I "spent" Christmas Eve in Chattanooga. On one hand my activity that day brought home how much I've (we've?) lost sight of what we celebrate. I waited until Tuesday to start shopping (not that it matters much since my budget for purchased gifts is quite 'modest' these days). The stores all had 50% reductions or more since so little money is being spent, except WalMart whose parking lot was packed almost completely with parked cars.
Fortunately, when I went to Thomas's (my older son) graduation (cum laude) I brought my camera. Also fortunately I brought my camera to Ship Island last summer, and also to a client's home and got some pretty good photographs. I purchased some frames for 50% off at Hobby Lobby along with some matting board and made some prints at Wolf Camera. So, after a few hours composing, cutting and trimming I managed several mounted prints, all good gifts ( in my thinking and hopefully in theirs) for the people in my life that mean something to me.
On the other hand, the Christmas Eve service at Northside reminded me of what is so good about God's gifts. We had a good service, I heard many of my younger son's friends read the Christmas story, saw Rachel a seminary student who asked if I'd made up my mind about Union PSCE. All I can say to her is I've done my part with all the paperwork to three seminaries and our presbytery, and soon, I hope, all I have to do is wait and contemplate what decisions (that I know will be hard) lie before me of what I am going to do. The only bittersweet things of the service was I didn't see Terry, Russell's erstwhile, proxy mom in his teen years to whom I owe much; and this was JoeB Martin IV's last service before he leaves for Mount Vernon Presbyterian Church in Sandy Springs, aka, Atlanta. JoeB is a good friend who does not let me forget my gifts and obligations.
God is good. While I'm writing this entry on Christmas day, shortly after midnight, my Ipod shuffle is playing a song from Messenger, a Christian rock group whose lead vocalist is a friend of mine in Vermont. Search for them on the web. Also, I got four Christmas best wishes e-mail, from the vocalist, from Joe K in Pearlington and from some of my associates who stayed in Gulfport for Christmas.
So friends, let's celebrate the joy of who we honor today and consider Simeon's song. Simeon was a devote man who would not see death before he had seen the Lord's Christ, a man who knew by the Holy Spirit what would unfold:
"Lord now let thy servant go in peace according to your word,
for I have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the presence of all your people,
a light to those in darkness outside your covenant and to the Glory of Israel.
Behold Mary, this child is set for the fall and rising of many in Israel,
and for a sign that is spoken against that thoughts out of many hearts may be revealed.
A sword will pierce through your own soul also."
(my paraphrase of Luke 2:25-35, RSV)
Do good to a stranger and remember the two greater commandments. Grace to you all and have a joyful and safe Christmas Day.
Henry
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Day 268 - The Fire in My Bosom Burns My Clothes (A Christmas Story)
Henry Paris, December 23, 2008 (all rights reserved) revised Day 194 blog
I can read Job as a presage of Christmas, as an Advent story:
The Innocent stands on the street at the entrance to the building listening to the noise and hurrah within but is not quite able to make out what is said. Not only is he not welcome inside, he is forbidden entry. Yet, he clings to his inner confidence of who resides inside.
Two men come out of the building walking in a deliberate pace. They are engaged in an animated, angry complaint and brush by the Innocent, pushing him aside as one says to the other, “I’m tired of waiting, I doubt this thing is ever going to get started. I’m going home. This is pointless.”
Regardless of the danger, The Innocent decides to enter to learn exactly what is not getting started. He walks confidently through the door and finds a spot on the low wall behind the top row of the central aisle that leads down to the stage. He leans forward on the wall with his elbows and watches and listens.
The crowd is restive. The building is full. It is hot, hazy or smoky, the light is not very good and everyone is sweaty and uncomfortable.
The Innocent realizes previously a series of speakers seated at the front have mounted the stage and warmed up the crowd, this must have been the noise he heard when he was outside on the street. Now, two more great men stand to speak and proclaim great hope for the future and woe to the crowd for its behavior. The person leading the ceremony names the next, Jeremiah, the Innocent thinks he hears. This speaker quotes the words of THE LORD to the crowd, “I am sick of your sacrifices, your burnt offerings; why are you not caring for the poor, freeing the captives and honoring the stranger in your land? Circumcise your heart to me lest my wrath go forth like fire!”
At these strange words the noise level of the crowd drops quite noticeably. The speaker had hardly finished speaking when a voice in the crowd shouted from the other side of the hall echoes, “Thou art my King and my God who ordained victories for Jacob, through you we push down our foes, for in our own strength we cannot trust and we continually give thanks to you; yet you have cast us off and abased us, made us a laughingstock among the peoples of the world. Why do you hide your face? Why do you forget our oppression? Rise up and come to our help in the name of your steadfast love!”
Then another voice from the rear of the auditorium to the right of the Innocent shouts back, “Can a man carry fire in his bosom and his clothes not get burned? Wise men lay up knowledge, but the babbling fool brings ruin near.”
While all this is happening, the Innocent watches as who appears to be the final speaker harangues the crowd. Many faces among the crowd redden with anger and frustration at this speaker’s words. Shaking fists are raised. A renewed chorus of shouts, “Blasphemy! Blasphemy!” rain about this final speaker, the insane one named Ezekiel, as he steps down from the stage defiantly and walks towards his seat in the front row inwardly smiling while dodging fists from patrons nearby and objects thrown at him from the crowd afar.
