One Year of #OwnerOccupieDetroit: Anniversary in the D

I know it's been a while since I posted - things got away from me.

The good news is that #fixerupperdetroit has come a long way from where we were at a year ago yesterday, when we officially moved in to a construction site with no kitchen and a life of plaster dust.

Being a Detroit resident is a dream come true. I see the Spirit of Detroit on my utility bills, my neighbors are amazing, and our house is set up to hold a couple dozen people for a birthday party.

Better yet, our house is sending the vibe we want it to. People go through our cupboards and fridge to find things they need. They let themselves in our front door. Yesterday, when we had a gargantuan group of people over for Rebecca's birthday, I heard that people were washing dirty dishes themselves because we ran out of dishes (I'm pretty sure we started with a dozen clean bowls and more than a dozen dinner plates) and they didn't want to bother me while I was hostessing. We finished an entire slow cooker full of Thai vegetable soup. A giant tray of crab rangoons. 20+ fresh rolls. We had to open up an extra table just for desserts people brought. Two people ended up chilling in my upstairs office to chat someplace quieter. People hung out with new friends. Basically, they treated my home like their home. Like they're family. Which they are.

Our Sunday night Table for 12+ potluck has been a wonderful experience. I joke that it incentivizes me to clean my house, but I find myself looking forward to hosting such a casual event and bringing people from many walks of life together. I hope other people will consider joining me in hosting an event like this regularly - it doesn't have to be every week. Once a month would also work.

Yes, there will be potluck on Sunday, May 7th from 6 pm to 9 pm (ish). And you're invited. The Palmer Park Art Fair is this weekend and just a short drive or bike ride away, so I encourage you to visit it and support local artists before you come to #fixerupperdetroit for dinner.

Confessions: November 2016 Has Me at a Loss for Words

National Blog Post Month really didn't go well this year. In fact, it went better last year, despite our mold infestation and trying to close on a house owned by an incompetent, negligent, business un-savvy real estate speculator.

I haven't posted in about two weeks. I could try to blame hosting Thanksgiving and Sunday open dinner, but that's not the reason.

I could try to blame doing home repairs.

I could try to blame a stressful work schedule, or having to box up our antique booth, or any number of other things.

Most of you are compassionate. Most of you would give me a pass.

But I don't feel like I deserve a pass.

The truth is that I haven't been writing because I feel guilty and powerless after the results of the election.

I feel guilty that I didn't post about my concerns about a Trump administration. No, I don't have thousands of readers. No, this blog isn't a huge platform. But I do have readers. People here and there consider my perspectives.

And I didn't write because I thought that people already knew how dangerous a Trump presidency could be. I thought that my years of reading about Latin American dictatorships, of trying to understand what conditions cause revolution and political instability wouldn't matter, that people would write it off even if I explained it well, and I questioned if I could explain it well enough for people to see the parallels between Pinochet or Trujillo or the Perones or Bucaram and Trump. I didn't think he could win. I didn't want to rock the boat. I didn't want to sift through the comments on social media and moderate and defend. I didn't want to find out that more than zero of my associates support a bigoted, inept businessman for the head of state of a world power.

And if I continue in the vein of confessions, I haven't been writing because I've used up the energy it would take to write in calling representatives. I hate using the phone, but it's the best way to make elected officials listen. So it takes a lot for me to get up the gumption to do it. I haven't as much as I should. I see people who call every day, or more than once a day, and I'm in awe that they can. I'm in awe at how many voicemails they leave, that they  have a script, that they re-dial if the line is busy. It gives me hope to see their activism. But I also feel guilty that I don't match that level of advocacy.

