The Room Where It Happened

We've remodeled the lower level of our family home in Brier, Washington, a northern suburb of Seattle. We want to live more simply now, with less space and no stairs. Our son James did all of the work except the electrical, and my husband Art did that part, in two trips from Tucson during the summer.

My requirement was "light and bright and warm and welcoming." And minimalist. Art's requirement was a functional kitchen. Actually, it's against the Brier municipal code to have a "kitchen", which is defined to include a stove and venting. So instead we have a "wet bar", with a countertop oven/toaster, a two-burner hot plate and a microwave. Everything else in the room looks just like a kitchen.

The footprint of the room hasn't changed from before the remodel. We divided up a larger guest room into the wet bar and a smaller bedroom, and enlarged the bathroom slightly while making the laundry room a bit smaller. We share the laundry room with the tenants upstairs - currently our son Jason and his family.

Here's how it went. I struggled with the photos, so there are a few out of place and one duplicate.

Art's design

Demolition

Framing

Framing the kitchen

Moving the door, adding a slider


New slider

Electrical

Wiring for the kitchen and new bedroom

Dimming lights

Tearing out the old vanity

New bathroom vanity

 

Kitchen cabinets

Flooring going in



Barn door to bedroom

Small bedroom




Waiting for kitchen countertops

Completed kitchen

The apartment deck

Joining the new deck to the old

Now we're settling in to the room where it happened. We have a lot of work still: buying what we need, letting go of years of things now stored in the garage. But it is our own place, with no stairs. Just right for who we are now - from May to October.

Grateful, grateful!

A bazillion little things

It's been over 100 degrees every day for the last month here in Tucson. Once I ride eight miles on my e-bike in the early morning, I'm mostly indoors with gratitude for A/C.

It may look like I'm just sitting in my recliner with my laptop. But I'm really doing a bazillion little things.

We are remodeling the daylight basement of our family home in Brier, a Seattle suburb. Last summer I found it was difficult and sometimes painful to carry the laundry basket down the stairs with dirty clothes, and carry it back up with clean, folded ones. Aging hip and knee, you know. It was time for single-story living. Since we split our year between Tucson and Brier, it wasn't practical to lease a condo or to buy anything. So we decided to create a one-bedroom space downstairs, with a wet bar (municipal code doesn't permit a stove, because that would define an "accessory dwelling unit," not allowable in our small city unless the lot size is 20,000 square feet. Which ours is not).

The project is nearly complete, and we'll return to Washington next week to settle in and do another massive downsizing. We'll be living in 780 square feet - larger than our 620-square-foot place in Tucson. And one of our kids will live upstairs with his family.

There have been a bazillion little things. My husband Art came up with the design with my input. My contractor son James agreed to do the work, except for the electrical which Art would be responsible for.

How do we create a light and bright space? By moving windows and adding a sliding glass door to replace a regular one. By installing ceiling lights on a dimmer.

How do we add a food space? By dividing a regular bedroom into a very small bedroom and a small kitchenette.

How do we want the kitchen to look? Several hours spent at Home Depot, choosing cabinets. Art is the kitchen person, and he wanted a lot of cabinet space and adequate counter space. He wanted an under-cabinet microwave, a dishwasher and a garbage disposal (both of which I do without in Tucson).

Should we keep the 40-year-old vanity in the bathroom or change it out for something contemporary? Art wanted to keep it since it was still functional, but James told him it would cost more money to restore it than to replace it, so that's what we did.

And so on. Paint colors, flooring (we chose vinyl planking), where to put the cable for TV and internet, what to buy from Amazon, Overstock, Wayfair, Home Depot and Lowes, and what to scrounge from stuff stored in the garage.

I thought I was doing well with the bazillion little details - several hours a day online to buy what we would need: microwave, Keurig coffeemaker, countertop convection oven/toaster, countertop double-burner to replace the not-allowed stovetop, rolling laundry hamper, ceiling lights. I had to create a new address for our Brier place: Jason Myers (our oldest son, living upstairs with his family) for Art. Otherwise, the smaller items might have been forwarded to us here in Tucson, or sent back to the source.

I was feeling pretty proud of myself for managing this project 1200 miles to the north, making sure everything was taken care of and ready when it was needed.

Then, yesterday, I talked to my auto insurance carrier. I'd called to take the Ranger, currently in Brier, out of storage, and to put the Accord and the Prius, currently here in Tucson, in storage. I do that when we move back and forth, to save money on insurance. Art had flown to Seattle on May 22 to launch the remodel, returning to Tucson on June 23. The insurance person said to me yesterday, "I show the Prius has been in storage since May 22." Oh, my gosh. I had forgotten to take the Prius out of storage when Art returned to Tucson in June. So he has been driving around without insurance for THREE MONTHS! 