Finally the crowd’s shouting diminishes. Suddenly a deafening sound from nowhere and everywhere as if it were a whirlwind forming a voice echoes in the hall, “I thought I would pour out my wrath upon you and spend my anger against you in the wilderness. But, I withheld my hand and acted for the sake of my name, that I would not be profaned in the sight of the nations in whose sight I brought you out. Moreover, I gave you statutes that were not good and ordinances by which you could not live; and I defiled you through your own gifts by demanding you offer to the fire all your first born so I might horrify you, so you will know I AM THE LORD.”
The crowd turns into angry pandemonium and the organizers panic. They try to keep control of the proceedings by hurrying the anonymous announcer of the fight onto the stage with microphone in hand. He begins, "Gentlemen, in one corner we will have The Innocent standing in for the goodness and kindness of God and human virtue. In the other corner we will have his Adversary standing in defense of the Psalms (especially the 44th), and wisdom of Proverbs.
The noise of the crowd increases. Out in the rear seats a heckler with “King Lear” written across the front of his baseball hat sputters at this spectacle and shouts in a strong bass voice, “As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport."
In the wings off stage-right, The One called God smiles with a self-satisfied knowledge and casts his gamble with The Adversary who is standing on stage-left. The Innocent, who in actuality is a stranger from another land, has learned of this God and has come to love and honor Him more greatly than his people in this audience. The Innocent standing far in the rear listens but the noise and pandemonium drown out the words from the stage. He stands erect and moves to the center of the aisle that leads down to the stage to better hear the discourse. One of the organizers looks up at the motion and recognizes the man. He bids his fellows to drag The Innocent to the stage, now converted to a ring for the fight.
The Adversary considers his wager and taunts The One, ”Of what value is faith if practiced only for reward?” He leaves the building, smiling with a self-satisfied knowledge.
Thirteen rounds later the Innocent is no more an innocent but a beaten, defeated man who still fights to deny his newly found knowledge that there can be no assurance of reward for the loyal servant; that this God can do ill to a good man. Yet he still clings to his faith in God, even with the knowledge that he has unleashed the crowd to splay and kill his family and burnt his home and possessions. All this carnage at God’s instigation by a wager with…can it be Himself? Cowering, fearful and trapped, the Innocent clings to that faith even though his Adversary has broken his body.
Now, the organizers from the ring drag the Innocent into the wings, bloodied and diseased. As they pass behind the curtain on stage-left, The Innocent turns his head and shouts across the stage to The One standing there that this cannot be without cause and demands of the Adversary, the Wrath of God, to explain what ill the Innocent has done to merit this defeat.
Unaware a nearby microphone is still turned on, The Gambler still stands in the wings of stage-right stunned, not by this nothing’s words, but that he has allowed this horribly cruel and capricious thing of his Own to unfold. A tear rolls down the cheek of The Gambler as the Innocent demands this explanation; but as fast as the tear forms, an impulse of unbounded fury rises in his chest. He shouts with a rage so intense that it shakes the walls and roof of the entire building so strongly bits of plaster fall down on the crowd,” It is so because I wanted it so!”
This final fury cows the Innocent lying on the floor. He is too terrified and too devastated to look directly at The Adversary and question again boldly why this ill-made reward for goodness results only from His capriciousness. The Innocent is determined however to hazard a very quietly and a very carefully crafted final acknowledgement, “I now see You for who You are and can only fear for us all.”
The crowd has watched this one-sided beating unfold and now most eyes of the crowd stare stunned at the empty stage, they are staggered, ears listening to this argument and the veiled resistance of the beaten Innocent coming from the PA system.
People stand uneasily. Finally those towards the rear begin to file out. As they leave, a woman waiting at the rear turns to her husband and grabs his arm tightly. She whispers, “This can’t be it. This can’t be all there is, can it? Is this it?” The husband struggles for some assuring words, finally muttering to his wife under his breath, “No, it can’t be. There must be hope for reward.” Another fellow in the departing crowd who hears the man’s reply to his wife says, “Hey, don’t be too zealous, or too rowdy, find the middle ground. Don’t rock the boat or you’ll get stepped on.”
There in the wings the Innocent struggles to his feet and the Gambler stands in silence. Both are too uncomfortable to look at each other, for their misery is great. Both are devastated by what has unfolded. They squirm in the pain of self-acknowledgement, the Gambler in recognition of who He is, the Innocent in sullen, submissive recognition of who God is. Finally The Gambler turns to leave, holding the fight’s purse, a bag of coins. As he passes the Innocent Man, he tosses the bag of coins at the Innocent’s feet along with another equally sized bag. The One speaks tenderly, “I AM my Word. I will not restore your family but I remember Second Isaiah’s words, today I repent; your fortune shall be restored. You shall receive double compensation. Now, I must go away to think of what we have done here today.” He bows his head and yet even though in his repentance his anger is kindled against the crowd, still he relents.