I also feel guilty because I have so much privilege now that I might not be significantly impacted by many of the policies I anticipate being harmful. (Unless my wife or I are assaulted in a hate crime, which, you know, is now much more likely. So there's that.) We have so much privilege that we recently ordered a brand new couch for the family room at #fixerupperdetroit (our first brand new couch EVER - hooray for adulting). We don't really budget for grocery store purchases much anymore. We joke about "throwing money at problems," but we actually do, and it's great. It's so much easier than the "creative accounting" and "shrewd budgeting" and coupon clipping and waiting for sales and doing without and such that we used to do, and Rebecca's growing salary makes it okay. We're already married, and even if Obergefell v. Hodges and Windsor v. US are overturned, my marriage certificate will likely continue to be valid and recognized. We already bought a house at a reasonable interest rate, and Rebecca's salary will cover the mortgage even if we're underwater. We have the money to pay attorneys. We're White. We're Christian.

I feel guilty because we have a lot of privilege and because I've shirked what I perceive to be my responsibilities as an informed citizen.

But I also confess that despite my privilege, I feel powerless.

You see, I voted in the primaries. Carefully. Using research. Like, down to voting for former public defenders as judges instead of former prosecutors as judges because public defenders who become judges are more likely to support sentences that rehabilitate and restore.

I voted in the presidential election. Carefully. Using research. Like, down to comparing credentials for sixty-three Detroit Community School District school board representatives.

I voted, and I'm still terrified.


And now the research I'm doing is whether there's a such thing as personal political upheaval insurance. I'm trying to figure out if there's a financial advising firm that specializes in predicting the effects of political instability. I'm trying to figure out if we should try to pay of Rebecca's student loans faster or the mortgage faster if we need to mobilize or need cash on hand to pay bail for friends who are political activists. I'm trying to maximize the number of people who can stay in our house (or hide in our house) if the proposed Muslim registry happens and then turns into something more dangerous. I'm asking my wife to increase her disability insurance coverage so that we don't lose the house if she is incapacitated in a hate crime. I'm asking my family lawyer if we need to update any documents in case we end up hospitalized at a religious hospital that doesn't recognize our marriage and there's some form of "religious freedom" act passed that permits them to disregard my marriage certificate (yes, a bill like this already exists, and yes, Trump has said he would sign it).

Will all of these things happen? No, probably not. Do I know which ones will and won't? Of course not. No one really does. The outcome of this election was a surprise even to those who are far more educated on the subject than I am.

I've survived this far from a blend of privilege and preparing for the worst possible outcome I can imagine. I was lulled into  a sense of security when the economy was on an upswing and we'd mostly finished the major renovation and it looks like 80 hour weeks aren't going to kill my wife. I thought there wouldn't likely be another housing crash like the one in 2008. I thought it would get easier to be an out lesbian in a conservative state.

And I must confess: I'm at a loss. I don't know how to prepare for this many possible bad outcomes. Even with this amount of privilege.

So I haven't been writing. Maybe December will be better.

#fixerupperdetroit: Moderately Sad News

I have some moderately sad news. First world problems news. But news that nevertheless makes my heart feel a little empty.

Some of you who have been to #fixerupperdetroit know that one of the remaining larger projects is to rehab the staircase between the ground floor and second floor.

Right now it looks like this:

I hope it's understandable why we want to get this fixed. There are still carpet staples left in some of the steps (although we were hugely blessed to have friends who came and did the grueling work of removing most of them). A lot of the steps are a bit cracked, and the stairs groan loudly under the weight of each person who climbs them. 

We had made a giant step forward. My father-in-law bought a set of antique spindles and a gorgeous post that were exactly the right architectural fit for our house. They would have looked as though they had always been in our house. It would have been an amazing statement piece that visitors saw shortly after entering, and that guided us safely up to bed each night.

He went to pick them up from the warehouse.

They had been stolen.

Who steals architectural pieces? I'm not sure. I've heard that this isn't the only time it's happened. My father-in-law bought the pieces for much less than their usual value (I'm not sure how my in-laws manage to find so many good deals, but it has definitely benefited us over the last few years). Still, that doesn't explain how they disappeared before he got there.

I don't know if we'll find another set this perfect. We almost assuredly won't for the price of this set (my father-in-law did get a refund from the warehouse, at least). 

It's not the end of the world. Compared to the news from the last week, it seems minor. But it was something we were really looking forward to.

