laptop.

Earlier in that same laptop's life, the monitor had flickered quite a bit, so I sent it for repairs. It came back with the hard drive wiped. Why????

This time, I figure I have nothing to lose. Rather than risking an overzealous repair or buying a new laptop, I decided to take a stab at resurrecting the machine. What could possibly go wrong?

So I watched the videos about how to replace a screen.

Looks pretty straightforward, though somewhat fiddly. But, heck, I can do stained glass! I can do cross-stitch on fine linen! I can do delicate beading! This should be a cinch!

I ordered a screen for about $70 from laptopscreen.com. It arrived quickly, looking like this.

Before I started, I backed up all my files.

I encountered my first difficulty almost as soon as I removed the battery.

The critical screw is positioned conveniently behind the base.

I called in the expert: my son, Peter.

He's even more dexterous than I.

He even comes with a fancy tool kit.

From when he helped out on tech support at high school.
The tech staff gave him this kit as his graduation present.

But it was to no avail. In the end, we found more elaborate instructions that involved taking the entire base apart. Whereupon, we found this.

A bundle of wires that twists and wraps through each of the two hinges.
(Doesn't the motherboard look pretty?)

At this point, we continued with replacing the screen as we were already so close. But when we did, the display was exactly as it had previously been.

Evidently, and as I'd kind of suspected all along, the wires are frayed. What I didn't realize earlier is that you can actually order a "cable bundle." I had assumed that if the wires were gone, I'd have to find someone with a soldering iron and magnifying glass. Wrong.

So the laptop is currently in several pieces in the bubble-wrap bag, waiting for me to order the cable bundle.

All of this explains why I haven't blogged in a whole week. I don't like blogging via my iPad. Tonight, I've borrowed a work laptop so I can edit the photos and write an actual post.

I do hope to get the danged cables and put the whole thing back together again, at which time I'll finish this story and (I hope) get back to blogging more regularly.

May-December Relationship

Or, in the case of our fireplace insert, make that a December-May relationship.

Early in December, Steve and I signed a contract (and a whopping big cheque) for a fireplace makeover. Specifically an insert that would turn our drafty, non-functional fireplace into a high-efficiency decorative furnace.

The least expensive option would have been to seal it off and merely make it an ornamental focal point. Next up would have been to convert it to gas, but I have secret pyromaniac tendencies, and I love to play with fire. (Ironic, really, since I am so susceptible to heat!) I like the smell of real wood smoke. I am mesmerized by the dance of flames and the sounds of crackling wood. Gas fireplaces just don't do that for me.

It probably appeals to something primeval in me. I probably subconsciously think food is on the way and that predators are kept at bay or something.

In any case, we decided to keep the wood-burning fireplace but invest in making it efficient.

In that vein, a free-standing wood-burning stove would have been another option, but, frankly, I think they're kind of ugly and take up a lot of space.

Fireplace inserts, as they are called, are a compromise between an open fireplace and a wood stove. But, boy, do they burn through the pocketbook!

Ordinarily, the process is fairy straightforward:

1. Measure your fireplace opening. Precisely.
2. Order an insert that fits the opening. (As well as your budget and your taste.)
3. Wait a few weeks.
4. Install the insert and chimney liner.

Our first hitch occurred at step two. We chose a beautiful insert that juuuuuust barely fit our opening.

A week or so later, we got a call from the salesperson telling us that the shop owner didn't think the insert would fit after all, because there was not enough leeway for the installers' hands to reach in and connect the various parts.

Wha'? Wasn't that the whole point of the manufacturer's specifications for opening size?

We pushed back, partly because we really didn't like the styles of their other options.

Eventually the installation supervisor came to the house and took a fresh look at the situation. He was a grizzled, tough fellow who would look very uncomfortable in a suit and tie, but looked just right in his dust-encrusted jeans.

He measured and poked, looking for solutions rather than problems. And he found them. They were expensive, but they got us where we wanted to go.

In February, we were excited to receive an e-mail asking to schedule our installation. Yay!

Alas, they came, partly installed the chimney liner, removed the firebricks and poured some concrete, and then left.

This is the mantel we chose. It is a manufactured stone.
Click the picture to enlarge it
so you can really see the texture.