He will speak no more for 500 years, when at last he will decide finally enough is enough. He will come to show to both the crowd and The Innocent’s people by way of an inexplicable Supreme Sacrifice, “I do love you all as I love Myself. I do forgive and I do repent for you are a part of me. Truly, no more shall death have its sting. The Adversary is defeated.”
Have a joyful Christmas – Amen.
I can read Job as a presage of Christmas, as an Advent story:
The Innocent stands on the street at the entrance to the building listening to the noise and hurrah within but is not quite able to make out what is said. Not only is he not welcome inside, he is forbidden entry. Yet, he clings to his inner confidence of who resides inside.
Two men come out of the building walking in a deliberate pace. They are engaged in an animated, angry complaint and brush by the Innocent, pushing him aside as one says to the other, “I’m tired of waiting, I doubt this thing is ever going to get started. I’m going home. This is pointless.”
Regardless of the danger, The Innocent decides to enter to learn exactly what is not getting started. He walks confidently through the door and finds a spot on the low wall behind the top row of the central aisle that leads down to the stage. He leans forward on the wall with his elbows and watches and listens.
The crowd is restive. The building is full. It is hot, hazy or smoky, the light is not very good and everyone is sweaty and uncomfortable.
The Innocent realizes previously a series of speakers seated at the front have mounted the stage and warmed up the crowd, this must have been the noise he heard when he was outside on the street. Now, two more great men stand to speak and proclaim great hope for the future and woe to the crowd for its behavior. The person leading the ceremony names the next, Jeremiah, the Innocent thinks he hears. This speaker quotes the words of THE LORD to the crowd, “I am sick of your sacrifices, your burnt offerings; why are you not caring for the poor, freeing the captives and honoring the stranger in your land? Circumcise your heart to me lest my wrath go forth like fire!”
At these strange words the noise level of the crowd drops quite noticeably. The speaker had hardly finished speaking when a voice in the crowd shouted from the other side of the hall echoes, “Thou art my King and my God who ordained victories for Jacob, through you we push down our foes, for in our own strength we cannot trust and we continually give thanks to you; yet you have cast us off and abased us, made us a laughingstock among the peoples of the world. Why do you hide your face? Why do you forget our oppression? Rise up and come to our help in the name of your steadfast love!”
Then another voice from the rear of the auditorium to the right of the Innocent shouts back, “Can a man carry fire in his bosom and his clothes not get burned? Wise men lay up knowledge, but the babbling fool brings ruin near.”
While all this is happening, the Innocent watches as who appears to be the final speaker harangues the crowd. Many faces among the crowd redden with anger and frustration at this speaker’s words. Shaking fists are raised. A renewed chorus of shouts, “Blasphemy! Blasphemy!” rain about this final speaker, the insane one named Ezekiel, as he steps down from the stage defiantly and walks towards his seat in the front row inwardly smiling while dodging fists from patrons nearby and objects thrown at him from the crowd afar.
Finally the crowd’s shouting diminishes. Suddenly a deafening sound from nowhere and everywhere as if it were a whirlwind forming a voice echoes in the hall, “I thought I would pour out my wrath upon you and spend my anger against you in the wilderness. But, I withheld my hand and acted for the sake of my name, that I would not be profaned in the sight of the nations in whose sight I brought you out. Moreover, I gave you statutes that were not good and ordinances by which you could not live; and I defiled you through your own gifts by demanding you offer to the fire all your first born so I might horrify you, so you will know I AM THE LORD.”
The crowd turns into angry pandemonium and the organizers panic. They try to keep control of the proceedings by hurrying the anonymous announcer of the fight onto the stage with microphone in hand. He begins, "Gentlemen, in one corner we will have The Innocent standing in for the goodness and kindness of God and human virtue. In the other corner we will have his Adversary standing in defense of the Psalms (especially the 44th), and wisdom of Proverbs.
The noise of the crowd increases. Out in the rear seats a heckler with “King Lear” written across the front of his baseball hat sputters at this spectacle and shouts in a strong bass voice, “As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport."
In the wings off stage-right, The One called God smiles with a self-satisfied knowledge and casts his gamble with The Adversary who is standing on stage-left. The Innocent, who in actuality is a stranger from another land, has learned of this God and has come to love and honor Him more greatly than his people in this audience. The Innocent standing far in the rear listens but the noise and pandemonium drown out the words from the stage. He stands erect and moves to the center of the aisle that leads down to the stage to better hear the discourse. One of the organizers looks up at the motion and recognizes the man. He bids his fellows to drag The Innocent to the stage, now converted to a ring for the fight.
The Adversary considers his wager and taunts The One, ”Of what value is faith if practiced only for reward?” He leaves the building, smiling with a self-satisfied knowledge.
Thirteen rounds later the Innocent is no more an innocent but a beaten, defeated man who still fights to deny his newly found knowledge that there can be no assurance of reward for the loyal servant; that this God can do ill to a good man. Yet he still clings to his faith in God, even with the knowledge that he has unleashed the crowd to splay and kill his family and burnt his home and possessions. All this carnage at God’s instigation by a wager with…can it be Himself? Cowering, fearful and trapped, the Innocent clings to that faith even though his Adversary has broken his body.