If you see a salvaged staircase rail, let me know.

#fixerupperdetroit Presents: Table for 12+ (You're Invited)

We had our first Sunday potluck dinner at the house yesterday. About twelve people showed up - not too shabby for an event we threw together two days prior.  Guests came from so many backgrounds. So did the food (somehow all of it ended up being vegetarian, but the spread was lovely).

Our table was full.

My heart was too, for the first time since I heard the election results.

This is why we bought our house. To bring people together so that they can talk about what's on their minds, in their hearts, what's up in the news. We talked about assisted living, the Detroit land bank, cage-free eggs, cooking, gay adoption, and so much more. My kitten got lots of pets. I got lots of hugs.

We're doing it again this coming Sunday, and every Sunday that we're home. We're hoping it becomes a tradition and safe haven for those whose hearts are heavy.

You're invited, this Sunday, November 20th and the following Sunday, November 27th*. Bring a dish if you can. Message me for details.

*On Sunday, November 27th, we hope to put together Care Kits for those in need (I've also heard them called Blessing Bags - they contain hand warmers, snacks, and other basic supplies for those who could use some help). We'll need people to bring supplies, and then we'll assemble them after the potluck dinner. Keep an eye out for a sign-up list.

Announcement: Commit in the Mitt and #fixerupperdetroit are participating in NaBloPoMo!

It's National Blog Post Month, and I'm having another go!

Last year, I committed to do it and then we ended up in the midst of a mold infestation, moving on short notice, while trying to get closed on #fixerupperdetroit with a very difficult seller. I'd like to think I did pretty well under the circumstances, but I missed a lot of days.

Over the last few months, I've been inconsistent about posting. Rehabbing and getting situated in a historic home has taken most of my free time, and I've told myself that I'm too tired to write.

My takeaway from NaBloPoMo last year, though, was that I'm not a writer if I don't write.

So I'm trying again.

I'm writing while sitting in a fully furnished, painted living room. Harrison and Cesar are playing on the rug. I have a dining room table that could comfortably seat at least ten people. Our housewarming is scheduled. By the end of the month, my sunroom office might be done.

I'm not sure I'll ever believe that I own #fixerupperdetroit or that we get to stay here forever if we want to. We've been so nomadic up to this point. Many days, I feel like I don't deserve a house this beautiful.

And then I see the "Notice to Owner" sign from the Detroit Land Bank Authority that I framed and put above the fireplace and remember the struggles that we fought through to be here (find that back story here if you've joined us more recently). I watch the video of what our house looked like when we closed. She was always beautiful to me, but I'm astounded to see the transformation. I am blessed and privileged beyond compare, but I have also worked incredibly hard to be where I am.

I will end with a quote that I can't find an attribution for (if you know who said it, please let me know and I'll update):

When you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher fence.

Stay with Me: Belated Eulogy for my Late Doriancat

I didn't understand the strength I gained from the support of my elderly cat until after he passed.

We picked him up from a no-kill shelter in October of 2010. He was giant, orange, front declawed, and listed as very gentle. I think the listing said his age was 2+ - meaning that he had arrived at the shelter as an adult, and they had no idea how old he was. They said that he had been found wandering near a barn in the middle of the winter and been surrendered by the family that discovered him because he made a terrible barn cat, but they couldn't keep him in the house due to allergies.

Based on that information, Dorian sat at the shelter for six months waiting for a family. The woman who helped us said that in that time, no one but us had come to see him. I think a part of him always knew that we were his special family and that he waited at that shelter so long because he belonged with us.

He hid under the bed for the first couple days, but as he adjusted, he took up snuggling us while we sat on the couch. He was never happier than when he could sit between Rebecca and me.

The first time it snowed, he sat in the window, stared outside, and cried. We knew that he must have spent too much time out in the cold after he was abandoned. We closed the blinds and tucked him into a blanket.