There were more hitches and delays. The salesman never learned to call me at the office rather than leaving messages with the young adults at home. (That practice is also known as the Black Hole Message Service.)

He seemed to completely lose track of our file a couple of times.

The shop owner pushed back against our choice of mantel and hearth. It was from a new supplier and was a material he hadn't worked with before, but it was much nicer than his other standard options.

But finally, at last, today they came to finish the installation. (Never mind that they showed up two days early, unexpected. I was still pressing the snooze button.)

Half way through the installation today.

And now for the before-and-after glamour shots!

              

August 2010, about a month
after we moved in. (And before
I had scrubbed the stones with TSP.)

May 15, 2012
(The colours in this one are more true.)

There's still some finishing for us to do (we have to put a non-flammable extension beyond the hearth and patch the bookcases where they were damaged by removal of the old mantel), but I already love the new mantel and hearth. (The old hearth was just ceramic tiles with a metal trim.) I think the whole thing looks a lot more finished and grounded. I am very, very happy with the end result.

Now. About that furniture . . .

Muddy Waters

Our pool construction was completed so late last fall (October!) that we didn't even turn on the pump or the heater. It would've cost a fortune to heat all that water and, frankly, when it's chilly and rainy out, who feels like swimming? Not I!

So we covered it with a big, blue tarp to keep the leaves and rain out, and we let it be. Come spring, we drained all the melted snow and ice off of the pool cover, and this is what we saw.

Steve dropped a brick onto the tarp in the deep end,
so that he could syphon off as much water as possible
before removing the cover.

It was still too cold to open the pool, so we focused on getting the terraces and gardens done. We're still plodding away at those. Finally, after a miserably rainy May, June brought some sunshine with it, so we pulled off the cover. This is what we were greeted with:

We accidentally spilled much of the contents of the cover
- including the brick - into the pool. Plus more leaves and pollen fell.
(The hose is topping up the water. It took HOURS.
Good thing we don't live in Barrhaven where there is a water ban in effect.)

There is so much dirt and algae in the water
that it is opaque in the deep end.

A visit to the pool company ($250) and two days of chemical blasting later, and the pool looked like this.

The algae are dead, but are suspended in the water, so it is
still so cloudy that you can't see the bottom, but at least it's not green.

A full series of chemical treatments - over the course of a week - and the water now looks like this:

Look: you can see the bottom (occluded by the reflection and still a little cloudy).
In fact, you can see the brick that fell off the protective tarp into the pool.

By the way, the water isn't actually blue; it only looks that way because of the blue liner and the reflection of the sky.

So far, it is not heated, but Emily has been in swimming. I'm still waiting for a sunny day when I happen to be in town. Then we need to clear all the work equipment off the patio so we can have a PARTY!

Seeing Things

The snow is gone. The buds are pushing. Our pool is dredged, lined and filled. The city is bursting with colours - daffodils, tulips, and dandelions. And this is what our backyard looks like:

Our barren garden.

There is actually a blissful strip of greenery which Steve is watering - the ditch lilies we've transplanted from beside the house. But all in all, it's pretty depressing, isn't it?

Steve and I have been looking out our kitchen window at this sad stretch of dirt for the past many weeks months, partly with despair, partly with the feeling of potential. Always with a feeling of: this is work. And the quandary of where do we even start?

So last night, I opened this picture in PowerPoint and started pasting in pictures of all the things I would love to plant back there. This is what I came up with.

Like I said - this is Powerpoint, not Photoshop.
But you get the idea, right?

Just look! Lilacs, clematis, lilies, hollyhocks, sedum, hostas, phlox, snow-in-summer, cedar. Swoon.

Of course, the yard would never look like this because all of these things bloom at different times. But isn't it a completely different view? And even if I planted all of these plants this weekend, it would be five or ten years before it looked like this, but still it is so exciting to get a visual to strive for!

And that's just one corner of the yard! Here's more:

Different view of the same corner shown with Steve in it.

The "utility" corner, which needs a shed, a path and some plantings.