Now, the organizers from the ring drag the Innocent into the wings, bloodied and diseased. As they pass behind the curtain on stage-left, The Innocent turns his head and shouts across the stage to The One standing there that this cannot be without cause and demands of the Adversary, the Wrath of God, to explain what ill the Innocent has done to merit this defeat.
Unaware a nearby microphone is still turned on, The Gambler still stands in the wings of stage-right stunned, not by this nothing’s words, but that he has allowed this horribly cruel and capricious thing of his Own to unfold. A tear rolls down the cheek of The Gambler as the Innocent demands this explanation; but as fast as the tear forms, an impulse of unbounded fury rises in his chest. He shouts with a rage so intense that it shakes the walls and roof of the entire building so strongly bits of plaster fall down on the crowd,” It is so because I wanted it so!”
This final fury cows the Innocent lying on the floor. He is too terrified and too devastated to look directly at The Adversary and question again boldly why this ill-made reward for goodness results only from His capriciousness. The Innocent is determined however to hazard a very quietly and a very carefully crafted final acknowledgement, “I now see You for who You are and can only fear for us all.”
The crowd has watched this one-sided beating unfold and now most eyes of the crowd stare stunned at the empty stage, they are staggered, ears listening to this argument and the veiled resistance of the beaten Innocent coming from the PA system.
People stand uneasily. Finally those towards the rear begin to file out. As they leave, a woman waiting at the rear turns to her husband and grabs his arm tightly. She whispers, “This can’t be it. This can’t be all there is, can it? Is this it?” The husband struggles for some assuring words, finally muttering to his wife under his breath, “No, it can’t be. There must be hope for reward.” Another fellow in the departing crowd who hears the man’s reply to his wife says, “Hey, don’t be too zealous, or too rowdy, find the middle ground. Don’t rock the boat or you’ll get stepped on.”
There in the wings the Innocent struggles to his feet and the Gambler stands in silence. Both are too uncomfortable to look at each other, for their misery is great. Both are devastated by what has unfolded. They squirm in the pain of self-acknowledgement, the Gambler in recognition of who He is, the Innocent in sullen, submissive recognition of who God is. Finally The Gambler turns to leave, holding the fight’s purse, a bag of coins. As he passes the Innocent Man, he tosses the bag of coins at the Innocent’s feet along with another equally sized bag. The One speaks tenderly, “I AM my Word. I will not restore your family but I remember Second Isaiah’s words, today I repent; your fortune shall be restored. You shall receive double compensation. Now, I must go away to think of what we have done here today.” He bows his head and yet even though in his repentance his anger is kindled against the crowd, still he relents.
He will speak no more for 500 years, when at last he will decide finally enough is enough. He will come to show to both the crowd and The Innocent’s people by way of an inexplicable Supreme Sacrifice, “I do love you all as I love Myself. I do forgive and I do repent for you are a part of me. Truly, no more shall death have its sting. The Adversary is defeated.”
Have a joyful Christmas – Amen.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Day 266 - Sundogs
This afternoon about 4:15, as I approached the entrance ramp to I-10 off US49 in Gulfport to drive over to D’iberville on a Christmas gift delivery from my church (Northside Presbyterian in Chattanooga) out of Gulfport I looked towards the setting Sun. The sky was magnificent this evening, a lot of high clouds and an Alaska Express blowing down and just brushing us.
There low in the sky were two sun dogs, The southernmost one was unusual. It spanned an arc of about twenty-thirty degrees partly encircling the Sun.
Sun dogs are bright faux-suns displaced left or right, and perpendicularly above or below the sun. There can be as many as four or as few as one, in extreme cases they turn into ring around the sun much like the halo often observed around he moon. Even though they occur everywhere since they rely only upon the confluence of a few physical factors such as a relatively clear sky with enough with high clouds containing ice crystals between the viewer and the Sun, I'm always fascinated by sun dogs. I'll leave it to my brother, the atmospheric scientist to explain them in detail, or google the web.
I believe the appearance of sundogs is auspicious in some of the southwest Indian lore, (Hopi, Navajo, Pueblo or Zuni) . My brother, the atmospheric scientist in the family spent timeout west and told me about sundogs. I’ll forego the whole explanation about ice crystals, their orientation and the like.
In these few days before Christmas, some auspicious events would be welcome because, you see, I’ve been working alone on a house in Gulfport. We do not have any volunteers until January 10, and I have no work site manager at the moment.
It’s Mr. Percy’s house. The good news is last Friday morning the city gave us a go on the rough-in inspection and we can install insulation and drywall now. I planned to get the insulation over there by noon and start installing. Unfortunately the guy responsible for the trailers left me a derelict. It took the better part of two hours for me to repair temporarily a shade tree mechanic’s job on its wiring so brake and tail lights worked. (Yes, I could chew nails.) I loaded up the derelict with insulation and delivered it to the house. With this puny trailer it took two trips and I had to unload it all by myself.
I have some interest in getting the insulation installed and the drywall up. Mr. Percy’s dear wife is about worn out staying with her son and wants to get into the house soon. She told me the last time I saw here over at the house that she was going to go to Chattanooga with me and stay at my house until hers was done. When I hear her say “Mr. Henry…” I look for her holding a suitcase.
