The Consequences of Huffing Inhalants

Earlier this fall Daniel, the 27-year-old son of Ted's cousin Kay, died from huffing. Huffing is the breathing in of  an inhalant, such as the propellant gases found in aerosol cans like hairspray, whipped cream, and cooking sprays. It is a very, very dangerous activity, and of those who die from it, one in three were trying it for the first time. It's estimated that in 2008, more than a million teenagers tried it.

Daniel's family has very bravely shared their experiences with his substance abuse. The links below will take you to two articles, the first has a video. We hope that by sharing this story those who are unfamiliar with the huffing phenomenon might learn to recognize its symptoms:

Death by Duster — this first article has a video link
Mom urges parents who suspect 'huffing' to seek help

A Prayer for Tracey

I planted the white clematis in early spring, in the backyard near the door so that I would see it whenever I came outside. But while my other vines produced bounties of fruits and flowers all summer—brilliant blue clematis, delicate orange and yellow honeysuckle, delicious concord grapes—I was rather disappointed with this white vine, which all season sent forth a great deal of lush, leafy vines, but no flowers. (You'd think the name "Sweet Autumn Clematis" would have clued me in.) About a week or so ago, I noticed that the vine was covered in buds, and in the last few days they've begun to open.

They're gorgeous. Tiny white stars cascading against a backdrop of cool green. An unexpected gift, when the rest of the garden is beginning to tuck itself in for the long, dark nights of winter. It's the last thing that will bloom in my garden this year, and I can't believe how Summer went by so quickly. Not too long ago, it seems, I was out in the yard pruning and digging and planting new spring beds.

I didn't accomplish half my plans this year. Chicago summers are short, intense, and brilliantly colored, and before you know it the season's over. I always think there will be time enough for picnics and BBQs, catching up with everyone over a margarita and a perfectly grilled burger, time enough for one more summer house party before the chilly fall nights chase everyone inside. It's often hard to prioritize and fit everything in; some things get sacrificed.

I didn't see everyone I wanted to this summer, either. Sometimes work gets in the way, plans have to change, and I think, "Well, I won't make it to that family party, but it's okay, I'll catch everyone at the next one." I missed seeing my cousin Doug when he was here with his family, and I missed my cousin Kristen's boys when they were in town. And for what? A client project? A deadline I was terrified of missing? A stuffed head and a minor cold I didn't want to pass along? A seminar I couldn't miss? Any number of commitments that, in retrospect, simply aren't important? "I saw them not too long ago," I'd think, "I'll catch them at the next party."

But you never suspect that the next time you see your extended family will be at the hospital, as you all surround the bedside of your beautiful, funny, and much-loved cousin, who is far, far too young to be in the cardiac ICU.

And as you worry about what will happen next and what the future will hold, it all seems too short. There was a time, when I was younger, that the future stretched endlessly ahead. I know now that that's not true.

Hug your loved ones today, and let them know how much they mean to you. And please say a prayer for our Tracey, who means so very much to us all.

Louis Sullivan on the Prairie, We Visit a Jewel Box Bank

It's been a crazy, whirlwind holiday week. We spent Christmas Day at my uncle's up in Racine Wisconsin. I don't think I've been to his place since we closed on our house last winter, so I found myself poking around his addition as if for the first time, seeing how it was constructed. He had added a family room sometime when I was in high school with a half bath and a separate wood-lined sauna. I've been trying to figure out just how we can add a sauna to The Box House, but there's only so much square footage available. Still, I was intrigued with the fact that there is a shower in the sauna as well, allowing the tiny room to do double duty. I neglected to take photos, so maybe next time.

It was kind of funny seeing my cousins--the earliest Christmases I can remember feature us playing with our new toys under the Christmas tree. This time, we sat around the tree talking about building inspectors, home renovation projects, and DIY improvements!