We don't have the time, energy or drive to plant this entire garden in one massive onslaught. Instead, Steve and the boys will continue to putter away at the terracing (easier to see in the first picture, if you click on it), and I will gradually do the planting, starting with the larger shrubs and a tree or two.

In the meantime, I am more than happy to receive any plants or cuttings that you are willing to share from your gardens. [Read: Oh, please? Do you have a hosta that is ready to split? A peony that needs to be divided? Some sedum to spare?]

Much as I hate Ottawa winters, I will admit that I LOVE Ottawa spring and summer - so lush, so green. Mmmmm.

P.S. We are now accepting bets on when we will open the pool for the season!

Get it Right the First Time | UPDATED

All for show.

Excuse me a bit while I vent my curmudgeonly spleen.

This just in: Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon renewed their wedding vows while still in hospital after their twin babies were born.
This just in: Heidi Klum and Seal renew their vows every year. (Every year!)

Update: Both Nick and Mariah and Heidi and Seal divorced in 2014.

I suppose that in celebu-land, home of the highest concentration of insecure narcissists on the planet, this sort of makes sense, but I still find it really annoying.

A Drain on the Pocketbook



Shelley Long and Tom Hanks had nothing on us.

It's been 25 years since Shelley and Tom had us laughing at the trials and tribulations of home ownership. When the movie came out, Steve and I were newlyweds, still renting our homes. I don't think we even saw the movie at the time as it didn't relate to anything in our lives.

Well.

Here we are, living the dream, er, the nightmare. Chez Sibbald IS The Money Pit.

I don't remember much of the movie, but I do recall that when the couple moved in, the house had been stripped of all fixtures - even the ones that were nailed down. Similarly, when we moved in, we found that the house lacked any of the following:

• towel bars or hooks
• toilet-paper holders
• mirrors

Not as bad as their situation (I believe they didn't even have doors), but humorous nevertheless.

Our house inspection had warned us:

• the roof was on its last legs (or shingles)
• the fireplace had no flue (I'm not even sure what that is)
• the chimney needed a new liner and repointing of the bricks
• the furnace was old and tired
• the air conditioner was ready for replacement
• several of the windows were old (including two single-glazed)

So what did we do? Why, we set about making improvements!

I think our house deserves one of these!


• an inground pool! (Oh, sweet mercy, will I some day regret that decision?)
• landscaping to correct the grade in the backyard in order to put in the pool!
• upgraded wiring to allow for hooking up the pool!
• gas line in order to heat the pool!
• double the number of cabinets in the kitchen!
• new chandelier! (small potatoes, but still)
• built-in shelving in the living room!
• new furnace!
• new air conditioner!

And then, the money ran out. Truth be told, the money ran out well before these were done. We're still paying off the landscaping. And, um, the furnace was on a one-year deferred payment plan, so it comes due in July.

This is the fifth house we've owned, so it's not like we're completely new to this. But we'd spent the previous five years in a rental home which was only six or seven years old and needed no improvements (though if we'd been the owners, I'm sure we'd have found places to spend money - not least of which would be getting rid of the beige carpet and all the brass light fixtures).

The home-improvement cycle is like childbirth: you swear you'll never do it again, but then you fall in love with the results.

You'll note that we have not yet tackled the following from the inspector's list:

• the roof was on its last legs (or shingles)
• the fireplace had no flue (I'm not even sure what that is)
• the chimney needed a new liner and repointing of the bricks
• several of the windows were old (including two single-glazed)

Those are on the agenda for this summer and fall. Along with finishing the landscaping around the pool (it currently is little more than a gorgeous pool, a beautiful patio and a great deal of mud surrounded by a lovely fence).

SURPRISE!
The paint is right at the base of the maple.
Click picture for larger view.


Plus, we still have to deal with the surprises, like the sewage drain from our house to the main sewer line. Said drain has been crushed by a very mature tree (presumably planted by the city) on city property. While it is almost certainly City responsibility to pay for the repair, there will likely be some collateral costs to us as well.

Or like the surprise ant infestation. Latest word is that they are carpenter ants - so not to be taken lightly. We'll have them exterminated soon. Ka-ching!

And, the city is "rehabilitating" the sewer system on our street this summer, which means they'll be ripping up the bottom third of our driveway. Our driveway is in dreadful condition as it is, so now would seem a good time to get the whole thing regraded and repaved. Right?