My friend Ellen told me this morning that it's because I'm getting older. I don't like that explanation. I think it's because, if I'm responsible for a billion little details, I will probably make one mistake.

I hope my opinion is the correct one!

The hula hoop saga and the wedding shirt

One July morning in 1997, Art and I decided to get a marriage license. We had been together for five years. We'd already combined most of our individual resources anyway, and were parenting - full time or part time - most of the children each of us had from our first marriages.

Our minister friend Chuck Davis agreed to marry us. He suggested we create some kind of ritual for the informal service. We came up with the idea of decorating a hula hoop and standing within it as we said our vows. I'm not the least creative, but Art's daughters Laura and Melissa wound inch-wide satin ribbon around the hoop and added silk ivy. I went to Michael's and bought a yard each of ribbon in the colors of each of our children's birthstones. 

Two weeks later, we were married on the sailboat of our friends Bob and Sheila Airis. The only others joining us were Chuck and his wife Barbara, and our eight children. 

At the end of the ceremony, each of the kids - Melissa, Jason, Karl, Russell, Laura, James, Peter and Greg - tied their respective ribbons onto the hula hoop. Then they all jumped into Lake Washington for a swim. 

The decorated hula hoop lived in a closet in our basement for 22 years. I'm not a saver by nature, but it seemed callous and irreverent to get rid of it. 

Until one day in May of this year. Art and I had traveled from our winter place in Tucson to Brier, the northern Seattle suburb where we live the rest of the year. We'd decided to remodel our daylight basement to create an apartment for ourselves. It will be light and bright, with no-stairs access to the garage, side garden, and laundry room. Jason and his wife Kalei and our grandson Kaleb have been living in our furnished house this year. Once we decided to remodel, they moved upstairs and put everything of ours that they weren't using on one side of the garage. 

The garage was pretty full when we arrived. Within a couple of days I had sold the office desk and chair, the treadmill, the Bowflex and one of the twin beds. I offered some things for free on the Buy Nothing Brier Facebook page. I took the eight ribbons off the hula hoop and found the shirt Art had worn at our wedding (!). I have an artistic friend in Tucson I thought might create something for our remodeled place.

I set the hula hoop outside the garage. I said, "This may be of interest for a crafter." 

A woman named Zoe responded, "I could use it for a fairy-themed one-year-old birthday backdrop." How delightful!

Zoe picked it up the next day and sent me this picture of how she'd transformed the wedding hoop:

When I flew back to Tucson on June 1, I brought the ribbons and Art's wedding shirt. 

I took them to my friend Connie Remetch. I had no idea what I wanted except for size - about a square foot. I said I'd like to somewhat match the framed wedding announcement that hung on our bedroom wall for those 22 years. Art was still in Washington; he took a picture of the announcement and sent it to me.

Three days later Connie called me. "Come see."

Perfect!

I'll hang the wedding announcement and Connie's beautiful creation on a wall in our new remodeled space. 

I am a fortunate and grateful woman.

Something new and different

We're living in Tucson right now while our Seattle home's basement is being remodeled. We're in the middle of summer; yesterday the high was 113 degrees. I ride my bicycle at 6:00 a.m. when it's already 80 degrees. But I'm okay with the heat as long as the a/c in house and car are working. 

This is normal for Arizona summers, and I wanted to experience one. The night before last we had our first monsoon of the season: wind, dust, a bit of rain and a spectacular electrical storm. 

It's a little harder doing the social distancing thing. We don't have people in our house, and it's too hot to sit outside and talk, and it's too hot to walk. Last night it was 100 degrees at 10 p.m. 

Back in April Johns Hopkins offered a free online course in contact tracing, where you talk to a person diagnosed with covid. They're infectious from two days before they develop symptoms until their symptoms are improving and they haven't had a fever (without tylenol) for three days. So you want to find out who they have been with during that time - especially before they develop symptoms. Then you contact the exposed people and recommend they self-quarantine for two weeks, providing them with access to resources they might need to successfully do that.

I read recently that 240,000 people signed up for the Johns Hopkins course, and 180,000 obtained the certificate of completion. I was one of those people. When I was done I contacted Pima County (where Tucson is) and expressed my interest in being a contact tracer.

