A-Plumbing I Did Go

I have been an appreciator of The Three Stooges for about as long as I have been an appreciator of old houses.  Their slapstick routines hold plenty of appeal for a small child, but their gags have a lot in them for grown-ups, too.  Through their satire and parody of the era in which they performed, you get a fascinating glimpse into what life was like in 1930s and 1940s America.

Widely regarded as one of their best film shorts, "A Plumbing We Will Go" (1940) shows the chaos that ensues when the Three Stooges accidentally end up as plumbers trying to fix a leak in a "high society" house.  Water ends up everywhere, including the electrical system after Moe and Curly hook up some electrical piping to the plumbing system.  When the wealthy homeowner shows off her new television set (a novelty in 1940) to a group of friends, the broadcast of Niagara Falls suddenly turns into a gushing stream of water that bursts through the TV screen and all over the guests.

The Three Stooges - "A Plumbing We Will Go" (1940) from daniel lansing on Vimeo.


A-plumbing I did go the other day, and while I think I'm a bit more of a competent plumber than Moe, Larry, and Curly, I did end up having to call a plumber to get me out of a spot of trouble.

 I was a-sitting on the toilet when...(every good story should start with "I was a-sitting on the toilet when", don't you think?)

I was a-sitting on the toilet when I heard that ominous sound: "Drip...Drip...Drip"  It was a-coming from the cabinet under the bathroom sink, that darn vanity that I've had so much trouble with.  This time, it wasn't the seal around the edge of the sink.  It was the plumbing.  So I a-took all the stuff out of the cabinet, engaged in advanced geometric maneuvers to take the drawer out, and a-popped out the Dumb false drawer front panel. (I'm very glad I installed those handy little plastic clips on that thing for easy removal.)  There was water all over the place.

Preview photo, so you have some idea what I'm talking about. That shiny brass connector is the one I installed (successfully).

The sink has two connections to the water pipes in the wall, one for cold and one for hot.  On both sides, to span the distance between the sink faucet and the water pipe in the wall, two lengths of hose were used, connected by a little threaded hose connector piece, presumably because a single hose wasn't long enough.  On the cold side, that little threaded connector piece was corroded, and the joint between the two lengths of hose was dripping.  Okay, well, that's not too tricky to fix if you're a do-it-yourselfer.

The first thing to do, obviously, is to shut the water to the sink off so it doesn't gush everywhere while you investigate things.  There are two shut-off valves under the sink (one for cold and one for hot) so that you can shut the water to the sink off without turning off the water to the entire house.  The cold water valve (the one I cared about for this repair) did not work.  The handle didn't want to turn, and when I a-cranked on it with a wrench, it made an ominous creaking noise and turned around but did not diminish the water flow at all.  Hmm, I guess I need to a-shut the water to the whole house off after all.

Curly has been sent to shut the water off while Moe and Larry wait in the basement to fix the leaky pipe, but they've been waiting a while, and the water is still dripping.
Moe: "I wonder why that egghead don't shut the water off."
Larry: "Hey, I saw a guy shut the water off once in the front yard."
Moe: "When I want your advice, I'll ask for it.  Hey, go out in the front yard and shut the water off."
Larry proceeds to dig an enormous trench in the front yard and never does manage to shut the water off.

The water shut-off valve for my house is in the front yard (in a straight line from the water meter, which is under a little metal cover next to the street curb).  There's a whole mess of pipes where the shut-off valve is that doesn't make a lot of sense.  Something to do with one of the several old sprinkler systems in the yard.  Later, when I a-showed the shutoff valve location to the plumber, he gave it a puzzled look and said something like "It looks like you have a pretty unique configuration here."

All right, shutting the water off to the house would have allowed me to fix the drip successfully, but since I'm kind of anal retentive and like to do things right, I thought I should probably replace that faulty sink valve in addition to the drippy hose connector.  I think this is where things started to go badly.

[Trip to Home Depot. Stare blankly at the dizzying array of valves before getting the plumbing expert on staff to point at the right one.  New hose, new connector, new valve...check.]

I a-put in the new hose and threaded brass connector with no problem.  I made sure to wrap the threads with Teflon tape to ensure a good seal.  That part was quick, easy, and effective.