The first time we moved him, we didn't consider his abandonment issues because he was doing so well. But as the furniture moved out of our apartment, his anxiety grew. I ended up sitting on the floor with him in an empty bedroom, trying to convince him that he was, indeed, going with us. He was inconsolable.

Each time we moved, we got a little bit better at moving him - and he grew a bit more trusting that we were his forever family. By the time we moved to #fixerupperdetroit, he clearly knew that his home was with us, wherever that was.

And though he was initially very skeptical when we brought home another cat - he had enjoyed undivided attention for three years at that point - the fact that he preferred to be transported in the same carrier as Cesar was proof that he loved having another cat around.

The house feels very empty now, without him. He followed our work crews around and was often a little trip hazard as he stood behind people. He greeted us at the door whenever possible, and even tried to learn Rebecca's erratic schedule so that he'd be ready when she came home. His affection toward strangers seemed so characteristic of him that it wasn't until after he passed that I realized that he hadn't been nearly so outgoing when we first brought him home.

And I wondered what changed. Is it that he became the host with the most? Was it that he drew so much courage from belonging to a family? Was it that he was trying to protect us?

Some people would say that he was just a cat, but those people don't understand. Rebecca and I often spent more time with Dorian than we did with each other these last few years due to our conflicting work schedules. He was a constant to come home to. He was unconditionally loving and comforting. A few months after we got him, I realized that one of my anxiety management techniques was to pretend I was holding him (or to hold him if he was around). He always purred when I picked him up.

In the last few months, he lost a lot of weight and his health declined. He insisted on doing the stairs at #fixerupperdetroit in spite of his clearly aching joints. We took him to the veterinarian, who told us that he was likely much older than we originally thought and that there was probably little we could do. Late a few Sundays ago, his condition worsened, and on the following Monday, it became apparent that he was suffering. He still tried to follow me around the house, but he could only take a few steps at a time. Rebecca and I did the only thing we had left to do for him, which was to take him to the veterinarian to be euthanized.

This was Dorian's "stay with me" move: putting his paw over my hand so that I wouldn't get up. Here he is doing it on the last day with us, when he couldn't really walk anymore and just wanted me to sit on the floor with him.

It was the first time Rebecca and I have ever had to make such a decision, either individually or separately. I know it was the right decision, but  that doesn't make it easier to live without him. His presence in our home made me safe and brave all at once. While we love our other cat, he has a very different personality, and in his own grief can't really comfort us.

We got a kitten a few weeks ago who has many of the qualities we loved so much about Dorian. I'm sure, though, no matter how hard we look, that we won't find another cat who will both tuck us in at night and greet us at the door.

They broke the mold after Dorian.

My Secret to Sanity in #owneroccupieDetroit: Meet Rufino and His Team

For almost the last year, I've been wanting to put up a post about Labra Design+Build, the business that has stood with us through #househuntersdetroit (even after the first house fell through), the land bank postering, and now, #owneroccupiedetroit.

Rebecca has known the owner, Rufino, since childhood and had been watching photos come through social media of all the beautiful work he'd been doing, so when we started looking for a home, she knew he would be a great fit.

You can visit their website to see Rufino Labra's portfolio or learn more about the work they do, so I won't spend too much time elaborating there.

Instead, let me tell you about

the ways that Rufino and his team have gone above and beyond 

 during the arduous #fixerupperdetroit process, to the point that I don't think we could have done this with any other team.

Most of Rufino's team, minus Rufino, who was on the phone. Top left: Abe. Bottom left: Eric. Top right: Marty. Bottom right: Big Rufino - Rufino's dad!

1. Showing up to the home inspections and asking thoughtful questions.

We were very blessed to work with a great home inspector, Matt Bezanson, (who now has a blog you can visit!), and that was an education in itself. Buying an old home, especially one in Detroit, especially one that's been vacant and neglected, comes with a lot more challenges than a newer construction. Rufino listened to what Matt had to say and considered it when setting up our construction proposal. We could tell that he would prioritize structural safety and quality work. That's of utmost importance in Detroit, where much of the previous work may have been patched poorly or done by non-professionals to save money.