Part of me regrets doing the pool before we'd done the other more sensible improvements, but a pool is really a long-term lifestyle purchase (I won't call it an investment, because it's not). Ten years from now we'll be empty-nesters and the pool will see much less use, so we seized the moment.

I fully anticipate a comment along the lines of Anonymous, who wrote, "You are so lucky to be able to afford it! You are certainly not living in poverty. :) ," which is true, and I am grateful. But I also know there are others who consider our two professional incomes and mutter to themselves (or to others, but never to us), "What do they do with all that money?" The answer? Possibly not what you would do with it, but it's certainly not burning a hole in our pockets.

Change of Life

Katie as a newborn, still in the gown the hospital put on her.
Don't you just want to sniff her?

Twenty-three years ago today, I gave birth to Katie, a 6 lb. 11 oz. little girl, on Easter Sunday in 1988. I was 25 years old.

I became a mother, at last. It was something I had yearned for for as long as I could remember. Seems my biological clock started ticking when I was about 15. I wanted a baby the way some politicians lust for power: it was a drive, a compulsion, an obsession.

I was so certain of wanting a baby that I used to declare it to university friends (à propos of what, I can't imagine) and had offers from volunteers to help me out, made in jest, of course. We all know that babies come with strings attached.

Eventually, of course, Steve and I chose those strings and tied the knot at an unimaginably young age (I was only 21, for heaven's sake!). Wisely, he insisted we wait a few years before starting a family.

So, thank you, Katie, for helping my dreams come true. I hope we can do the same for you.

Conscious Incompetence

Pileated Woodpecker

At a conference I attended recently, one of the presenters introduced me to the expression "conscious incompetence." It's that psychologically painful stage when you realize just how incompetent you are at a new skill. It comes from the so-called four stages of competence.
Here's the Wikipedia explanation:

1. Unconscious Incompetence
The individual neither understands nor knows how to do something, nor recognizes the deficit, nor has a desire to address it.

2. Conscious Incompetence
Though the individual does not understand or know how to do something, he or she does recognize the deficit, without yet addressing it.

3. Conscious Competence
The individual understands or knows how to do something. However, demonstrating the skill or knowledge requires a great deal of consciousness or concentration.

4. Unconscious Competence
The individual has had so much practice with a skill that it becomes "second nature" and can be performed easily (often without concentrating too deeply). He or she may or may not be able to teach it to others, depending upon how and when it was learned.

Looking at these, it occurs to me that not only is conscious incompetence the most uncomfortable stage, it is probably the only stage that doesn't actually make you feel good. Here's my synopsis (much pithier than Wikipedia's):

Unconscious Incompetence => Ignorance is bliss
Conscious Incompetence => OMG, I totally suck!
Conscious Competence => Dayum, I'm good!
Unconscious Competence => Gretzky on skates

I am currently at the "OMG, I totally suck!" stage when it comes to Adobe Photoshop and Illustrator, and it is kind of driving me nuts. I know just enough to do some really cool stuff, but also enough to get into trouble.

For example, I did some subtle (I think) but good things to Brian's picture at the top of this post, using Photoshop. Here's the original picture, at right. It's a good picture: high resolution, good shot of the woodpecker, decent exposure. But the few tweaks I did (not just cropping) make it stronger, I think.

On the other hand, in trying to do those few simple things, there was still a lot of trial and error (and undoing).

And one of the larger projects I had at work this week involved Illustrator. The design itself was relatively simple, so I didn't think we would need to hire a professional designer (famous last words, eh?).

Well, I uploaded the final artwork to the production company yesterday and got a "Please call us first thing in the morning" message from them last night. Turns out that, while the design itself was fine, I hadn't integrated all the files the way the printer needs them. (Just how DOES one convert text to "outlines"?) It was easily solved by uploading a couple of extra files.

I need to be patient and keep on plugging away. I just don't like this in-between stage of "OMG, I totally suck!" I am, however, looking forward to feeling like I rock.

Lemme OUT!

Our family doctor has his practice in the basement of an old folks' home. I expect he is the "house doctor" for the facility and also sees outside patients.