Then I a-tried to put in the new valve....

The threaded pipe connector emerging from the wall was in bad shape, so bad that I had trouble getting the new valve to screw into it.  I a-wrapped it in Teflon tape and finally managed to get the valve on, but when I a-tested it, it a-dripped.  I undid it and redid it, and it still a-dripped.  I screwed it on tighter, but it still a-dripped.  Uuuugggghhhhh.  Time to a-call a plumber.

Anthony from All City Plumbing was prompt, polite, competent, and efficient.  He came the day I called at the appointed time, thoroughly explained the problem and what he was going to do to fix it, and fixed it immediately.  Great customer service, especially compared to some other contractors I've dealt with!  (He told me that contracting school does not teach you any business or marketing skills, so there is little wonder that many contractors struggle running a business, no matter how good they are at their trade.)

So what did Anthony have to do?  He took out the valve I had installed, and confirmed that indeed, the threaded connector thingie (called a "nipple") coming from the wall was in bad shape.  He tried to remove it, and it imploded under his wrench.  He couldn't get it out of the 90-degree elbow pipe connector in the wall, so he had to hack apart the wall to remove the 90-degree elbow from the wall pipe.  Even before I called him, I was afraid that this was about to start spiraling out of control.  I was afraid I was going to have to get the house entirely re-plumbed if each successive piece of pipe proved to be corroded.

Thankfully, the pipe in the wall looked to be in excellent condition.  The threads were solid, and it was just the 90-degree elbow and the threaded nipple that needed replacing, and that was done in no time (and at minimal cost...for plumbing work).  Thanks, Anthony!  Now I just have to a-put the wall back together.  Oh joy!

The pipe imploded. The silver thing is the back end of the plumber's wrench propped in there to prevent further collapse.

The plumber's handiwork.  No more dripping.  Nice new hole in the wall.

Lesson learned (and, in fact, explicitly stated by the plumber): If you live in an old house, if it ain't broke (or even if it's a little broke), don't fix it.  If the valve doesn't work but it's not actively leaking, it's probably better to just leave it because as soon as you take it off, suddenly your entire plumbing system needs replacing when it would have been okay for a good while yet if you had just a-left it alone.

Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk.

Molding: My baseboards (not my bread)

Molding/Moulding.  This post is about quarter-round molding/moulding, the little quarter-circle strip of wood that finishes off the place between the floor and the baseboard, to cover up the uneven gap between floorboards and wall and give it a finished look.

Turns out I've always been confused about the difference between "molding" and "moulding".  I thought "molding" meant bread that was growing stuff and "moulding" was your baseboard trim or a frame for shaping something.  However, I just looked it up, and it turns out that they both refer to all kinds of mold.  The extra "u" is just British English: unnecessary, or perhaps classy and sophisticated.  Take your pick.  Take your picke.  Ye olde moulding.

Aside: In Southern California, there is very little mildew (no doubt because there is very little water).  In Mississippi, everything left to its own devices grows mildew, or "mildew butter" as my family calls it.  When I was a very small child (in Mississippi), I had some cooking and food toys.  One of them was some plastic butter on a butter dish which I dubbed "mildew butter" for some reason, probably because I had heard my dad so frequently bemoaning the proliferation of mildew on the exterior of our house.  Ever since, my dad bemoans the proliferation of "mildew butter".

Another aside: Mildew is, technically speaking, a fungus, not a mold.  However, sometimes it is used as a catchall term to describe fungus and mold that grows on plants and wood...just to be confusing.

Final aside: It is no doubt possible, in Mississippi, for your molding to be molding.  That is, your molding could be growing mold.  Or mildew butter.  Whatever.

Anyway, this post is not about mildew or mold, but rather about quarter-round molding and how I finally installed some nearly two years after my floor was refinished.  The old molding wasn't salvageable, as it had to be broken in order to get it off when they sanded down the floors.  I didn't want them to install new molding right away because I wanted to do some work on the baseboards first.  But since the molding is decorative and I had other priorities, this project has proceeded at a glacial pace.  Now, after two years of diddling away, the project is finally done!