I feel badly about it but I’m ready for a break today and head to Chattanooga. It hurts me to leave Mr. Percy, his wife and son to do all the work with the insulation themselves, but my plan to try to get the drywall to the house tomorrow is compromised by that little crippled 8 foot trailer. I may end up doing multiple runs using my truck next week, if Mr. Percy has someone there to help unload it. I’ll get the drywall jack over there so they can tackle the ceilings. Maybe by the time I return Sunday after Christmas they will be ready for the drywall and I’ll be ready to work on it with them.
Tuesday morning I plan to be on the road again. Maybe I’ll get to a Christmas story before the day comes. Regardless, Merry Christmas to all!
There low in the sky were two sun dogs, The southernmost one was unusual. It spanned an arc of about twenty-thirty degrees partly encircling the Sun.
Sun dogs are bright faux-suns displaced left or right, and perpendicularly above or below the sun. There can be as many as four or as few as one, in extreme cases they turn into ring around the sun much like the halo often observed around he moon. Even though they occur everywhere since they rely only upon the confluence of a few physical factors such as a relatively clear sky with enough with high clouds containing ice crystals between the viewer and the Sun, I'm always fascinated by sun dogs. I'll leave it to my brother, the atmospheric scientist to explain them in detail, or google the web.
I believe the appearance of sundogs is auspicious in some of the southwest Indian lore, (Hopi, Navajo, Pueblo or Zuni) . My brother, the atmospheric scientist in the family spent timeout west and told me about sundogs. I’ll forego the whole explanation about ice crystals, their orientation and the like.
In these few days before Christmas, some auspicious events would be welcome because, you see, I’ve been working alone on a house in Gulfport. We do not have any volunteers until January 10, and I have no work site manager at the moment.
It’s Mr. Percy’s house. The good news is last Friday morning the city gave us a go on the rough-in inspection and we can install insulation and drywall now. I planned to get the insulation over there by noon and start installing. Unfortunately the guy responsible for the trailers left me a derelict. It took the better part of two hours for me to repair temporarily a shade tree mechanic’s job on its wiring so brake and tail lights worked. (Yes, I could chew nails.) I loaded up the derelict with insulation and delivered it to the house. With this puny trailer it took two trips and I had to unload it all by myself.
I have some interest in getting the insulation installed and the drywall up. Mr. Percy’s dear wife is about worn out staying with her son and wants to get into the house soon. She told me the last time I saw here over at the house that she was going to go to Chattanooga with me and stay at my house until hers was done. When I hear her say “Mr. Henry…” I look for her holding a suitcase.
I feel badly about it but I’m ready for a break today and head to Chattanooga. It hurts me to leave Mr. Percy, his wife and son to do all the work with the insulation themselves, but my plan to try to get the drywall to the house tomorrow is compromised by that little crippled 8 foot trailer. I may end up doing multiple runs using my truck next week, if Mr. Percy has someone there to help unload it. I’ll get the drywall jack over there so they can tackle the ceilings. Maybe by the time I return Sunday after Christmas they will be ready for the drywall and I’ll be ready to work on it with them.
Tuesday morning I plan to be on the road again. Maybe I’ll get to a Christmas story before the day comes. Regardless, Merry Christmas to all!
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Day 254 - More Nails
Today we installed 2x12's and supporting piers as a temporary solution to the crushing girders of our home in Pearlington that is up on 13 foot piers. It took Michael, Julia, Jessi and I about four hours.
We started about 9:30AM. I decided to add about one-eighth to one-quarter inch to the height of the temporary piers because the girders are so crushed. This worked out fine, we had a little struggle with the first pier but by 1:30PM we were packing up our tools to leave.
After a quick bite to eat, Michael and I went over to Bay St. Louis to look at a home that took on about three or so feet of water from Katrina. It's an interesting home, had 3/4 inch heart pine paneling but the whole interior needs work. The woman that lives there had a bad day, troubles with teenage daughter and just the press of all this with little resources to repair. Michael and I talked to her about how we could redo the interior and accommodate her children; then we took some basic measurements.
I dropped Mike off at the Village and headed back. By the time I drove into the Village in Gulfport, Mike was on the phone. Our homeowner had tried to go into his unfinished house on the piers for some reason. The doors (over the girder we supported and lifted a smidgeon) are jammed and he can't open them.
Mike will go by tomorrow and see if he can get them open. I know the cause is the comic book or less thickness we raised the broken girder. I'd just as soon leave it as-is until the professional engineer gives me his recommended repair, but I know that door is going to be a stone in the home owner's shoe until is open. We can't really do any serious work in the house until then. If we hang cabinets, put down floor or tile in the baths, we risk cracking it when we do the final repair.
The big problem is that everyone is being pressed by the State to give up their MEMA (Mississippi Emergency Management Agency) cottages by March. I hear it from almost all our clients. I'm sure there are some who are just doing nothing but living in the cottage but many are working hard to get into homes. The State is solving a delicate problem with a sledge hammer, in my opinion.
We started about 9:30AM. I decided to add about one-eighth to one-quarter inch to the height of the temporary piers because the girders are so crushed. This worked out fine, we had a little struggle with the first pier but by 1:30PM we were packing up our tools to leave.
