I don't have Bad Hair Days, I have had a Bad Hair Life!

T here is no way to explain it other than I was born with horrible hair. Naturally I never told my Mother it was her fault. Have a feeling it may have been Dad's fault too but I never could tell since he was forty-six when I was born.  He had long since turned from a blond to having thinning gray hair.  The bad hair gene must have worked overtime in me.

Thousands of hairstylists, barbers and quacks have all remarked at what baby fine, silky hair I have.  I guess they had to say something nice when they were actually thinking, "Oh My God, what am I going to do with this?"  One person with scissors in hand told me that it actually takes five or six haircuts before a stylist could know how to cut your hair according to how it grows and lays.  Swell - a haircut a month for six months and I might be able to go out in public.

As a small child I wanted to look like Annie Oakley in the Saturday morning TV westerns or Princess Summer Fall Winter Spring in Howdy Dowdy with beautiful thick braids.  My Mother had other ideas........

It Would Happen Again And Again

     Once upon a time in a nice town there was a little girl.  She lived in a small but very neat house thanks to her Mother, known as Mrs. Clean, and her Father the Dapper Pharmacist. She had one older brother and one younger brother but no pets.
     There had been a collie dog named Lassie, of course, but she must have been too much trouble for Mrs. Clean. Children are usually not very good at taking care of pets so Lassie went to live on a farm where she could have lots of room to run and make huge messes of some kind or another. It was not much fun for the little girl after Lassie left.
     One day while walking home from first grade a cat started following her. It was a pretty cat, sort of  gray with a white face and white feet. Of course a few pats on the head got the cat to follow her all the way home. There was no way to hide a cat so she had to face her Mother who was less than enthusiastic about the cat. Somehow the cat, named Mittens got to stay. 

     Whoa, wait a minute.  That sounds like a fairy tale and all lived happily ever after.  That is not the way that life usually goes.  The little girl went out one morning a few weeks after the arrival of Mittens to find that she had died.  To a six year old that was the end of the world. Mother was consoling but probably relieved. Dad was so concerned about his only little girl that a few days later he had a man drop off another cat for her. (There was no way he would have ever allowed a cat in his car.) So started my lifetime of living with cats. 

     Boots was the new arrival, a female naturally, and over the course of the next couple of years there were litters of kittens. Homes were found for the new arrivals except for one, my brother's cat, Champ.  They stayed around until we moved.  Since cats were not allowed in the house they disappeared the day we moved them.

     Throughout the course of my first twenty year marriage there were many cats and a few dogs. Cats became elevated to living in my house although they all came and went as they pleased. In people language, all cat were free range. Every cat had it's own personality and there are some very funny stories.

     When Wes, my first son, was born we had a Siamese that participated in the care of the new baby.  Cherokee slept in the baby bed with Wes and was always right next to him when he was up.  If I did not jump out of bed in the middle of the night when Wes cried, Cherokee was in my face making sure I got up. Don't believe those stories about cats smothering babies. That cat took care of Wes.

     Cherokee passed away and his replacement was a cat we named Woody. At that time we were out of town a lot on weekends and we would put food out on the porch for Woody.  When we came home he was always sitting on the porch waiting for us.  The move from Texas to Kansas City was hectic getting the moving van loaded.  When it left we left at just about the same time.  I think we got about thirty-five miles from the old house when the boys asked "Where's Woody?"  No need to answer that.  Just turn the car around and head back.  There he was, sitting on the porch. Someone was not to happy about the extra seventy miles to fetch the cat and it wasn't me.