Boxing Day found us on the road for the nine-hour trek to Kansas City to see Ted's family. We got a really, really late start, so the roads were clear of traffic. We did run into some absolutely crazy weather, however. The temperature steadily climbed from 50 to 70, and somewhere in Missouri the emergency broadcast system kicked in on the radio to warn us of tornadoes and torrential rains ahead. Within 15 minutes--I'm not kidding, it was that fast--the temperature dropped from 70 down to 33. We watched in amazement as the thermometer dropped before our eyes. Just outside of Kansas City, the skies opened and we were pummeled with rain. But we did make it to Overland Park in the suburbs safely. I know it's Kansas, but tornado warnings in December seem a bit extreme.

The trip was pleasant, although much too short. All-too-soon we were headed home. This time we took the Iowa route, stopping in Grinnell, just east of Des Moines, to stretch our legs for an hour or so. We knew that there was a Sullivan-designed bank in the downtown area of this college town, but had never seen it before. We do love Sullivan, and mourn the fact that a number of his buildings have been lost, including the Pilgrim Baptist Church, destroyed in a careless fire. So we were kinda excited to see this bank. (Those who are unfamiliar with architect Louis Sullivan, check out the biography on Wikipedia or peruse the books Louis Sullivan: The Poetry of Architecture or The Early Louis Sullivan Building Photographs, which features this bank on the cover.)

Sullivan designed a number of what have come to be known as Jewel Box Banks. There were eight of them in all, and all are still standing. Based on the photos I've seen, this is my favorite.

By the time we got to Grinnell, it was already four o'clock, so the winter lighting wasn't great for taking pictures. So here's one from the bank's web site:

And a historical view:

Another recent view:


More details of the ornamentation can be found here. Unfortunately, some moron smashed the eastward-facing winged lion a few years ago:

We saw the pieces in the lobby, and, according to the Poweshiek County blog, bank owner Wells Fargo is looking into options for restoring or replicating the terra cotta figure. There was a guy working on the building's exterior while we were, but he didn't seem to know much about the details of the restoration. And I did kinda want to go, "Arrrgh, what are you doing?" when he propped his ladder against the remaining lion. But he was friendly enough, and seemed very proud of the bank, telling us how the ornamentation he was working on was installed before he was born.


Sullivan always gives me shivers!

We spent about an hour prowling around downtown Grinnell, exploring other historic buildings, and then jumped back into the car to head home. Well, we had to stop at Mom's other house first before we got all the way back home. The new tenants are moving in this weekend, and we still need to clear out a few things. So, after being on the road all day, the last thing I wanted to do was pack up the car with more of our junk, but what can you do?

The new people were there this evening to bring some of their stuff in early and begin setting up. It was the first time in 31 years I had to ring the doorbell to get in--well, with the exception of those times I lost or forgot my keys! What a strange feeling to have someone else answer the door, and even stranger that I'm not really free to wander around wherever and however I want!

Oh well. It's not really our home anymore, anyway.

I hope everyone is enjoying the holidays!


Carson Pirie Scott & Co. building designed by Louis Sullivan. State and Madison, Chicago.

Painted Cabinets and Dining Room Murals

And now for a little house porn...

I love visiting Bob and Rachel, my future in-laws (although they're saying yeah, right, when are you guys really getting married?) The kitchen / dining room / living room area of their house is absolutely fabulous. When you walk in the front door, the first thing you'll see is the red living room:

I do love a bold, red room! It's one of the things I miss from our condo; my office was just this shade of red. And the white shutters here really make it pop. The fireplace is painted. Yeah, I couldn't believe it was a faux texture when I first saw it. I love, love it.

Just off the living room is the dining room. Although there is a smaller table in the kitchen, this is the one we gather around in the morning to read the newspaper and drink our coffee. The mural, I believe, was done by a friend of theirs. Isn't it gorgeous? I wish I had the talent for this, but the artistic gene in our family skipped me altogether. I wonder if we could hire a student artist from Northwestern University to do something like this at The Box House?

But oh, silly me! What I really wanted to show you all was the kitchen--but I neglected to take full-room pictures of it! You'll have to settle for these close ups.