After a quick bite to eat, Michael and I went over to Bay St. Louis to look at a home that took on about three or so feet of water from Katrina. It's an interesting home, had 3/4 inch heart pine paneling but the whole interior needs work. The woman that lives there had a bad day, troubles with teenage daughter and just the press of all this with little resources to repair. Michael and I talked to her about how we could redo the interior and accommodate her children; then we took some basic measurements.
I dropped Mike off at the Village and headed back. By the time I drove into the Village in Gulfport, Mike was on the phone. Our homeowner had tried to go into his unfinished house on the piers for some reason. The doors (over the girder we supported and lifted a smidgeon) are jammed and he can't open them.
Mike will go by tomorrow and see if he can get them open. I know the cause is the comic book or less thickness we raised the broken girder. I'd just as soon leave it as-is until the professional engineer gives me his recommended repair, but I know that door is going to be a stone in the home owner's shoe until is open. We can't really do any serious work in the house until then. If we hang cabinets, put down floor or tile in the baths, we risk cracking it when we do the final repair.
The big problem is that everyone is being pressed by the State to give up their MEMA (Mississippi Emergency Management Agency) cottages by March. I hear it from almost all our clients. I'm sure there are some who are just doing nothing but living in the cottage but many are working hard to get into homes. The State is solving a delicate problem with a sledge hammer, in my opinion.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Day 251 - Chewing Nails
Well, the saga of two homes in Pearlington continues. The owners of both homes are suffering from what in my opinion is purely thievery by contractors. Perhaps I should not be so harsh with one of them, he may just be uninformed and lacking good sense. How he responds to the recommended repair I obtain will tell the tale.
These two stories show you an ugly side of humanity. They show how easy it is for the trusting soul to be duped and mis-spend a lot, emphasis, a lot of money.
Case 1 is a new home built up on piers, about twelve-thirteen feet. It is a beautiful house partly funded by some of our volunteers. After we returned from Gustav and began inspecting the house with the help of our great New York City team we realized the supporting girders under the exterior load bearing exterior walls are crushing! Why?
A close look shows that the builder, using very strong, engineered truss-girders for the floor, extended them out to where the exterior load bearing beams should be. Rather that using the called out doubled 2x12 LVL's (laminated veneer lumber) for the exterior load girder he just used a single floor truss. On top of that, on both ends of the house, he improperly cut one of the girders which weakens them seriously.
A single girder constructed of 2x4’s is holding the entire load bearing exterior walls, essentially at least half the entire load of the house. Both front and rear girders are crushing slowly. The New York team, bless them, installed a temporary 2x12 support beam under the crushing girders that provides some arresting relief.
I decided not to hazard a self-generated solution but to bring in a PE (professional engineer) for formal assessment and recommendation for repair. While he was there we discovered not only verification of our assessment of the seriousness of the damage, but that the builder had installed some girders upside down with the surface clearly labeled TOP in large black letters facing down!
Afterwards, I received a concerned call from the PE firm asking that we immediately also install some temporary 4x4 piers under the 2x12 along with a second 2x12 until they can provide a formal solution. We will do that Monday or Tuesday, as soon as I get back to the coast.
Talking with the owner I find the builder was not even a licensed contractor, he was using another contractor's number. I think he is in jail now. Great, we will get no relief from him.
I've written a little about Case 2 earlier. Perhaps this situation is even worse. The husband has been quite ill most of the last six months and has not been able even to provide comments.
The wife of the owner has been living on site and engaging various "contractors" to do plumbing, build exterior porch roofs and re-roof the house. I find it hard to describe these “contractors” as any thing more than “good old boys” but even the term “good” tries one’s patience.
A couple of months ago I had visited and assessed the cost to rebuild this home and asked, if not begged the lady not to engage contractors without checking with me until we got the funding situation clarified. Then Gustav came and went. A month ago I drive up and see that she has paid a man to put on a new roof and a local "handy man" to build an extensive porch roof around three of the four sides of the house.
As I looked from the road I saw the newly shingled roof still had a saddleback look, plus the porch roof has such a low pitch the building code (and instructions on roofing) say no way to a shingled roof. On top of that, from the road it is clear that the porch roof on the north side has a negative slope, running water towards the house.
No roofer in his right mind would put a roof on this house in this condition except to bleed money from the home owner. The whole roof is going to have to be removed to repair the damage.
But the problem is deeper. This "handyman" built the roof by attaching the roof rafters to the fascia boards on the existing roof! Furthermore he employed very large spans using undersized 2x6 rafters and joists. The rafters are bowed and eventually the fascia boards will pull loose and the roof will separate from the house.
The problem grows even deeper. As I inspected the gabled porch roof on the south side of the house I realize he has built a gabled roof without employing any truss structure, just pairs of 2x6 rafters span the space, their ends tied into one of the 2x6 rafters that is itself tied to the fasica boards on one end and sitting on an exterior vertical post on the other end. The unsupported gable rafters are opening up laterally by pushing that 2x6 off the post, it has less than another inch to go.
I could ramble on more technical detail about remaining problems associated with this porch roof, the roofing job on the house and the crummy way these two local boy have abused this woman. But I will not. I imagine she has spent more on the house than would be required to build from scratch.