Filling the gaps to keep out drafts

When wood flooring is installed, a gap is left between the edges of floorboards and the wall to allow the boards to expand and contract naturally with changes in temperature and humidity.  Unfortunately, this gap can be a source of drafts.  So, in the first stage of my quarter-round molding project, I filled up that little gap between the floorboards and the walls with expanding foam and caulk to keep the drafts out.  My dad had recommended the expanding foam, but it turned out to be overkill, and I had to cut it down a lot where it bubbled out all over the floor.  I guess the gaps are quite a bit larger in his house than they are in mine.  The caulk worked better for me.  Both materials are flexible enough to accommodate the swelling of the floorboards and should handle the worst of the drafts.

Touching up the baseboard paint

Next, I needed to touch up the paint on the baseboards. The old quarter-round molding had been painted over many times, leaving a bead of bubbled up paint mess on the baseboards along the line where the top of the old quarter-round used to be.  Paint had oozed into the crack and collected there.  I needed to clean that up and paint under where the new quarter-round would go so it would be neat.  After, er, almost a year, I finally did that.

I started scraping, and it just all flaked off...

The phrase "opening a can of worms" is used to describe something that gets quickly out of control due to unforeseen consequences of doing something simple.  It's most likely a fishing metaphor from the 1950s when fishermen could buy worms as bait in a tin can.  I've never personally opened a can of worms, so I can only suppose that they must quickly start wriggling out of the can after it was opened. However, I have first-hand experience with another metaphor, which I am hereby inventing: "starting to scrape some chipping paint".

I painted it neatly down to the floor.

Of course, when I went around with a paint scraper to neaten up the paint goo (after first testing for lead and thankfully finding none on the baseboards), all the paint started chipping off.  Of course.  It's never easy, is it?  Big chunks of paint came off revealing a shiny grayish-mustard color underneath.  Whoever painted over the grayish mustard with greenish gray didn't sand down and/or clean the surface adequately, and the greenish gray, with the white coat on top, was just flaking right off.  There's also a pinkish-beige in there somewhere, but I haven't quite figured out where that fits in.  And a dark bluish gray down near the bottom.

I scraped whatever came off but tried to keep it contained.  A complete refinishing isn't something I want to get into right now.  I sanded and cleaned, and then I repainted using the matching white color which the previous owner left for me in the garage.  I really like the white trim.  I guess tastes in color change over time.  I can't imagine wanting to paint my trim in grayish mustard, but maybe it matched the wallpaper...

Installing new molding

I originally thought to install the quarter-round molding myself.  It does not seem, in theory, to be very difficult.  You can buy it in long pieces (it's not very expensive), paint it, cut it to size, and then nail it down.  However, I suspect the cutting and fitting is more difficult than it seems, and I don't have a miter saw to cut the appropriate angles for the corners (an electric one being much more efficient than sawing it by hand in a miter box).  The bigger challenge was in nailing it down.  That would be best done with a nail gun.  You can rent those, but you also have to rent the air compressor that produces the pressure to fire the nails.

Finally (after another, er, year), I figured that by the time I rented all that equipment spent a lot of time being frustrated about sawing things to the right length and angle, I may as well just hire some competent professionals.  So, I just called the flooring place that did my floors and had them come back to install the quarter-round molding.  It took them about 3 hours, and they did an okay job.  They certainly did a better job than I would have done, but they didn't do a good enough job to make we want to hire them back.  They didn't do a bad enough job for me to publicly post here who it was.  So yeah, "competent" professionals.

They painted the molding using the paint I provided (the material was pre-primed), cut it to length, angled the corners, and popped it in with a nail gun.  They filled the small gap between the top of the quarter-round and the baseboard with caulk to make it look finished.  I was a bit concerned about that because that will make it harder to get off next time I want to, and leave a gummy line to remove next time I want to refinish the baseboards.  However, I let them do it, since this seems to be the standard practice, and it does look better.  They also left a pretty big gap on the bottom side where the quarter-round molding hits the floor.  I think the floor surface underneath was probably kind of uneven around the edges, so that no doubt contributed, but they probably could have made it tighter if they had been so inclined.  Oh, and although they knew they were going to be painting the molding, they forgot to bring any brushes and had to use mine.