Not long ago, I mentioned wanting to paint the old wooden cabinets at my mom's other house. This was my inspiration:
Aren't they incredible? Although our enclosed porch at The Box House is now gray and yellow, it is nowhere near as sunny and cheerful as this room. And I think Rachel's pottery collection is what really ties it all together. (I think if you click on the images you'll be able to see some of the textured faux finishes on the walls as well.)

This was our first visit to K.C. since moving into our own new home. So we found ourselves studying the bones and construction and finishing techniques in ways we haven't before. In fact, Ted says he felt like he got busted with house porn in hand, because he was all alone in the basement studying their ceiling joists when Rachel came downstairs!

We live and breathe home improvement projects these days; I don't think it's possible to just go to anyone else's house anymore without studying the construction itself.

Mom's Dresden Plate Quilt, with Pattern History

Mom recently finished a baby quilt for Ted's new niece, Anaiah Christine. If you click on the images, you can enlarge them to see the hand stitches. It took her ages to finish.

The pattern is known as Dresden Plate. According to Judy Ann Breneman of Quilt Patterns from History, the Dresden Plate quilt pattern was very popular in the 1920s and 1930s. It came under a variety of names, including Grandmother's Sunburst, Friendship Ring, Aster, Dahlia, and Sunflower.

Breneman goes on to say: "The popular name for this quilt, Dresden Plate, reflects the romance of the Victorian Era with its love of elaborate decoration on household items and décor. Dresden, Germany was a center of 19th century romanticism movement in art, one that included the fine decoration of porcelain. The plates were embellished with elaborate design using flowers, fruits and foliage. The beautiful plates would surely have been admired by women of the early 20th century."

Here's Ted's dad, Bob, with little Anaiah.

Texas Roads Closed, and We Worry as My Brother is Stuck There

Well, it looks like my brother and family can't get out of town, at least for now. The roads are closed to all but official vehicles and there's a curfew in place for Houston for the next week (I'm not sure about the suburbs and outlying areas). There are 2.5 million people or so without power, and the current estimate is that it may be four weeks before power to their location can be restored. I'm not sure what they're going to do.

Here are a few images of my brother's area that I found on Flickr that show the damage from Hurricane Ike. Click on the link below each to go directly to the site and see the full-size versions, and to find others that the photographer took.

Fallen tree severs home, Tomball/Magnolia Texas.

Trailer with Ron Paul 2008 painted on front, minor damage, Tomball/Magnolia Texas.

My Brother and Family OK after Hurricane Ike

Thanks to family and friends who have called to ask how my brother and his family are doing. They live in a small town outside of Houston, which was directly in the path of Hurricane Ike. There was not a mandatory evacuation for their specific area, so they had decided to ride out the storm.

While their neighbors have been pummelled and one family lost the roof of their house, my brother's house survived. Unfortunately, they're without power. They've already been informed not to expect to have any power for three or more weeks. So now they need to decide what to do. I'm trying to convince them that it's cheaper to come up here and stay for a while than to stay in a hotel for the next several weeks, even if it is a thousand-mile drive. (The gas will still be a killer, tho'). We haven't seen my brother in over two years. Keep your fingers crossed he says yes.

Basement Demolition and Black Boogers

Yesterday was a black booger kind of day. On a scale of one to ten, with one being light housekeeping and ten being working in a coal mine, it ranked about an eight—right on par with an afternoon of sightseeing in Ho Chi Minh City (and believe me, I know what I'm talking about). Yuck. It was the kind of day where you blow your nose and all sorts of grit comes out.

Well, I hope you weren’t eating breakfast or lunch, or whatever it is you were snacking on in your part of the world. But c’mon. Home improvement is messy, and some projects more so than others.

My cousins Jason and John came by yesterday to help me and Ted pull down drywall in the basement. I have the bestest cousins. Really. I mean that. Jason actually volunteered to help us tear out stuff when he heard we wanted to demo, and recruited John with the words "Do you want to go to Jo's house and break stuff?" Honestly, who could resist that? John's reply was, "You had me at break stuff."

The guys started by pulling down the drywall in the laundry room. I'm too short to reach the ceiling, so my job was to drag out the large drywall pieces to pile in the yard and keep empty boxes rotating to toss the nails and smaller bits into.

