Paper Cuts

HOA Saga Part III

The paperwork was signed now it was time to wait. Now it was time to survive parenthood, a pandemic and a social justice movement. A mere year that felt like an eternity.

In the Bay Area, we escaped reality with trips to Sonoma. In Denver we escaped reality with trips to our future home. It was hope in a hopeless time. 

Weekly we would get updates from our contractor. These were mere lies. For the first six months they did not break ground. As it turned out they did not have a permit to build the house that they sold us. Minor details. Nothing to worry about.

Finally, they broke ground and building commenced. In the midst of the pandemic there was a mass exodus from the major cities. We were ahead of the curve on this. We had already left the big city. We had already started working remote. We already purchased a home.

The exodus caused a housing boom. Skilled labor was in high demand. Our home was not built with skilled labor. It was cobbled together with cheap unskilled labor. We would be none the wiser.

Naively, we trusted our builder. I had never owned a home. We had never built a house. We had paid the builder for their expertise. We paid for peace of mind. We got ripped off. Too deep in diapers to project manage. Too overwhelmed to micro manage. We let them be.

Once a month we would drive up to see the progress. It was a delightful time. Davis was learning to walk. We would put him in an obnoxiously cute jumper. We swung by to see the progress. Then off to the clubhouse for lunch. A front row seat at the base of the Colorado Rockies. We had arrived or so it seemed.

Now off to the local brewery for a couple beers before heading home. One glorious day we arrived to find a local country artist playing at a high school graduation party. A huge banner hung down with a picture of the graduate.

The graduate was a star player on the local football team. He was in his football uniform boasting a mullet. The mullet did not need a resurgence. It could have went away with Billy Rae. RIP mullet. Long live Achy Breakie Heart. 

A big fish in a small pond. A caricature of a person that peaks in high school. Only days aways from starting the job or trade he will do for the rest of his life. Enjoy your day my friend. For tomorrow you work.

The mullet is ironic, today. Decades from now he will still adorn it in remembrance of his glory days. The day he caught the winning pass. The evening he scored with the head cheerleader. 

From the day he turns twenty-one until the day he dies he will meet here with his buddies. They will reminisce about the glory days. They will run out everyone who is not from here. They will fight change and growth. Change and growth will not be their friend.

We don’t know it now but these are the people who will soon unwelcome us to our new community. We are too busy living in the fantasy of what could be. It begins to rain. We retreat to the tiny tap room.

We sing in the rain. We sing with strangers. We sing with new friends. All is good in the world at this moment.

The owners daughter takes a shine to Davis. How could she not? She is one of this odd ducks that loves kids. We hand him over and relinquish all parenting duties for the moment.

This place is a dream come true. I am from the country. Elizabeth is from the country club. We have traveled the world. It is time to set roots. There is no better place than here. 

As it would turn out, life is not a romance novel. Grown up life is a death by paper cuts. A paper cut will not kill you but it will take the pep out of your step. It is a constant reminder that everything is not quite as it should be. It is a nagging pain on an otherwise beautiful day.

After a tumultuous year we moved into our house. It was far from complete. We had no other choice. The movers were coming. Our lease was up. For a moment it looked like we might have to camp in the garage while we waited for an occupancy permit. My wife is not a camper. Number one on my bucket list is never camp with my wife! Today is not the day, Satan. Luckily, the permit was granted at the eleventh hour.

We walked into a house that was completely void of character. White walls as far as the eye could see. There was tape on all the walls indicating areas that needed repair. The general contractor assured us someone would come back and fix them.

Subcontractors came and went on a daily basis. Never letting us know when they would arrive. Always expecting us to drop everything to help them redo their work.

In spite of the constant interruption, none of these pieces of tape ever seemed to disappear. Our brand new floors had specs of paint all over them. Apparently, I am the clean up crew. I never knew. I don’t recall applying for this job. If only they had done it right the first time this could have been avoided.

The walls were painted with the lowest grade of paint. The paint melts when you wash off marks. This is problematic when you have a small child that is learning to color. It is quite frustrating when you hav in-laws that own a paint factory. I can't say this about any other building material but in this case I have a guy. A guy who can get you the best paint in land.