It had been many years since we had last seen him. Since our last visit, special keypads had been placed at every door between the parking lot and the doctor's office. I guess they've had concerns about senile patients wandering off, so they've taken precautions. There are three such doors. Each of these doors has a slightly different two-digit or three-digit code. On the way into the office, the access code is written on a label pasted near the door.

Leaving is another matter.

To get through the first door, we had to backtrack to the doctor's office and read a posted sign. The second door had a small label. The third door, in the outer vestibule, had a label indicating, "To exit, press." And the code had been removed. Someone had magic-markered a number that looked like either 09 or 04. Someone else had penned in 11.

Eventually, we started doing sequential combinations 01, 02, 03, 04, 05 ... We were plugging away when someone who worked in the building stepped into the vestibule and, with no preamble, said, "It's 12."

"How on earth were we supposed to know that?!" I exclaimed with thinly veiled exasperation.

"Ask someone?"

The only people we could've asked were two locked doors away. Did they think all the patients just KNEW the release code? Guess so.

Zen and the art of parking-lot circumnavigation.

I darned near lost it yesterday. I was stuck in a parking garage that had signage pointing to the conference centre where I had to set up our exhibit, but no actual direct exits to the place. Seriously. There were signs pointing to brick walls and dead ends. What's more, I'd been in that very garage a couple of years earlier, and I KNEW for a fact that it used to have entrances to the conference location.

If you know me, you know that this kind of runaround drives me absolutely batty. Forget road rage; I get frustration rage. When all I want to do is get the job done, all these irritating impediments are like chalk on a chalkboard (a metaphor our grandchildren will likely not understand). Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Finally -- when I was on the verge of tears, for Pete's sake! -- I paused for a millisecond and decided to practice patience. For me, this is a very conscious decision. I didn't expect it to make a difference, but, honest to goodness, it was as if I was a whole different person.

I wondered, do normal people do this all the time? Do they calmly plod on, knowing that anger and frustration will not make one whit of difference at the end of the day? (Except to raise one's blood pressure, cause cancer and generally shorten one's lifespan.) Do they choose to shrug off the frustration and impatience?

Eventually, enveloped in this new sense of resignation, if not calm, I realized that the parking garage I'd remembered was currently under construction and the entrances I'd sought were no longer accessible. I managed to find the solitary access point, after driving circles around downtown Ottawa.

All without having an aneurysm. I call that a "Win."

Reverting to Smoke Signals and Charcoal Scratches on Cave Walls



Cave drawings at Lascaux, France. Source

 I'm thinking of giving up this whole technology thing. Well, not seriously, evidently, because I am, at this very moment, writing a blog post.

If we are Facebook friends, then you already know that I've suffered a technological crash and burn recently. My two-year-old laptop's LCD screen suffered a catastrophic failure and gave me the white screen of death. Yup: white screen. I had no idea such a thing existed until it happened to me.

[Allow me to point out that that is a hardware error, so really it is not a case of my using "weird keystrokes" or otherwise abusing the machine. Unless you count slamming it shut in frustration when trying to navigate a government website. But EVERYONE does that! I DO NOT have anger-management issues!]

This is only the latest in a seemingly unending string of disasters with laptops (and the occasional desktop or Kindle). Frankly, I've lost count, and I really don't want to look up my notes to find out what my current status is.

Anyway, I've been using Steve's netbook, but we got a scare yesterday when it wouldn't boot for me, which is why I have a new laptop today.

You might think that, by now, I'd be used to the process of integrating a new computer, but let me tell you, I am SICK OF IT!

Registering this, that and the other thing, customizing applications, restoring backed-up files, activating my antivirus/spyware program without having to pay through the nose for a second license, getting used to the slightly different keyboard layout [this one has a "\" or « key where the Shift key should be] and a new operating system.

And Microsoft Outlook NEVER works with Outlook Connector. All it will show me is my oldest Inbox message ... from last May!

And this new bilingual keyboard won't allow me to switch to English - Canada. And now my quotation mark has vanished! Where the hell are my quotation marks!É Aaaah! And my question mark! ^^ And my square brackets! (And I have my keyboard set to English - US.)