To tackle the first wall, they had to carry the old garage doors back to the garage. Unfortunately, the boards in the door are not the same size as the boards used to build the garage roof, as I previously thought. So the doors will sit there at the back of the garage until I can figure out another use for them.
We all wore masks while working, not the cheap dust ones, but masks rated for drywall. They were absolutely necessary, as the opposite side of the drywall boards, particularly the ceiling ones, was coated in a thick layer of black, black dust and grime. Our best guess for the composition of that dust is coal dust from the old boilers. Anybody else ever encounter this? The air was thick with dust the entire time we were working. Even with the masks, my nose was filled with grit by the end of the demolition.

In all, we pulled down about 60% of the drywall in the basement. There are some walls/ceiling sections we left intact because we want to take down those sections and drywall them all in one weekend, so don't want to tear apart those rooms until we're ready. This includes our offices and the storage areas. We don't want to leave those open for gosh-knows how long.

With the cousins here, it didn't really seem like work. We took frequent breaks--after all, the four of us will all be turning the big 4-0 within a year of each other, starting with Ted this fall. No sense in wearing ourselves out completely; we're not as young as we used to be! Here's what the basement looked like when we were done.

Yikes. As careful as we were, that's still quite the mess. We celebrated with not one but three pizzas from Lou Malnati's (The Lou, a thin crust cheese and sausage, and a pepperoni pan, in case you were wondering, Marilyn). Jason's mom was here, too, visiting from Arizona. It's always a treat to see my Aunt Sheila.

After everyone left, Ted and I stayed up until about one in the morning to do the clean up. Neither of us really, really wanted to do it, but we also didn't want to face it the next day. Here's how it looked afterward:

All of the drywall is now in the garage. I read in a magazine a few months back that there was a place in the Chicago area that recycles old gypsum boards, but I'm having trouble tracking that down. I'd like to be able to dispose of all of this waste and not feel guilty about it.

Anyway, tune in tomorrow for some detailed pictures of what we discovered behind the wall boards--there were a few surprises!

McDowell & Craig Desk, Anglo Saxon Spindle Whorls

I don't generally like mid-century modern style. Art deco waterfall front furniture, inlaid woods, stepped forms, and starburst patterns are what get my heart racing. But when my cousin asked if I wanted his desk before he put it on Craigs List, I said yes, yes! The desk I've been using for years is this tiny little thing that I bought in Chicago at a convent estate sale. The Sisters were selling off the bulk of their possessions, and I scored a few cool items that day. I love my little wooden 1930s desk, but it is only big enough for my monitor, my keyboard, and a cup of coffee. There isn't even enough room for a lamp, and it's not the least bit ergonomic; no wonder my wrist bothers me when I'm working for too long.

So Ted and I drove across town to pick up the desk from John and a book shelf, too. I have to admit, I wasn't really wowed with the desk at first. It was sort of big and industrial looking and very heavy. I've always had antique wood furniture. But when I set the desk up in my office and sat down for the first time, oh boy! I was dazzled by the shiny polished surface, how comfortable it was to work at. And the room! I can now keep all of my critical books close at hand, as well as a few of my favorite knickknacks. I think I'm in love--thanks, John!

The desk is made by McDowell & Craig, a company that's been around since the 1940s. My home office is too tiny to photograph the desk properly, but here's an image I sniped from Retro Office; it more or less looks like this:


Close up of some of the crap valuable treasures I've set out:

A jar of marbles that my dad bought for me at an estate sale; a smoky quartz crystal ball (to dispell negativity and promote healing); a Viking era brooch; one dozen worry dolls that I picked up in Guatemala; a half dozen Anglo-Saxon lead spindle whorls; a Roman winged penis amulet; a 4000 year old (supposedly) goddess figure I bought from an antiquities dealer in London; a lump of amethyst, my birthstone, given to me by my grandfather; an egg-shaped piece of chrysocolla, considered a healing stone; and a gigantic lingam stone I got in India (boy, that was one heavy souvenir to carry in my backpack for three months). The wooden box is one Ted made when he was a kid, and holds a secret treasure.