The part that really irked me was that they left some scratches in the floor.  One of the workers was wearing knee pads to protect his knees while crawling around.  He kind of scooted around on the floor while wearing these hard plastic knee pads, and he left scratches in the beautiful finish he himself had helped to apply not quite two years ago.  After weighing the discomfort of a confrontation with them about it and getting them to come back and fix it (while I babysat them) against the trouble of just fixing the minor scratches myself, I've decided to just fix the scratches myself.  Fixing minor scratches in a wood floor will be the subject of a later post.

Lesson learned: watch your workers carefully, and speak up if you need to.  If I had been smarter, I would have seen what was happening and made him strap some towels onto his knee pads.

Tile: the finishing touch

Tiles have been used for thousands of years in walls and floors and ceilings and roofs.  Elaborate tilework has long been a fixture of Islamic buildings, and the Moors brought it with them to Spain in the Middle Ages, after which it spread across Europe.  For many years, tiles were used in palaces, churches, and the homes of the wealthy.

Advances in manufacturing during the Industrial Revolution (in ceramics, glazing, and in industrial procedures) made tiles cheap and readily available through mass production, and with middle class people seeking to emulate their wealthier counterparts, tile became a widespread in houses.  In Victorian days, they were commonly used as a decorative fixture in hallways and foyers and on fireplaces.  Tile also became a standard feature of Arts & Crafts style houses, despite the Arts & Crafts movement's attempt to counter the Victorian style's overly-decorated look.  True Arts & Crafts tiles would have been hand-made and hand-decorated rather than mass-produced, but no doubt middle class builders of Arts & Crafts houses would have cheated a little.

But tile wasn't purely a decorative item. The Victorian era also gave rise to an increased focus on sanitation.  Tile was used in kitchens and bathrooms (after those were invented), and eventually in other public spaces, like subway stations, because it is durable and easy to maintain and very easy to keep clean. The glaze prevents water and goo from soaking in, and you can just spray or wipe it down without damaging it.

I have no idea what my kitchen originally looked like (it was completely redone sometime around 2000), but it could very well have looked like one of the kitchens in this interesting Flikr album featuring kitchens with tiled walls and counters.  One of my neighbors has a blue and yellow tiled counter top like the ones pictured here, and the bathroom in my old 1930s-vintage apartment just around the corner from my house had rather startling red and yellow tiling that took me a while to get used to.

At any rate, when my kitchen was redone, wall tile was included above the counters and behind the stove.  It's mostly plain white square tile, but a few special tiles were thrown in showing printed "vintage" Redlands citrus grower logos and advertisements.  It looks like you can order them from Zazzle, and perhaps they're available from local tile sellers, too.

Unfinished border along the top of the tile section behind the stove

When I bought my house, there was a built-in combination microwave/stove vent fan in the kitchen over the stove.  Since it neither microwaved nor vented effectively, I replaced it with a real vent fan.  When the old microwave was there, you couldn't see the top of the tiled area behind the stove because it was covered up by the microwave.  However, the stove vent fan doesn't come down as low, so you could see the place where the tile stopped.  Although I cleaned up the wall area nicely before installing the fan and gave it a fresh coat of paint, the tile was never neatly trimmed.  So, I decided to finish up the edge with some nice-looking quarter-round tile that matches the quarter-round in other parts of the kitchen.

New quarter-round tiles finish off the border

This project actually went very smoothly and quickly.  I didn't even have to cut the tile or align it because it fit perfectly.  Also, I lucked out at Home Depot and found a little bucket of combination adhesive/grout that was really easy to apply and easy to clean up.  I stuck the tiles to the wall, waited a day until it was set, and then filled in the cracks with the same stuff.  Easy-peasy, no problem.  Then I had to paint the edge of the wall to finish it off.  It looks nice.  It looks like it's always been that way.

However, I learned that I don't enjoy working with tiles.  I kind of hate grouting.  Aside from filling a little hole in the corner of the bathroom floor with grout (which doesn't count), I don't think I've grouted anything since an art class I went to when I was about 11 years old in which we decorated flower pots with pottery shards and lots of grout.  Incidentally, that wasn't an art class I enjoyed very much.  Remind me not to ever tile an entire wall in a kitchen or bathroom by myself.  Blech!  Also, remind me not to ever become a mosaic artist.

Everything but the kitchen sink

Old Dumb faucet with a very short reach

Actually, this post is about the kitchen faucet.