2. Advising us on home-buying decisions 

A few days before closing, we still didn't know if the heating system worked, a major concern given that it was December in Michigan! While the seller insisted that it did, they never brought the house up to room temperature to prove it. When we brought out R&R Mechanical to inspect it, we were told that the boiler probably worked but there was no way to know without a cleaning, something we couldn't have done until we took possession, and something the seller refused to do. Rufino took the time to talk through the implications with me and help me decide whether closing was a good idea.

3. Reviewing documents from the Detroit Land Bank Authority

Most of you have already read about our horror story of having been postered with a notice threatening to seize our home.  You can read my Open Letter to Detroit Land Bank Authority here. These kinds of things don't happen in the suburbs, and I'm sure Rufino had never had to negotiate this kind of nightmare before. He looked over the documents and considered the timeline in the rehab agreement. In fact, I think he was more amenable to the terms than we were. I don't know how we would have survived those weeks without a contractor who cared on our side. We ultimately did get a resolution without a lawsuit being filed or signing the rehab agreement, mostly thanks to Craig Fahle, who does public relations for the land bank.

4. Setting up the home for us to occupy it and keeping us posted along the way.

Our construction team has a lot more to consider now that we're living in the home: will their work disrupt our normal activities? Will our cats escape while the team is going in and out? Will the fumes from their products jeopardize our health? In all cases, Rufino has made an effort to make it possible for us to live as normally as possible while not having a kitchen or laundry. By the time we moved in, we had a working bathroom, refrigerator, and laundry sink. When I asked him to set up the microwave, also, he did so promptly and in a space that was convenient for us (and inconvenient for his team).

5. Befriending our cats

Unlike us, the cats don't understand that the house is going to be really beautiful when it's done - and they don't really care. What they have noticed is that there are people they don't know here. All the time. Dorian has decided to supervise them all to make sure they do good work for us.

Dorian surveys his kingdom from a high vantage point.

Cesar has been hiding in our bed under the covers for entire days. Rufino has helped me figure out which rooms are safest for the cats while certain tasks are being completed and on more than one occasion has helped me secure them in that space when I couldn't do it alone and Rebecca was working. (Dorian has repaid him by getting incredibly underfoot.) Most members of the team have let the cats be out around the house as much as possible and will even chat with Dorian or pet him if he asks. I've never worked with a construction team before, but I'm pretty sure none of this is in the job description.

6. Visiting Architectural Salvage Warehouse of Detroit

 When we needed another radiator for the kitchen and I discovered a salvage warehouse rumored to have them for a reasonable price, Rufino met me there to see if we could find one and keep the heating budget lower to free up funds for something else. After some Googling about the different between water and steam radiators and sifting through the collection of doors, we emerged triumphant with not only a $90 radiator (that probably would have cost hundreds elsewhere), but a pocket door. We had hoped to find a 1920s lavatory sink to no avail, though the new one Rufino found and ordered is perfection.

In summary:

Many of you know that I'm a perfectionist workaholic, and that I'm not good at staying calm. While Rebecca has tried to keep me from being too anxious or overburdening Rufino, I recognize that this project has been fraught with challenges, including my temperament. Labra Design+Build has drastically exceeded our expectations not only in their quality of work, but in their encouraging, respectful nature and resourceful responses to issues problems. If you are considering a home renovation or new home construction, I hope that you will consider working with them. Detroit and the surrounding area need more small businesses that do such quality work, and we'd love to see the Labra family grow.

Confessions: Today I Hate this House

I'm grateful for #fixerupperdetroit. She's a beauty, or will be, when she's done. Our neighborhood is amazing, and I know that when our home is done, everything will seem better. We're making progress - we passed our insulation inspection, which means that a lot of new steps start, since we can close up the walls. The team working on our house has been positive, encouraging, and diligent.

But currently, #owneroccupieDetroit is a struggle.