     When the boys were small if a cat disappeared and could not be found they started begging for a new one. I can remember driving fifty miles to a pet store one time to get a new kitten and going to a pound one other time to locate one.  That time the boys picked out the kitten that was hanging by all four paws from the top of the cage.  That was Sylvester who was one of our more legendary cats.  There was French Fry who was the great hunter of squirrels and chipmunks.  Never step out the door without looking or you might step on the latest trophy placed there by the cat. Stimpy arrived stuffed in Wes's sweatshirt.  It was my birthday and he had no money to buy me a present.  What luck they were giving away free kittens at the Wal-Mart. There were sick kittens both Wes and Wally found and brought home to Mom to take care of.  Over the course of sixty years there were many cats but in thinking back I remember everyone of of them.  Scary.

     Along came Marshell who was not used to animals in the house much less sleeping on the bed. Two cats, two dogs and I came as a packaged deal. Our move into the gas station in Irving complicated matters.  There are always lots of homeless cats in a downtown.  I am afraid to count how many I fed and how many litters of kittens I gave away.  They all stayed outside since they were basically wild but I still had a couple of cats inside.

     One day a van pulled up in the drive and dumped a little tiny gray kitten in the parking lot. It just stood in one spot and howled. I attempted to put it out with the stray cats but within a week, Fuzzy, had moved into the building. He spent all thirteen years of his life being the king of cats.  He loved sleeping outside on the pavement so he could greet passing skunks and possums that roam downtown at night. They would touch noises, sniff some and then move on.  He also liked to go out and roll in the middle of the street and make the traffic stop. Every time a new cat or dog became a member of the family Fuzzy would give a sigh and a bored stare as if to say "not another one". He passed away in my arms on the way to the vet about a month ago. Everyone downtown misses him and I made the decision not to acquire any more cats.

      I still have three.  Buddy was a starving tiny kitten when she followed our black dog home seven years ago.  Marshell built her a house out of wood so she could live on the porch. Winter came - she moved in.  Five years ago I was feeding cats behind the diner and a kitten got her leg and tail chopped off in a car motor.  She had to be rescued and after several trips to the vet became Little Cat who refuses to go outside. Two years ago a little yellow and white kitten was under a car across the street howling. I actually tried to feed him but he ran away.  Great!  Well....not so fast. The next morning it was on the porch eyes almost matted shut and a respiratory infection.  It took me two weeks to get him to let me pet him.  Big mistake as he then had to be taken to the vet and nursed back to health. Spencer has more hair than Dolly Parton which he places all over the house and he weighs about fifteen pounds. He also refuses to go outside for fear I will not open the door to let him back in.
Enough cats!

     Here I guess I have to make another confession. Perhaps it should be omitted so I do not sound like a complete nut case.  There is a house up the hill about a block away.  The owner has moved to New Mexico and only comes home a couple times a year. Three years ago I saw the mother of my Little Cat carrying kittens up there. Do I need to finish the story or can you guess what happened. 

    No cat should die on an empty stomach. That cat, Belle, let me tame the kittens and find homes for them. She even let me take her to the vet to be spayed and returned to the yard to live out her life. Other cats have moved in and twice a day, rain, sleet or snow they have food and water. I have stopped naming them and none are tame enough to pet.  They are not my cats - I have enough cats!

     Famous last words. One night about two weeks ago a cat was crying across the street.  It was a little kitten about twelve weeks old. It did not want to come to me but - mistake number one - I put food out for it.  No stray cat should die on an empty stomach.  The next morning it was sitting by the door ready for more food and for attention.  It had one eye that was in really bad shape and it was sneezing.  Over the weekend it was on the porch whenever we went out.  This was NOT my cat  I explained to the Vet on Monday.  She said she would not take it, I said I was not going to spend money on it. Did she actually think I could just dump it somewhere?  The standoff ensued.  Finally my resolve melted and we came up with a reasonable cost. The cat came home with medicine.

     We left on Thursday for six days.  The best friend anyone could ever have came everyday to feed the cats.  I figured the cat would move on while we were gone and I would have done my best.  Wrong. The cat, now named Muffin, was sitting on the porch. Muffin now has a plastic storage box for a home on the porch and eats a combination of dry cat food and boiled chicken. Now what cat would go look for another home?