I replaced my kitchen faucet, and I learned some useful things in the process.

My kitchen was redone very nicely sometime around 2000.  Unfortunately, the faucet was problematic for two main reasons.  First, it was leaking.  It wasn't dripping when it was turned off, but when it was on, water would dribble out around the swivel joint that allowed you to turn the faucet from side to side.  I could presumably have fixed this leak with a replacement part, but the second problem made me disinclined to bother.  My kitchen sink is quite large, and the faucet was too small for it.  I always had to lean way over the sink to wash my hands or do the dishes, which is ergonomically terrible.  Also, the water inevitably splashed all over the counter behind the sink and made mess.  So, I decided that I really wanted to replace the faucet entirely.

Faucets can be made with a few different types of internal mechanisms for controlling the flow of water, including compression washer, ball, cartridge, and disc.  If you are interested in the details of these and how they work, this overview from about.com explains it nicely.  Based on the information I found there and elsewhere, I decided I wanted a disc faucet because they last forever with little maintenance.  It turns out that most of the "good" faucets being sold these days are this type anyway (Faucet.com's catalog has over 2000 ceramic disc faucets and less than 400 of all other types combined).

Spout "reach" is the technical term in faucet-speak describing how far the faucet extends horizontally from the base out over the sink.  My old faucet's reach was no more than 6 inches, and after measuring my sink, I decided I wanted one with a reach of 11 or 12 inches for maximum practicality and comfort.  Faucet.com very conveniently lets you filter their large catalog by spout reach.  That narrowed the field considerably, as there aren't too many on the market with such a long reach.

I was astounded at the prices for faucets.  These seemingly simple mechanical items cost $400-$1400!  Whew!  After looking at the prices, I procrastinated for months, until one day I sat down and figured out the secret.  Kitchen faucets designed for the "home" market are horrendously expensive, but "commercial" faucets, which are basically the same thing, are drastically cheaper.  The "home" faucets are made to look pretty or fancy or frou-frou, and you pay a huge premium for aesthetic design that doesn't contribute to the functioning of the faucet.  I wasn't particularly enamored with the aesthetics of any of the "home" faucets I saw anyway; I wanted something simple that would fit the Craftsman style of my house and without any of the bells and whistles that would be likely to break or leak.

The Moen 8717 with a 12-inch reach was exactly what I wanted, and at 1/3 the price of the typical "home" faucets of seemingly similar quality, it was a no-brainer.  It's simple, elegant, and high quality.  I also purchased the optional spray hose to make sink cleaning easier, a feature my old faucet did not have.

Then came the next step in the learning process: installation.  I watched a couple of YouTube videos (a seriously useful tool for all sorts of home projects) and determined that I could easily do this myself.  Well...now that I've done it once, I can confidently say it will be easy if I ever do it again.  It really wasn't difficult, but I had a few hiccups.

Taking the old faucet out was easy.  Nothing was rusted shut, thankfully, and once I figured out how to use a hand mirror and a lamp so I could see the bolts behind the sink basin, it came right out.

Hard water scum

Then came trying to clean up all the mineral scum on the counter top.  We have pretty hard water here, and because of the dribbling old faucet and all the splashing, the area around the faucet stem was full of scum.  I bought some granite cleaner and resealer, but that did absolutely nothing.  I resorted to scraping it off with a razor blade.  This brute-force approach was much more effective.  I finished it off with the granite resealer just in case it actually did do something.

New Moen "commercial" faucet with 12-inch reach and a spray hose

Then came the installation of the new faucet.  The new faucet didn't come with any kind of seal for where it joins the counter, to keep water from leaching under it and dribbling down the hole into the cabinet below.  Some internet research informed me that plumber's putty was used for this purpose, so I went off to Home Depot to get some.  I arrived at home depot at 9:10pm, only to discover that Home Depot closes at 9pm in the winter.  Seriously!?  Oops.  Note: Don't start a house project on a weeknight.  I took the next morning off work, got my plumber's putty, and put in the faucet.  It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that the mysterious long plastic tube thingy that came in the faucet package was actually a socket wrench of the correct size for tightening the bolts.  It's very difficult to lie on your back in a kitchen cabinet and tighten a bolt a quarter inch at a time with an adjustable wrench...  The new spray hose was the only thing that went in easily.  My counter top used to have a built-in soap dispenser, but it was broken, so I took it out and used the hole for the spray hose.