I'm expecting the PE to validate my thinking, the only solution is to tear off the porch roof and the roofing and redo the whole darn thing. I'm guessing it is going to be expensive.
I remember the PE’s question. “What do you guys do down here, go around and fix these kind of bad construction jobs?” I didn’t say yes, but for a lot of our clients that is the appropriate answer. Disaster brings out the best and the worst in people.
It was all I could do to talk to her and her husband about this with the PE after we finished our inspection. I finally repeated what I'd begged earlier, "Please don't let Mr. H do any more work on this house."
Once I have the PE assessment and solution in hand I intend to talk to Mr. H. Then we will see what manner of integrity he has.
I remember an infrequently used, and therefore effectively imprinted usage of my mother. I always thought it a remarkable expression for the context she used it. It is certainly apropos here.
These guys make me so mad I could chew nails.
These two stories show you an ugly side of humanity. They show how easy it is for the trusting soul to be duped and mis-spend a lot, emphasis, a lot of money.
Case 1 is a new home built up on piers, about twelve-thirteen feet. It is a beautiful house partly funded by some of our volunteers. After we returned from Gustav and began inspecting the house with the help of our great New York City team we realized the supporting girders under the exterior load bearing exterior walls are crushing! Why?
A close look shows that the builder, using very strong, engineered truss-girders for the floor, extended them out to where the exterior load bearing beams should be. Rather that using the called out doubled 2x12 LVL's (laminated veneer lumber) for the exterior load girder he just used a single floor truss. On top of that, on both ends of the house, he improperly cut one of the girders which weakens them seriously.
A single girder constructed of 2x4’s is holding the entire load bearing exterior walls, essentially at least half the entire load of the house. Both front and rear girders are crushing slowly. The New York team, bless them, installed a temporary 2x12 support beam under the crushing girders that provides some arresting relief.
I decided not to hazard a self-generated solution but to bring in a PE (professional engineer) for formal assessment and recommendation for repair. While he was there we discovered not only verification of our assessment of the seriousness of the damage, but that the builder had installed some girders upside down with the surface clearly labeled TOP in large black letters facing down!
Afterwards, I received a concerned call from the PE firm asking that we immediately also install some temporary 4x4 piers under the 2x12 along with a second 2x12 until they can provide a formal solution. We will do that Monday or Tuesday, as soon as I get back to the coast.
Talking with the owner I find the builder was not even a licensed contractor, he was using another contractor's number. I think he is in jail now. Great, we will get no relief from him.
I've written a little about Case 2 earlier. Perhaps this situation is even worse. The husband has been quite ill most of the last six months and has not been able even to provide comments.
The wife of the owner has been living on site and engaging various "contractors" to do plumbing, build exterior porch roofs and re-roof the house. I find it hard to describe these “contractors” as any thing more than “good old boys” but even the term “good” tries one’s patience.
A couple of months ago I had visited and assessed the cost to rebuild this home and asked, if not begged the lady not to engage contractors without checking with me until we got the funding situation clarified. Then Gustav came and went. A month ago I drive up and see that she has paid a man to put on a new roof and a local "handy man" to build an extensive porch roof around three of the four sides of the house.
As I looked from the road I saw the newly shingled roof still had a saddleback look, plus the porch roof has such a low pitch the building code (and instructions on roofing) say no way to a shingled roof. On top of that, from the road it is clear that the porch roof on the north side has a negative slope, running water towards the house.
No roofer in his right mind would put a roof on this house in this condition except to bleed money from the home owner. The whole roof is going to have to be removed to repair the damage.
But the problem is deeper. This "handyman" built the roof by attaching the roof rafters to the fascia boards on the existing roof! Furthermore he employed very large spans using undersized 2x6 rafters and joists. The rafters are bowed and eventually the fascia boards will pull loose and the roof will separate from the house.
The problem grows even deeper. As I inspected the gabled porch roof on the south side of the house I realize he has built a gabled roof without employing any truss structure, just pairs of 2x6 rafters span the space, their ends tied into one of the 2x6 rafters that is itself tied to the fasica boards on one end and sitting on an exterior vertical post on the other end. The unsupported gable rafters are opening up laterally by pushing that 2x6 off the post, it has less than another inch to go.
I could ramble on more technical detail about remaining problems associated with this porch roof, the roofing job on the house and the crummy way these two local boy have abused this woman. But I will not. I imagine she has spent more on the house than would be required to build from scratch.
I'm expecting the PE to validate my thinking, the only solution is to tear off the porch roof and the roofing and redo the whole darn thing. I'm guessing it is going to be expensive.
I remember the PE’s question. “What do you guys do down here, go around and fix these kind of bad construction jobs?” I didn’t say yes, but for a lot of our clients that is the appropriate answer. Disaster brings out the best and the worst in people.
It was all I could do to talk to her and her husband about this with the PE after we finished our inspection. I finally repeated what I'd begged earlier, "Please don't let Mr. H do any more work on this house."
Once I have the PE assessment and solution in hand I intend to talk to Mr. H. Then we will see what manner of integrity he has.
I remember an infrequently used, and therefore effectively imprinted usage of my mother. I always thought it a remarkable expression for the context she used it. It is certainly apropos here.