     I cannot say Muffin is a pretty cat.  I think she may be blind in one eye but she is one source of constant laughter.  She loves to attack Lucky the dog, chase bits of paper blowing in the wind and anything else that moves.  She follows Marshell around outside and gets in between his feet so it is hard to walk. Unlike the other cats who chose different places in the gravel parking lot at the side of the building for a sandbox Muffin uses one spot. That spot becomes a "poop mountain". At least business people parking their cars can easily avoid stepping in it.  She may disappear tomorrow or stay forever.

     What started when I was six years old hasn't stopped. There were times when I was told I couldn't have any more cats but one has always appeared that needed help or just a home. Marshell has thought many times we should just put the Vet on a monthly retainer. May as well just give up and keep enjoying each one of them. Perhaps all the cats are living happily ever after.

     

     

     

The Renovation of a CBank Building Into A Home Should Be Interesting

Well, I can honestly say that the renovation was interesting to say the least.  It was also fun, exciting and very rewarding.

The actual "working " time to complete the downstairs was three years but it probably could have been done in a year or so with less interruptions and other activities.  The important thing in doing a project of this scale is to take your time and do the very best job you can do.  Work at a pace where you continue to love what you are doing.

So, now for the pictures of the finished downstairs starting with a couple I have from the previous owners.  They purchased the building for $33,000 in 1996.  Notice that the windows had all been replaced with cinder blocks, walls covered in dry wall and a dropped ceiling was probably added during the time the bank had it.  They replaced the windows and repaired the leaky roof. It was evident from the amount owed on the building that they borrowed renovation costs to fund the work.

Our demolition took it back to the original walls and floor plan.  The powder room was reconstruction in the same location only twice as large and the kitchen was counter was placed in a similar location to the original bank teller counter.

The stove is a 1932 Chambers and was for sale in the building when we bought it.  Since I had one in another house years before, we got them to put it in the contract.  They are the best stoves ever built with a deep well (slow cooker) and grill plus they cook on retained heat.  The gold refrigerator is a late 1950's G.E. that hangs on the wall as an upper cabinet in a conventional kitchen. The island in front of the refrigerator is a solid maple butcher block table that once served as a workbench.  The holes are still there in case we ever needed to reattach the vise. The purple refrigerator is a 1952 Kelvinator  that was given to us. Someone had painted it with a green fake rock paint so I figured why not repaint it.  Why not purple?

Pictured below is the original vault with 24 inch thick walls that was turned into our pantry plus pots and pans storage.  What fun is it not to have to dig in the cupboards for pots and pans.  The vault can also be used as a safe room in case of a tornado. 

I looking at the pictures you may notice that there is nothing new in our home.  We have had great fun in repainting, recovering or refinishing old pieces to live with. Each piece has its funny stories and lots of work put into it which makes them all special. I do a lot of catering out of this kitchen, even with the old appliances, have had as many as fifty people here for a buffet dinner and there are always people that stop by thinking we are a restaurant.

Can't close the story of the building without a picture of the garage. Even though we lease it from the local Mason's we have fixed it up to fit us.  It has been a godsend with a laundry room, wood shop, workroom (with cable TV) and a place for three cars.

This renovation is something anyone can do and I hope some of you will get inspired to help save some of the old wonderful buildings that are vacant and need a lot of TLC.  We didn't start this project with all the skills it took to finish it but learned them along the way.  

We purchased the building for $85,000.  Comparable prices in the Dallas/Ft.Worth/Denton area started at $400,000 with many more permits and fees. With all the work done on the building and by doing all of it ourselves we have put $35,000 to $40,000 into it. That includes the leveling, two new heat and air units, two bathrooms and a kitchen. We have ended up with a home we love to live in with lots of space to work and play.

Hope you have enjoyed the story as much as I have enjoyed letting you see our home.  We are always open for tours if you are driving down I-35 or good old Hwy 77.