I didn't hear anything from the county. And then I watched the number of covid cases soar in June. It was a couple of weeks after the governor opened the bars and restaurants and similar businesses. The young people, released from their lockdown, congregated in those places. And they are the ones who are most commonly experiencing the virus now. The older people, like me, tend to remain at home, knowing their increased risk.

Then today I got an email:

Good afternoon Ms. Myers,

I wanted to reach out to you about your email on April 13, 2020, inquiring about contact tracing.  Thank you for willingness to assist the Pima County community as a Contact Tracer.  At the time of your inquiry we were working on developing a process for contact tracing.  

We have recently contracted with Maximus for contact tracing.  If you are still interested in being a contact tracer then contact FSSHumanCapital@maximus.com  for contact tracing positions.  Once you email expressing interest for a contact tracing position in Pima County/Tucson, Arizona then your application will be moved accordingly through the application process.

Thank you.

Emergency Operations Center

Volunteer Coordinator 2

I wrote to Maximum to express my interest:

In April I applied to Pima County, Arizona to assist with contact tracing. Today I got an email saying they have contracted with you and said I should send you an email.

I completed the Contact Tracing course offered by Johns Hopkins in April. Though not a healthcare professional, I have been a certified mediator, made five trips to Greece in the last four years to volunteer at a refugee camp, managing that camp twice as vacation relief. I spent 20 years working in IT as a business systems analyst. 

I divide my time during the year between Tucson and Seattle. Since this is remote work, I could be useful anywhere I’m needed.

Looking forward to hearing from you. 

I wonder what will happen now that I have said yes one more time.

My whiny list

As far as I know, I'm not a whiner by nature. I'm mostly an optimist. But now I think I'm joining many millions of people who feel the same way I do. Maybe we should call ourselves the Worldwide Whiners Society.

Whine #1: I want to go to an air conditioned restaurant full of people and complain about how noisy it is.

#2: I want to throw all of my masks in the trash. Or at least the recycle bin.

#3: I want to have six friends to my house for dinner. Inside, and closer than six feet.

#4: It is summer in the Tucson desert. I want to be able to walk or ride my bike any time of the day instead of very early in the morning. I am not a morning person.

#5: I want to go to a real life church service. And a real live continuing education class. And a real live AA meeting. Zoom helps, but not really.

#6: I want to greet every friend I have with a long hug.

#7: I want to swim in a pool in the evening. The one in our retirement community closes at 4 because there aren't staff on duty after that to do the every-two-hour sanitizing thing.

#8: I want to see at play at the Arizona Theatre Company sitting between my husband Art and my good friend Ellen. We have season tickets we probably won't be able to use.

#9: I want to participate in the march on Washington instead of staying home because flights are too crowded and I'm an "elderly".

#10: I want to fly to Greece just one more time to volunteer with refugees.


On the other hand, my optimist side is grateful:

Grateful #1: We have A/C in our little Tucson place.

#2: I've got about eight masks, and I like them all.

#3: I have way more than six friends in my life - in Tucson and in Seattle and in other places in the country and around the world.

#4: I have an e-bike and there is a great bicycling loop in Tucson and my bike will get me around in the hills of Washington State.

#5: I have a church that feels like home, and continuing education classes available in both Tucson and Seattle, and AA meetings in both places that I love.

#6: I am a good hugger.

#7: There are multiple swimming pools nearby and I can use them just about any time of day except in the evening.

#8: I love the theatre, and there are excellent venues in both Tucson and Seattle. And I can afford season tickets.

#9: Even though I'm an "elderly" I've found joy in volunteering with refugees and asylum seekers and people in conflict with each other.

#10: I have a bunch of destinations still on my travel bucket list, and as long as I keep myself safe and healthy I'm likely to get to them all.


It's about perspective, you know. And this too shall pass.

How I'm spending my stimulus money

I got my stimulus money early on - $1,200 - and I am one of the lucky people who didn't need it. I spent some time thinking about how I could best use it. First I checked with our eight grown children. I told them to let me know if they needed help, but none of them did.

I got several recommendations to contribute to a food bank, and I considered it, but I knew many other people would be doing that. Instead, I wanted to help an individual or a family. So I left the money in my bank account and waited.

*****

In 2016 and 2017, I volunteered four times at Oinofyta, a refugee camp in Greece. During my days there, I came to know, or at least recognize, many of the 400 refugees who lived at the camp. The Oinofyta experience changed how I look at the world.