I like collecting antiquities, and try to deal only with reputable merchants who can guarantee the provenance with money-back offers (i.e., I stay away from eBay for the most part). Of the few dozen pieces I have, some are probably even genuine. :-) I like feminine and domestic items, nothing flashy. Bronze rings. A bead bracelet. The spindle whorls, for example, were dug up in an English pasture by an amateur metal detecting enthusiast who sold them to me for beer money. Stuff like this, he wrote, is quite common. But to me, they're pretty special, a warm, solid connection to some woman who lived a thousand years ago. I like to hold them in my hand and contemplate what this unknown woman must have been thinking about as she tended to her weaving. Her tasks of feeding and clothing her family are not all that different from mine, where I try to make a comfortable home for those I love.

Close up of three of the spindle whorls, uncleaned--I like having my own little bit o' England sitting on the desk.

Hunterian Psalster, woman spinning.

Anyway, having a desk with enough space to set up my toys is a blast. I don't know why I didn't get a bigger desk ages ago. My old nun's desk has been moved to the other room, where we're (finally) setting up the Playstation and the Dance Dance Revolution metal pads.

Newest Family Member

Ted's brother Vince and his wife June have a new family member. Anaiah was born earlier this week, and big brother Jachin is obviously thrilled to pieces with his baby sister.

Memorial Day Observance

My grandfather served in the Navy throughout most of World War II. On the day Pearl Harbor was attacked, he was stationed in California, and was immediately shipped out as part of a convoy from San Diego. He arrived in Hawaii a few weeks after the attack, and forty-five years later he was finally able to write about it.

***

As the Harris sailed into the harbor, we stood dumb-founded at the sight that met our eyes. Everywhere we looked there was only destruction and the ravages of the December 7th attack. The water in the bay was covered with thick, black, tarry oil that appeared to be several inches thick, mixed with floating debris resulting from the explosions and fires. Articles of clothing, life jackets, and a lone white sailor’s hat that had somehow remained snowy clean gave mute evidence to the loss of life. Here and there smoke still rose from smoldering wreckage. When we passed what used to be known as Battleship Row, there were gasps of disbelief. We saw nothing but the burned and sunken hulks of our once proud Pacific Fleet. The USS Oklahoma had capsized after having been torpedoed. The Maryland and Tennessee were both heavily damaged. The Nevada, victim of both bomb and torpedo attack, had been beached to prevent her sinking. The California and West Virginia had gone down at their anchorage. Even the aged Utah, an unarmed target vessel, had been destroyed. But worst of all was the USS Arizona. Struck by both heavy bombs and torpedoes, her magazines exploding, the gallant old battlewagon was totally demolished. What had remained had sunk to the bottom of the harbor with over 1,000 members of her crew trapped inside her hull. The only evidence of her ever having existed was her foremast jutting from the murky waters, twisted and burned, albeit with colors and pennant still flying from the masthead.

The entire harbor reeked with the stench of death. We were to later see other damage. The destroyers USS Cassin and Downes were nothing but burnt-out shells in a dry dock they had shared with the battleship Pennsylvania, which miraculously received little damage. The aircraft, building, and equipment losses were still being assessed weeks after the attack. The Pearl Harbor Naval Base was almost completely destroyed.

It was almost dark by the time the Harris dropped anchor. Immediately, we were transferred to the repair ship USS Whitney by whaleboats. We couldn’t see much of her as we made it to her landing stage. There was no illumination other than a few red-colored battle lanterns. We moved up her ladders in a state of uncertainty, trying hard not to stumble. Anyone who might fall into the mucky, polluted waters below, burdened with all his gear, would become a statistic. In spite of the awkwardness of moving around in the dark, our draft did get up to the main deck without losing anyone. Given life jackets with quick instructions in their use, we were told to sack out right there on deck for the night. Somebody would come around later with hot coffee and sandwiches. Considering the turmoil and confusion that existed at the time, it was no surprise that the chow never appeared. We went to sleep hungry that night, but I heard no complaints.