We were under the impression that a new home just worked. That it would be devoid of problems. We were wrong. Our contractor assured us that these issues would be resolved within a year. Within a year? Well sir, this definitely was not mentioned in the sales room.

I would learn that an old house comes with major repairs. A new house comes with never-ending minor repairs. Over time these minor repairs feel like death. Death by paper cuts. 

We moved into a house without a lawn. We asked that they put it in before our first family visit in a couple of weeks. The builder kindly told me that they’d put it in whenever they felt like it. Excellent! You do you, bro.

One man's mud pit is another man's Woodstock. Davis danced and played in the mud like there was no tomorrow. We were now the proud owners of a mudroom. We had no idea how much we would use it.

We asked that the kitchen tiles be vertical. The installer put them in horizontally. This meant that our kitchen would need to be torn apart. No kitchen for two days. No big deal. I will just tell Davis he is going on his first forty-eight hour fast.

Elizabeth invited her best friend’s family over. They made the long trek from Kansas City to spend a couple nights in our sauna. Our brand new air conditioner went out. Of course someone would be out someday to fix it. Our guests would be long gone before someone would come out to fix. They have never come back. I wonder why?

Our 85 inch tv died several months after being installed. Cause of death, unknown. I had no need for this TV. It was a bucket list item for my wife. It cost as much as a used car. To be specific it cost as much as the Volkswagen Jetta we traded in. And now it was not working. I miss that car. It always worked.

We had bought the TV from the company that had installed our home theater. They felt no obligation to help us get a new one. After many calls to the manufacturer they shipped us a new one from Japan. It seemed like it took an eternity. 

It was a great opportunity for us to snuggle up on our old couch and watch TV on our old TV. So, why did we move? It seems that we already had everything we needed or wanted. From that old couch we have a beautiful view of the front range.

Unfortunately, the window had a defect that caused it to fill with condensation. This condensation blocked the view and let cold air into the house. It took two new windows and seven different installers to fix it. As it turns out you should not replace windows in fifty mile per winds. Who knew?

I know what you are thinking. These are middle class white first-world problems. Absolutely! As it turns out I am a middle-class white person living in the first world. Our forefathers have allowed us to live this privileged lives. I am grateful for indoor plumbing and running water. I am ungrateful never ending suburban paper cuts.

Maybe my son will live in a world where you order a house. Maybe it will arrive fully assembled. Maybe it will work right out of the box. Probably, not.

Not every problem was created by a contractor. With my novice handyman skills I managed to create some of my own. The whole idea of this house is that I would not be the handyman. Yet, I have assembled every piece of furniture we own. I have put up every picture and curtain. Let me tell you, it shows.

The project was installing curtains. Curtains are vital in our house. The grounds crew starts at five-thirty a.m. every morning. They drive right by our house. They can see right into our bedroom. 

Curtains are not an option, they are a necessity. Within months they fell off the wall. For once, something broke that was not the contractors fault. Is this forward progress? This was one hundred percent my fault. One hundred percent my job to fix.

The timing was perfect. My in-laws were in town. It is always a pressure cooker when my mother-in-law is around. It was one more thing that I had failed at in her eyes. 

Never explicitly said but in the back of my mind

His family has no money

He can’t get a job

He can’t wash a pan to save his life

He can’t even hang curtains

At this point, I ask myself, “Is today a good day for a murder-suicide?” No, no go to Ace and get a wall bracket. For only a couple dollars everyone can live. Too say the least new home ownership was more of a job than a dream.

On top of this, the snow removal service was falling short of what was promised. Like every other NoCo service provider they showed up when it was convenient for them.

Snow removal is very important when you live at the base of the front range. It is important when you have a little maniac running around who might injure himself at any moment. It is important when you have aging neighbors that may need ambulance access at any given time.

In my mind, it was not a matter of convenience but a matter of safety. If anything was going to change, I would have to make it happen. At that moment I knew that Chardonnay Brett would have to join the HOA board.

Until next time!

Cheers,

Chardonnay Brett