house

My Twitter friends may remember that sometime in September (or was it August?) I began degrouting our shower. The grout is original, which, while a high status in the art and fashion world, here means it's sometimes missing and sometimes moldy. I felt I had to shower after stepping out of my shower.

And my Twitter friends may recall that this project may indeed be the death of me (see--I can pick up a good southern phrase). Classic tweets regarding the project include:

off to de-grout my shower! (2:20 PM Sep 16th)

wow. degrouting so much faster after Chris fixed the tool and showed me I could be rougher with it than I was. This is almost fun now! (10:49 AM Sep 18th)

my hands won't stop vibrating after using Dremel. I feel like a cartoon. (12:47 PM Sep 18th)

they ask me how I knew . . . grout gets in my eyes (1:28 PM Sep 18th)

guess I'm done today's grout work. Dremel not working again. At this rate, I'll finish by New Year's in time for resolution to never do this (2:19 PM Sep 21st)

Dremel bit snapped in half. Then my piano student stood me up. Lovely. (4:59 PM Sep 28th)

Today's Cervantes' b-day (or what they think is his b-day). It's fitting I work on the grout in honor of Quixote. It's my personal windmill. (10:24 AM Sep 29th)

You see the deterioration--from optimism, joking, even song (and, yes, dance) to suspicions of insanity. Yesterday, after over a month of absence (due in part to legitimate reason--travel), I returned to the degrouting project. 

To find the Dremel tool, once again, inoperable.

Okay, I can make lemonade (especially since we recently learned that our lime tree may be, indeed, a lemon tree). I'll work on getting out the caulk with the hand saw.

Uh-huh.

And this is where I met my nemesis.

Some of the caulk--the caulk my husband added to the shower a few years ago, stripped away, no problem. Some of the caulk, which must be decades old, held firm. The saw doesn't cut through it because the caulk is too putty-like. But neither can I peel it out because in that sense the caulk is too petrified (meaning hard, not scared).

You see my dilemna.

Removing the old caulk is harder than containing the blob in a thimble.

Which is why I've decided that I'm moving into a tent.

Indeed, the new earth cannot have mansions. Mansions mean upkeep, and who wants to regrout the showers?

I realized the other day that against my better judgment, I've become fashionable.

"Do you smell something burning?" I felt my nose crinkle.

"Yeah. I do." My husband got up and searched the house. "I think I see smoke."

All I could think about was the piano. My baby.

Then it occurred to me. For the past few months, the washing machine's sounded like a jet taking off. I've been waiting for this day.

Or waiting for the day when I'd discover a missing washer, a hole in my roof, and reports of UFOs.

Sure enough. The laundry room smelled of burnt rubber.