*Breathe in... Exhaaaaaale... Breathe in... Exhaaaaaale.*
*Take a glug of wine.*

Those asterisks will have to take the place of square brackets AND less-than or greater-than symbols.

[Aha! The square bracket has been restored to me! ? And the question mark! And the /! And the quotation mark: "!

[Breathe in... Exhaaaaaale... Breathe in... Exhaaaaaale.]

And, wait. Outlook has awakened and restored unto me the wealth of e-mails which I had entrusted to its care. [Angels sing, harp music swells.]

On that optimistic note [Yippeee! I've got e-mail!], I will spare you the saga of my accidentally purchasing a laptop without a CD/DVD drive (only discovered AFTER I had restored all of my files, of course), and of forgetting my receipt when I went to exchange it. Well, I guess I didn't really spare you, I just sort of condensed it.

For his part, Stephen has already deleted my user account on his little netbook. Couldn't do so fast enough, it seems. The fact that he allowed me to use it for seven entire days just shows you how very much he loves me.

I leave you on that note, while I go to do battle with that monolithic beast that goes by the name of Norton.

House-hunting Stress

We're moving back to Ottawa this summer. Or at least, that's what we've been told, and that's what we're telling everyone. That's what we're planning on. The hitch is we don't have anything on paper yet -- no official "posting message." A posting message is the official document from the Department of National Defence (DND) that permits us to make commitments -- such as carrying out a house-hunting trip or, for that matter, buying a house. (We are fortunate that DND pays certain expenses associated with purchasing a house.)

The upshot of all this is that we can't actually do anything yet. Well, if I'm honest, we can do something: we can browse online real estate listings for houses. Which I've been doing, and it's only serving to exacerbate my impatience.

Ottawa is currently a seller's market, we've been told. And it shows in the listings. Several of the houses we've been interested in have already vanished from the listings. Others have notes in the listings that say things like, "Open house on Saturday; all offers will be presented on Monday at 6 p.m." It also is apparent in the fact that there really aren't very many houses available that fit our bill. This is because Ottawa is a government town and therefore has sailed through the current economic downturn with barely a shudder.

In case you're interested, here's our wish list (with the acknowledgement that "something's going to have to give"):

• Short drive to downtown (less than 20 minutes)
• Short bus ride to downtown (less than 45 minutes)
• 4 bedrooms
• At least 2 baths
• Garage
• Inground pool
• Ensuite for master bedroom
• Updated kitchen
• Good school
• Low crime
• And, of course a certain cost threshold

In the "something's going to have to give" category are questions like:

• Does a short commute outweigh zero crime vs. low crime?
• Are we willing to give up a pool if the house has everything else?
• Is a one-car garage enough? Or will we just end up fighting over it?
• Is this house only for the next 10 years? Or is this our "forever" house (i.e., until we need ramps, ventilators and Depends)?

These are all questions with price-tags attached, of course. And, like most couples, price-tags tend to induce a certain amount of friction. Steve was the kind of kid who saved up all his allowances for years and loaned his parents money for a down-payment on their first house (I'm not exaggerating). I was the kind of kid who searched the coat-pockets in the front-hall closet for loose change and spent it on candy at the corner store (Sorry, Mom). I never, ever had money saved. Neither of us has changed much.

Fortunately, we each love the other enough to realize that this, like so much else in marriage, requires a compromise. Steve knows I won't be happy living in an ugly house. I know he won't be able to sleep with outrageous debt hanging over his head. The bottom line is that there is a very narrow range of houses that will satisfy both of us.

But houses there are. I'm impatiently watching them appear and disappear from the online listings. We've been told that posting messages won't be issued before mid-March. Of course, in my current state, I therefore expect to have document in hand no later than March 16. (I'm being generous.) I'll keep you posted as the saga continues. If nothing else, this blog may help assuage some of my pre-posting turmoil.

Oh, by the way, in the course of my online house-browsing, I came across this interesting tool that tracks crime by address in Ottawa (possibly elsewhere, but I only used it for Ottawa.) http://www.ottawapolice.ca/en/CrimeFiles/CrimeMaps_Reports/cr_redirect.aspx