These guys make me so mad I could chew nails.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Day 246 - Good Gifts
The last week has been one for gifts.
We had a new truck to pick up in Louisville, the first “gift.” It is needed to pull some equipment to Texas. I flew up to Louisville and drove it back, stopping in Chattanooga on the way back to spend the Thanksgiving weekend with my mother, brother & wife and my sons, the second gift. I opened a lot of old mail including some quarterly statements on my IRA showing that there are only two positions to hold in the market right now, cash and fetal. Then the fourth gift came over two days. It turned out that somewhere in all that lurked a cold virus and it slowly picked off my eldest son early Thursday, them my youngest son early Friday, then his mother late Friday, and finally on Friday night it got me.
That virus was an interesting gift. It slowed me down so much I spent most of Friday evening, all day Saturday completing some seminary applications I’ve been working on, the fifth gift. Like a lot of things, it keeps going and going. I still have a lot of congestion. I was able to attend the service at Northside and saw a lot of old friends, and listened to one of JoeB’s last sermons at Northside.
On the way down in Mississippi I picked up the seventh gift, a religious FM station and listened to most of the complete performance of Handel’s Messiah (the soprano wasn’t as good as some I’ve heard). When I arrived back in Gulfport early Sunday evening I looked in the mail and found the next gift, a package from our church team in Uniontown, PA – a Pittsburgh Tee-shirt with all the colloquial tidbits that make it such a nice town: aht, babushka, blitzburgh, chipped ham, chitchat, dahntahn, hans, iron (as in city beer), jaggers, jumbo, jynt igle (the local supermarket), keller, nebby, pensivania, picksburgh (a favorite learned by my eldest son in his formative years), pop, sammitch, E’sliberty, spicket, stillers, stillmill, telepole, the burgh, the mon, the point, worsh, yins(or youns).
I got a call from some friends in Atlanta, the ninth, always a nice gift, and upon opening my e-mail, a tenth gift, a reply to one of my missives from a good friend, we’ll call her “H.”
Who says all gifts have to be exotic or munificent to be good? I had a nice conversation about new strategies in Mississippi while in Louisville, it was interesting to drive a Ford diesel, the virus slowed me down, a good thing (and makes me appreciate good health). I got to visit with my family. Seeing the state of my savings made me think hard about letting today’s troubles be enough. I had the pleasure to listen to Handel, a gift jogged some nice old memories about Pittsburgh, and I heard from a friend.
And this Thursday, though I have to make the drive again, I’ll hear my eldest son’s recital in the evening, then turn around the following weekend and do it again to see him graduate, giving me my twelve gifts before Christmas. So, from where do all good gifts come?
Be thankful for what you receive.
We had a new truck to pick up in Louisville, the first “gift.” It is needed to pull some equipment to Texas. I flew up to Louisville and drove it back, stopping in Chattanooga on the way back to spend the Thanksgiving weekend with my mother, brother & wife and my sons, the second gift. I opened a lot of old mail including some quarterly statements on my IRA showing that there are only two positions to hold in the market right now, cash and fetal. Then the fourth gift came over two days. It turned out that somewhere in all that lurked a cold virus and it slowly picked off my eldest son early Thursday, them my youngest son early Friday, then his mother late Friday, and finally on Friday night it got me.
That virus was an interesting gift. It slowed me down so much I spent most of Friday evening, all day Saturday completing some seminary applications I’ve been working on, the fifth gift. Like a lot of things, it keeps going and going. I still have a lot of congestion. I was able to attend the service at Northside and saw a lot of old friends, and listened to one of JoeB’s last sermons at Northside.
On the way down in Mississippi I picked up the seventh gift, a religious FM station and listened to most of the complete performance of Handel’s Messiah (the soprano wasn’t as good as some I’ve heard). When I arrived back in Gulfport early Sunday evening I looked in the mail and found the next gift, a package from our church team in Uniontown, PA – a Pittsburgh Tee-shirt with all the colloquial tidbits that make it such a nice town: aht, babushka, blitzburgh, chipped ham, chitchat, dahntahn, hans, iron (as in city beer), jaggers, jumbo, jynt igle (the local supermarket), keller, nebby, pensivania, picksburgh (a favorite learned by my eldest son in his formative years), pop, sammitch, E’sliberty, spicket, stillers, stillmill, telepole, the burgh, the mon, the point, worsh, yins(or youns).
I got a call from some friends in Atlanta, the ninth, always a nice gift, and upon opening my e-mail, a tenth gift, a reply to one of my missives from a good friend, we’ll call her “H.”
Who says all gifts have to be exotic or munificent to be good? I had a nice conversation about new strategies in Mississippi while in Louisville, it was interesting to drive a Ford diesel, the virus slowed me down, a good thing (and makes me appreciate good health). I got to visit with my family. Seeing the state of my savings made me think hard about letting today’s troubles be enough. I had the pleasure to listen to Handel, a gift jogged some nice old memories about Pittsburgh, and I heard from a friend.
And this Thursday, though I have to make the drive again, I’ll hear my eldest son’s recital in the evening, then turn around the following weekend and do it again to see him graduate, giving me my twelve gifts before Christmas. So, from where do all good gifts come?
Be thankful for what you receive.
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