Willow in the Wind

After almost 37 years of marriage and a heavy reliance on my husband to fix things, I don't even know where to begin. Dan, on the other hand, is heavy into processing the options...please enjoy the guest writer.

Many years ago in New Orleans I was talked into meeting with a tarot card reader/fortune teller. Other than fertilizer for the lawn, I have never spent $25 for such crap. After sifting through a few cards and asking a few silly questions, she announced, “You are very change averse.” That was the quote. The needle snapped off the BS meter as I left. “Me? Change averse?” I am the poster child for Willow In the Wind. I threw the comment off to the side for many years.

Recently, however, I have had to take a new look at those words. As much as it stings, I am the proud son of a hoarder. And the proud son of a neat freak. Somewhat like Robert Mitchum in Night of the Hunter, I have SAVE and TOSS tattooed metaphorically on my knuckles.

Paula laughs, but it is a painful place to live, and over the last few months it has been really tough. Selling/throwing out/giving away most of a lifetime’s worth of items to make the trip down here to Florida was agonizing for most of me, but liberating for two toes and a finger. But we are here—set up in 624 square feet of glory, surrounded by the few items that made the cut. No wonder the dog is happy Every Single Day--he made the cut. But that brings us to now.

We had a plan. It was a good plan, forged by many nights of discussion over many glasses of wine. We cannot look for a house until we have jobs. Anything else would be stupid. We need the MACRO vs. MICRO view of our situation. Team Johnson—stay focused on the goal. Plan the Dive and Dive the Plan. Deviation = Disaster. Ignore the small stuff for the greater good. MacArthur at Bataan.

Within three weeks we found a house. We have no jobs. We have an accepted offer. We are idiots.

Today we met with a home inspector, as well as an Electrical and Plumbing contractor, and an Engineer to look at the massive code violations we learned about this week after a one-on-one with the city Building Inspector. Until today we were unaware of the ongoing termite damage to the foundation and attic, the exterior walls pulling away from the central roof joists, the bits of concrete and shit packed under the floorboards to make the floors feel solid. Did you know that the color of termite poop shows what they are currently eating? On today’s menu: Subfloor!

The logical, calm prospective buyer would run, I tell you, run away. But I stood on the roof--which was as soft as a mattress--then went down the ladder to look into the crawlspace at the joists that had been wood, but were now a cellulose version of Swiss cheese. The hand that spelled out SAVE was throbbing. The TOSS hand cowered.

Now that five certified building experts have said, “Umm, have you thought about buying it, tearing it down and starting over?” there is a really small voice in my head that is hesitantly suggesting “Ummm, sorry to bother you, but have you thought about tearing this shack down and starting over?” SAVE hand reaches for the throat. TOSS hand deflects the blow. New voice sings "All you have to change is everything you are."

We have 14 more days to complete our inspections and conclude an offer, or walk away. The neighborhood is super cool. The guesthouse—if we can get an after-the-fact use permit for it, rocks. The main house has one outstanding feature—it’s flammable. (I AM SOOO KIDDING! SERIOUSLY STATE FARM, CAN’T YOU TAKE A JOKE?)

Lots of talking in our future.

We are on a Great Adventure. We have never been closer as a couple, and that has had good and not-so-good implications. We will never look back on the last few months as being great times. But if we can pull this off… If we can turn this termite mound into the home we know it can be…If we can be sitting by the side of the pool in a year or so next to a cool guest house and a revamped home…If we are regulars at a few of the places on Main Street, Safety Harbor, Florida—2.3 blocks away—then we win. Hands down.

Music that resonates:

Hazard to Myself - Pink

Agnes Was Well Loved and Raised Chickens

Dan has learned this from the neighbors: There’s Mary next door (her dad bought the lot where her house stands today for $150), DeeDee (and her daughter’s puppy) across the street, Woody (his father built “most of the neighborhood”), Ed (leaf removal for $25 bucks), Chris (man-bun with shaved sides), Jack (beyond wrinkled) and Jeff who came by to rent a ladder. Dan’s been talking (I’ve been listening) and has been informed that Agnes lived here for about 20-years. She raised chickens in a fenced in area of the yard and her husband lived here occasionally, when he wasn’t incarcerated. This is 3^rd Avenue NE in Largo, Florida, the temporary location of Villa Johnson South.