Here is some of what I learned in Greece: http://bagladyinwaiting.blogspot.com/2016/09/what-did-i-learn-in-greece.html

And here is one of the refugees' stories: http://bagladyinwaiting.blogspot.com/2016/11/abdul-tells-me-his-story.html

And then there was Mukhtar.

When I first saw him, he was playing chess on the dock of the warehouse. I'd been told he was 17 - an unaccompanied minor - and that both of his parents were dead and he was traveling to France to be with his older brother. He was one of many refugees who had intended to pass through Greece on their way to other European destinations, but had remained in camps in Greece when the borders to the other European countries had been closed.

I didn't have a conversation with Mukhtar until my fourth trip to Oinofyta, in August of 2017. I was filling in as camp manager while Lisa Campbell, the feisty and gifted creator of the Oinofyta community, returned to the US for a two-week speaking tour. At Oinofyta, the families lived in rooms downstairs, and the single men lived upstairs in four dormitories. The families needed to sleep and to feel safe, and separating them from the 82 single men was a good way to do that. As a single man - though still a minor - Mukhtar lived upstairs.

One day he came into the camp office. He was angry. I knew a conversation was needed, but I don't speak Farsi, and my two regular translators were not around. Who was available was Karolina, an aid worker who spoke English and Greek, and Abed, who spoke Greek and Farsi. And Mukhtar spoke Farsi. So we had our conversation via two translators. I spoke to Karolina in English, she spoke to Abed in Greek, and he spoke to Mukhtar in Farsi.

Mukhtar said he wanted to be moved downstairs because it was too noisy in the upstairs dormitories. But Lisa had requested that no room changes be made until she returned. When I told him that, his eyes flashed with anger. Seventeen years old, remember? Then he added that he was in pain because he had a hernia, and he'd seen three doctors, and none of them would help him because there were other people with hernias that needed attention sooner. I suspected that could have been true, or it might have been doctors frustrated and overwhelmed by the flood of refugees needing medical attention.

One of the camp doctors had walked in during the conversation. When he heard Mukhtar's story, he said, "I have a doctor friend who can help you. I will set you up for an appointment on Tuesday." Mukhtar said, "No one will help me so I won't go." Seventeen!

I said, "Mukhtar, if you will go to the doctor and tell me about it when you get back, I will give you chocolate." I kept candy in one of my desk drawers just for the volunteers, but I would make an exception in this case for a 17-year-old. Mukhtar's eyes flashed again, this time with humor, and his face lit up with a smile.

He went to the doctor on Tuesday, got scheduled for surgery, told me about it, and got his candy.

After that, when I'd see Mukhtar, I'd say "chocolate" and he would grin. And when I left the camp I gave him a hug.

Three months later, before I could return to Oinofyta again, the camp was closed down by the Greek government. The residents were dispersed to other camps or apartments in Athens.

After my time in Greece, I kept in touch via Facebook with a few of the residents: Samim, Baloo, Mahdi, and Nasar. But I lost touch with Mukhtar, and I didn't know his last name. So I asked one of the men if he knew where Mukhtar was, and I got his full name so I could find him on Facebook and friend him.

Here is how the first conversation went:

Me: Hello! How are you?
Mukhtar: Hello I'm good and you?
Me: Good! Where are you now?
Mukhtar: I'm now at the camp isishsto
Me: I think you are the person I am looking for. Did you live at Oinofyta?
Mukhtar: Yes I was at oinofyta camp.
Me: Did you ever talk to me in Lisa's office?
Mukhtar: Mom shokolat
Me: Ah! You write very good English! Do you also understand it?
Mukhtar: Yes now is good my English
Me: I think you understood it when you got chocolate!

!!!

Several months later, I decided to sent Mukhtar some chocolate, though I knew he could buy it in Greece. It would be a gesture of connection, I thought. Mukhtar gave me the Athens address of an aid worker I knew, Jess, who would deliver the candy to him. I asked him what his favorite kind was and he said Snickers. So I went to Costco and bought two bags of miniature Snickers bars. I put them in a sturdy mailing envelope and sent them off. The postage cost $23 and the package took three weeks to arrive in Athens, and the candy was undoubtedly smashed and melted. Jess could have bought it in Athens for far less. But when it arrived Mukhtar said, "You are the first person to get me this gift."

I do not know the story of why Mukhtar left Afghanistan, or about his journey. A person will tell that story when they feel comfortable, but it's not something to ask about. Lisa (the Oinofyta camp manager) and Jess (the aid worker) know his story. If I'm supposed to hear it, Mukhtar will tell me. Otherwise, it is his business, and I will maintain a connection with him simply because he is a 20-year-old refugee on his own - about the age of four of my grandchildren.