I'm a hot breakfast person; I make huevos rancheros for myself every morning to get my day off to the right start. I can't do that until our kitchen is ready. It's not that I can't eat something else. I can, I do, and I'm grateful for the full belly. I didn't even realize how soothing I found the ritual of heating oil, frying a tortilla, cracking eggs, measuring salsa verde to be - a form of art, of creation, nourishment of my soul in addition to my body. I miss the process.

I'm not a great housekeeper. Many of you know. Many of you tease me. But even I find the plaster and paint dust overwhelming. My cats are constantly coated in dust. My clothes have dust clinging to them, my linens are filmed in particulates. It's hard to feel settled.

Of course, Rebecca has been working 6pm-7am shifts for the last week, and I'm always grumpy when we're ships passing in the night. A week more of that and she'll mostly be on day shift for the rest of the month. Between the progress we'll have made by then and the fact that we're actually seeing each other, I trust and believe that it won't stay like this. 

But today, I hate this house.

#owneroccupieDetroit: The Joy of Sweat Equity

When I woke up today, everything hurt. In fact, that's been true for several days now.

I've been sanding plaster, scraping trim, priming, painting, etc for days, and my body definitely isn't used to this kind of work. My scalp isn't used to plaster dust. My arms aren't used to being above my head for long periods, my legs aren't used to ascending and descending step ladders constantly, my knees aren't used to squatting and kneeling to cut in base boards. A lot of the tasks are tedious.

And yet there's a deep joy in all of it. With every brush stroke, I make meaning out of the months of struggle we had to purchase this house. I think back on the years of pain, when I couldn't have imagined living in a home like this. I pray over the rooms, that they will be places of peace and joy not only for us, but for the guests who come to us.

I can't feel that I own this house. Perhaps because I don't feel worthy, perhaps I'm still in shock, but I think it's more than that.

I'm not sure I believe that people can own houses, or at least, I don't believe that it's possible for me to own this one. It has too much history behind it. It's giant, not only physically, but socially. The deed, the mortgage - they're big deals, but it feels like I'm borrowing a part of history, or stewarding it for a period, so that it remains for the future to find love and joy in it too.

And that makes it easier to work through our lack of a kitchen, the dust everywhere, the missing electrical and plumbing. We are blessed to have been approved for enough funds to redo or restore a lot of things the house really needs after so many years of neglect. We know what's in the walls, and we will know that the parts that have been repaired have been done right this time. It meant leaving some projects for later, but at this point, we're so used to delaying gratification that the anticipation itself is gratifying.

After all, leaving things until later means that there's a later. Here. In this amazing house.

Huge News on the Beautiful Mess Front

Sometimes people let me use power tools.

I'm not sure they should (not because I'm a woman, just because I'm a huge klutz), but I like it.

Today, I put up this key rack thingy. It's theoretically to help us not lose our personal effects in an incredibly beautiful mess that currently feels enormous compared to the apartments we've lived in. We've historically kept our keys in a basket, but I like the symbolism of this. It's stable. Sturdy. Organized. Something we've never taken the time to do in our apartments - where we knew we'd be for a year or two, or most recently less than six months.

Our lease in Southgate is officially up, and we've vacated. We spent our first night in #fixerupperdetroit yesterday, which means it's officially

#owneroccupieDetroit will join #fixerupperdetroit - the former for our experiences living in the home and being residents of the D, and the latter for continued updates on the renovation itself.

So from a #fixerupperdetroit standpoint: the insulation was supposed to be done by move-in, but due to some logistical issues, we're waiting for that to be finished. Once it is and we paint, we'll have a couple bedrooms pretty much set, except for the flooring.

On the #owneroccupieDetroit - it's feeling awesome not to drive back and forth to Southgate, to be able to get little tasks done between other things, and to look around our beautiful neighborhood so often. The cats are mostly taking it in stride, though that may change when the renovation team comes back tomorrow.

That said, we don't have a kitchen, there's plaster dust everywhere, and most of our belongings are still in boxes. We have a long, tough road until final completion of our current projects, and then we'll have more projects to do in a few years - or at least I'm told that's how owning a historic home works.