724 3rd Ave NE  Largo, FL  33770

We landed here on Monday, March 25^th at 9:30 in the morning. The street is a quiet cul-de-sac, the trash is picked up twice weekly and we are close to a lot of shopping options. The beach is a quick 10-minute drive away. We quickly connected with cousins who live in the vicinity. We take walks around the neighborhood, I’ve gotten a library card and overall it’s been a gentle landing.

This house is a glorious 624-square feet, with eight windows, five rooms, three closets, and two points of ingress/egress. The realtor measured our former living room as 20’ X 25’. That’s 500 square feet. Add 124 more and you’ve got this house. Halfway through unloading the truck the guys had to stop bringing things into the house because we couldn’t move around.

#1 - Living Room (Dog added for scale)

#2 - Kitchen (Dan and dog added for scale)

#3 - Bathroom, after plumbing fix

Day one I made the serious mistake of thinking the toilet was functional. Yes, Carl, poop is still funny, but never so funny as when it backs up into your bathtub. And a good seven hours later we got the plumber’s diagnosis, too much toilet paper, three squares only, please! He’s been here twice, because, as it turns out Agnes hasn’t lived here for over five years, and the large tree in the back yard has invaded all available pipes. Every time we flush we cross our fingers. (Dan note: Agnes died on January 5, 2010 at 3:30 am in a hospice. Her kids came at two that afternoon and took what they wanted. The house sat empty for five years. Thanks neighbor Mary for the info and sorry you have to live with your grandson’s girlfriend who is a hoarder.)

Backyard-buried treasure

Our first Sunday was spent digging, uncovering a walkway between the house and the laundry “annex” after removing three inches of dirt and dead leaves. Florida is buried treasure country, right? Second Monday, and the plumber is here again to investigate why the washer (four towels max) causes soapy water to bubble up in the newly revealed exterior plumbing stack.

The one thing I am worried about is dental care. According to the National Institute of Dental & Craniofacial Research, the average adult between the ages of 20 and 64 has 24.92 remaining teeth. After having four removed during orthodontia and four wisdom teeth removed, I have 24. I’m already below the average. And based on the neighbors we’ve met, this street is definitely on the lower end of the bell curve.

(Dan edits: Before we moved here, Paula and I discussed at length that this was an opportunity to reinvent ourselves. We didn’t have to be the old Dan and Paula, or the old Ripley. As I’ve walked through the Home Depot, Lowes, Winn Dixie or Publix, I am encountering tons of old white people. TONS. The guys in the new Mercedes or BMW convertibles are even older. Seriously dude, if you are intimidated by a straight six 1960 Ranchero on the highway, you need to be in a golf cart.

The axiom that Florida is “Death’s Waiting Room” is true. But this neighborhood is not. It’s like our first house in Riverwest, when money was tight, good beer was rare, but parties were constant. This is a young, vibrant, but poorer part of town. We have lived in a stratified atmosphere for many years, when picking up the tab was easier than figuring out who had the iced tea and who had the appetizer. When people asked how much something cost and I had no idea. When neighbors owning a brewery or large business were passé. “Of course we’ll be in Mexico diving this year.” “Have you SEEN what the rates went up to at Pier House in Key West?” When having four cars seemed—too few (there was one glorious day I had seven).

This is a young, friendly, vibrant neighborhood where every introduction ends in “Now if you need a hand with anything…”

No, we won’t talk politics, or orthodontia, or why parking on the lawn is bad, or why your rottie/pit-bull seems to bark all the time. Ripley is acting like a puppy with all of the new kids in the neighborhood. My young snaggle-tooth neighbor Chris correctly identified the Ranchero as 1960, and guessed that the taillights were Buick, “1961?” 1960. “We bleed blue on this block” was his response.

Wisconsin Dan, unfortunately, would have broad-brushed these folks as, well, I am embarrassed to say. Florida Dan, who is on a tight budget until one of us has a job, is seeing things a lot differently. When my neighbor Jeff asked today to rent my ladder (he had a $200 hedge trimming job but didn’t have a ladder!) I said take it, and he offered his driver’s license as collateral. He offered $25, but I said make it a 12-pack and we’ll share it. He returned the ladder tonight—the beer is forthcoming. Florida Dan is cool with that. What’s the rush?

We’ve made the move. We have a lot to learn about living in Florida and about ourselves. Change isn’t easy, and big changes are the hardest of all. While we live in Agnes’ house and get to know her neighbors, the former beneficiaries of free eggs, we will be open to reinvention and the kindness of strangers.