Since that time, Mukhtar left Greece and moved to France to live with his older brother. He went to high school where, he told me, he was treated the same as all the other students. He enjoyed all his classes: French, English, computers, math, and drawing.

I checked in with Mukhtar in mid-March this year. He needed to find a place to live - his older brother had returned to Afghanistan - and he couldn't work because of the virus. He was a mechanic by now. He asked if I could help him. He had found a room he could rent for a month for 250 euros (about $280). He said if I could help him for two months, he would be able to get a job after that, when the country opened back up.

I said yes. And now, in June, I have sent him rent money for three months. He is now sending out resumes all over the city, actively looking for work.

That is how I am spending my stimulus money.

I know there is a small chance I am being taken advantage of by a clever young refugee. But I doubt it. And even if that were the case, the money I am sending to him is worth it to me. It is something I can do for a person who needs it more than I do. I believe we are all in this together, and we are all the same.

I asked Mukhtar today if I could include his picture in this post, or if he would prefer I didn't. He said no. So I'll simply describe him as a young Afghan man, rather tall, with dark hair and eyes, and eyes that flash with anger or humor, and a beautiful smile.

Observant in Seattle

Two mornings ago my husband Art and I flew from Tucson to Seattle. I will be here for ten days and Art will be here for 32. We are beginning the remodel of the daylight basement in our home in Brier. We are creating a light and bright studio living area for ourselves, and we plan to live there during the summer months. One of our sons, Jason, has relinquished the basement and now lives only on the main floor upstairs with his family. It will be a win-win, as we will have no stairs to aggravate my arthritic back and they will have a reasonable rent where our grandson Kaleb can continue to go to school with his friends.

It was a big deal for me to get on the airplane. I know that, though Tucson has opened up somewhat, Seattle has not. Washington has a four-phase opening process for counties based on multiple criteria. About half of the counties - mostly rural - are opening up.

But not King County, where our Seattle airbnb is located. And not Snohomish County, where our family home is. One of the required criteria to move to Phase 2 is that a county have fewer than 10 new confirmed coronavirus cases per 100,000 residents across a 14-day span. Right now King County has about 39 and Snohomish County has about 31. So it will be a while before people can emerge from their homes for other than essential business.

The flight itself felt very safe. We were required to wear masks from the time we entered the airport in Tucson to the time we emerged from the terminal in Seattle. We had acquired N95 masks some time ago from a friend. On the plane, everyone had a window seat and an empty aisle seat. Everyone wore masks - both passengers and crew. Only bottled water and a small packaged snack was served. The crew wore gloves and collected trash several times during the three-hour flight. Social distancing was observed by everyone on the shuttle bus and at the car rental checkout. I read that this week marked an uptick in the number of people flying in the US, so I guess we're part of the trendsetting travelers.

We've rented an airbnb in Ravenna, a Seattle neighborhood just north of downtown. It's an older place currently being renovated, with creaking hardwood floors and a steep interior stairway. We're sleeping in the smallest bedroom because it's on the ground floor. It's about a 20-minute drive to Brier.

I'm normally a law-abiding, compliant person. So coming up here for the beginning of the remodel, when all around me people are staying home or wearing masks when they venture out, made me hesitate. I really thought Phase 2 would have begun by now. But we've hired the worker for the remodel - my son James - and Art will be doing the electrical work. So we are being as compliant as we can.

In Tucson, on Thursday, people were out and about, some wearing masks and some not, in the 90-something degree sunshine. In Seattle, on Friday, traffic was light and it was 60 degrees and, in the grocery store, everyone wore a mask. So we are adjusting for our time in Seattle.

It feels odd to not give my sons, daughter-in-law and grandson a hug, and to keep my distance. But Art and I are among the vulnerable "elderlies". I suspect that when I return to Tucson next week I'll quarantine myself to keep my Arizona friends safe.

Our Brier garage is full of our stuff - everything from the upstairs has been put in boxes and stored there, along with miscellaneous things like vacuum cleaners and fans. I'll be selling or giving away most of it. Just this morning someone bought our Bowflex, office desk and office chair. They pick it up tomorrow. I'm more inclined to get the job done than to make a lot of money, so the buyer - she took all three items - got an excellent deal and I cleared a bunch of space. When the remodel is complete - hopefully by the last half of July - we'll drive back up here for a few months, and I'll spend more time clearing the contents of the garage. The goal, as always, will be to have enough space in there to park my car. But maybe not.

Stay safe!