Back at the hotel, I had made another friend. There was a young fellow, Jay, who had recently joined the staff and he was working in the dining room in the mornings.
My first morning there, I had come out for breakfast and, thinking I would read while I ate, I brought a copy of my book about being my own renovation contractor (written by a woman). Jay noticed the book on the table and asked me about it, then asked me a couple more questions about what I was planning to do. Then he hesitatingly said that he had heard about a 74-year-old woman who was rehabbing a house and then asked, "Are you the one?" Feeling just like Tom Cruise in "Top Gun," I replied, "Yes, I'm the one." I laughed and told him not to make me older than I am -- only seventy-one. That started the conversation. We became good friends over the next few mornings and I gave him a copy of my book, "Stolen Fields." The next morning he reported that his mother had started reading it and was loving it.
I would be alone at the house that day, Saturday, and wanted to get an early start. I dreaded the thought of trying to start the cantankerous wood stove on my own, but the day was warmer, and in my coat I was quite comfortable with just my little heater going. Plus, I was doing a lot of heavy work.
Beginning with the kitchen floor, I spent some time prying up small nails and tacks, and generally cleaning it up. Then I turned to the old cracked linoleum in the front entrance hall and pried up most of it without trouble. It was stuck firmly to the floor at the seams and doorways and I left that for another day. I cleaned up the living room and brought my things in there, piled them in the center of the floor and covered them with a sheet. The sun was streaming in the east-facing window.
The staircase enclosure was next. I had bought a medium-weight pry bar and it became my best friend in the next hours. Once I got a wedge behind the thin plywood paneling, I was able to flip off the first chunk without difficulty. Some sections were more stubborn than others but the more I worked, the more determined and confident I became. Using the pry bar, a hammer, a screwdriver and my feet on occasion. I got most of the enclosure off the stairwell exposing the studs. I carried the larger pieces out to the front porch and rested them against the wall of the house, and piled the smaller pieces in the dining room along with the larger pieces of linoleum. I swept the hall and stood back to admire my work.
I took pictures, then headed to Monte's up on the highway for lunch. Before going in, I decided to check out the bakery next door that billed itself as the Mountain Pie Company. The showcases were loaded with elegant desserts, baked goods of all kinds. Merri appeared out of nowhere. We got into a conversation (so easy to do in North Carolina) and it became clear that we would become good friends. She told me the background of her bakery and the fact that she owned the building. She encouraged me to run next door and get my sandwich, then come back and eat it in her shop at one of the little tables sprinkled around the room.
When I returned, after a pleasant interlude at Monte's where I'm now welcomed as a neighbor, I ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of apple pecan caramel pie for later. We spoke at length while I ate, with a small interruption from a couple who came in to check out the shop, and who joined in our conversation. It turned out that they were from Ridgewood, New Jersey where I grew up. Talk about small world.
Merri told me a bit about my new across-the-road neighbor so now I'm anticipating meeting him on my next trip. According to her, he's a cheerful friendly fellow who enjoys helping people. He has a very nice house and property across from mine, and once my house is completed, they should reinforce each other's value. I was glad to know that he is pleasant as well.
At the top of the stairs loomed the sheetrocked enclosure of the make-shift bathroom that had been created for an aunt who moved in with the family. How nice it would be to see daylight when looking up the stairwell. Pry bar in hand, I started up the stairs. A few whacks gave me the grip I needed to start ripping it out. Half an hour later the chunks of sheetrock -- some full-height, some very small -- were lying against the far wall of the hallway. I had only dropped on on my foot -- just a bruise.
Now, if only the door -- a tall, heavy solid wooden door -- was not blocking that light from the window. It had to come off. Now.
I had never removed a door before, but with poking and prodding, and almost breaking a screwdriver, I managed to use one, with the aid of a hammer, to push the pins up and out. I barely managed to carry the door, partly sliding it along the floor, to rest it against the wall of the nearby bedroom -- soon to be the master bath and dressing room combination. Now the light could stream freely in and I turned my attention to the second floor enclosure of the staircase.
In another hour I had removed both sides, two-panels-worth of that part of the stairwell, along with the side of the improvised closet at the back end. What a difference! I swept the hallway and the staircase and again stopped to admire my work. Photo time.
By this time I was pretty well done in, but wasn't ready to give up for the day. I would have to leave for home early in the morning and wanted to finish a few more things. I went outside into the warm sun and swept up the trimmings from the day before. I then dug out a garbage bag and walked around the perimeter by the road and picked up bottles and papers that had been tossed there. One neighbor from the back drove by in a truck and waved. Another future friend.
It was almost six o'clock and time to pack it in. I made a last tour of the house, neatened things up and prepared to leave. I promised the house that when I was finished with it, it would be more beautiful than it was before. The house seemed to know.
Back at the hotel, I spent a peaceful night, got to see the friends I had made on my last trip, and arranged for the next. The two-day trip home was uneventful.
Jean, Between Maine and North Carolina