As we arranged our seabags and life jackets along the deck, trying to stay out of the crew’s way, it dawned on us that it was Christmas Eve—for many of us our first Christmas away from home. We were a bunch of teenaged kids, scared to death and trying very hard not to let it show. I doubt if many of us slept that night. There were a lot of whispered prayers, and every now and then you could hear a muffled sob. One of the guys down the line called out softly, “Good night guys, and Merry Christmas.” There were a few more sobs to be heard, and I think one of them might have been mine. Still, despite everything, we did have something to cling to. After all, as our buddy had said, it was Christmas. I guess as we lay there in the darkness on our first wartime Christmas Eve, we were all truly hoping for peace on Earth, and good will toward all men.

The next morning, Christmas morning, we were awakened by the growl of airplane engines as the dawn patrol was preparing for takeoff. Everyone jumped up to line the rail and watch. Several consolidated PBY patrol flying boats were taxiing through the oil-covered waters to finally rise and head out to sea. It didn’t seem likely the Japs would be hanging around for a return engagement, but we were all very new to the business of war, and no chances were being taken.

There was still a holiday dinner of turkey, ham, and all the trimmings, and church services were held for those who wished to attend. Not many guys showed up. I don’t know if it was a lack of faith or just a strong sense of survival. The chapels were all located below deck, and it somehow seemed a lot safer topside. We remained on deck, watching the base as best we could and talking amongst ourselves about what we had seen and what our hopes were for the future. It was not the sort of yuletide we were used to, but one we would get to know well in the years ahead...

***

Today is Memorial Day. Let us all share a prayer for our honored dead, and a thank you to all the men and women who have served in the U.S. Armed Forces, or who are currently on active duty.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

There will be no work on The Box House today, and very little work-work. If all goes as planned, Ted and I will have a movie date and then a few pints at the Celtic Knot, and a few more at Tommy Nevins before stumbling home.

There was a time, way long ago, that I played the bagpipes with the University of Iowa Scottish Highlanders. We were often kept busy on St. Patrick's Day playing gigs at local bars. You want a picture? Unfortunately, the only one I have scanned in is this tiny wee one of the club officers; the rest of my photos are all in storage. I'm third from the left. Yeah, I know; you'll just have to take my word that that's me.

Okay, how about this instead? Here I am climbing Crough Patrick in 2004. According to legend, this is the mountain where St. Patrick stood when he chased the snakes, dragons, and demons out of Ireland.

Gawd, I really do need a new raincoat. I've had that one since college. But I love it!

So, anybody have crazy plans for celebrating the day?

For more vintage Irish postcard images, go to Irish Postcards.

Over the River and Through the Woods...

The problem with closing on a new house right before the holidays is that there hasn't been time to actually move in yet. While my mother flew off to Texas to visit my brother and his family, Ted and I took a road trip to Kansas City to visit his kinfolk. Ted's dad and one of his sisters live in the area, as do a couple of his good friends. We always look forward to the trip, but this year I was especially excited to discuss our new place with others who were going through similar rehab projects.

Ted's sister S. lives in a small frame house built in 1925, and she and her husband B. have done everything from renovating bathrooms to adding on completely new rooms. I've been to their place half a dozen times before, but this was the first time I really looked at how the bathroom was redone and how the tile on the floors was applied. And who knew that discussing electrical wiring could be so much fun?

Our friend D. owns a hundred-year-old farmhouse to the north of K.C., where she lives with her two pixie-bobs and a potbellied pig named...Hamlet! Rehabbing the old house has become her hobby, and she's even taken classes on basic plumbing, etc. She's my new hero, because one of the very first projects she's taken on was to tear out a little-used coat closet on the first floor to expand the bathroom, even moving over the plumbing and building a large, glass and tile shower. It's beautiful. Much to my annoyance, though, I realized I didn't have my camera with me, so unfortunately there are no pictures. I'll get them next time I visit, when she's sure to have another major project or two completed as well.

Ted and I are now back in the Chicago area to spend New Year's Eve with friends, and our first official night at the Box House. We don't have any of our furniture there, yet, and will be sleeping on an air mattress, but I can't wait.