But once I got it in, it worked perfectly!  I've been very happy with it so far, and my arms and back will no doubt thank me in the long run for not having to lean way over to wash dishes.

Weather-sealing weird old-fashioned casement windows

I'm a tree hugger of the practical, utilitarian variety.  I like to conserve energy, and by far the biggest energy sucker in my house is the windows.  I've finally done something about it.  This post is all about how to weather-seal weird old-fashioned casement windows.

A view out my living room window

There are a lot of different kinds of windows!  Double-hung sash windows (with a top and bottom part which can be slid up and down within the frame) are common in the US.  My kitchen and bathroom have double-hung sash windows which I'll write about another time.  The two ad-ons on the back of my house have newer (rather shoddy) sideways sliding horizontal sash windows, and the kitchen has two newer tall fixed windows that go into the laundry room (kind of odd).  However, the vast majority of my house's windows, however, are inward-swinging casement windows.  They're quite elegant and reasonably easy to open and shut.  The main disadvantage is that if you plan to open them often (which I do), you can't place any furniture within a few feet of the windows, which makes furniture placement rather awkward.

Elegant craftsman-style casement windows on the front of the house. Copyright 2013 by Andrew Morang

Gaps along the sides of my windows

Because they're nearly 100 years old, my windows have had plenty of time to settle and be rejiggered during earthquakes.  They've also been painted at least 8 times.  Consequently, the gaps around the windows are uneven, very tight in some places, and very large in others.  This makes weather sealing difficult.

Some weather stripping and sealing products are designed to fit inside the gap and cracks.  This class of products wouldn't work well on my windows because of the unevenness of the gaps.  Someone in the past tried to put stick-on foam weather stripping on one of the living room windows, but by the time I bought the house, it was a sticky, oozy, squishy mess that actually prevented the window from shutting and latching all the way.  Additionally, most of the stick-on foam or vinyl products I found tend to be short-term solutions that have to be replaced often.  Finally, because the windows swing inward, they rub the frames sideways, and if you put weather stripping on the sides of the frame, the window will rub it sideways and tear it off rather than gently compressing it the way it's supposed to.

Compressible bulb weather seal.
Diagram from the McMaster-Carr catalog

In short, I had to start thinking about my windows like doors.  Enter the compressible bulb seal!  The diagram below from the McMaster-Carr catalog illustrates how it works.  When the window shuts, it hits the rubber bulb and gently compresses it, forming a nice seal outside the crack, even when the window surface is a bit uneven.  The bulb seals the crack from the outside, without having to fit in between the frame and the window.

I looked into a few different options for compressible bulb seal weather stripping.  I first tried some cheap stuff from Home Depot that had to be nailed, stapled, or glued on.  Nails didn't work at all because the stuff bunched up and left gaps.  I tried glue, but it was too hard to get it to set in the right place for a good seal.  Plus, glue means it sticks to the paint and not the actual window frame, and it comes off as soon as the paint starts chipping.

Finally, I decided to go with the product pictured above from industrial parts supplier McMaster-Carr (Frame-Mount Weatherstripping, Black Silicone Compressible-Bulb Seal, product number 1114A3, in case you want to buy some).  At $2/foot, it was a lot more expensive than most of the weather sealing products out there, but I decided it was worth it.  You get what you pay for.  The seal comes in a nice aluminum flange that you can screw into the window frames.  The flange compresses the edge of the bulb seal to the frame of the window, so air can't get around the fixed side of the bulb.  Also, because they're screw-mounted, they're easy to take off and put back on if you want to refinish your windows (something I know I'll have to do in a few years, which will be an ordeal because they have lead paint on them).  The catalog claims the silicone bulb is heat and UV resistant, which is important in this harsh climate.  And, if it starts to go bad, McMaster-Carr sells replacement seals.

Unfortunately, because it's designed mainly for doors, the stuff is sold in lengths that weren't optimal for my windows, so I had to buy extra and cut it down, which further added to the cost. Also, while I really like McMaster-Carr's catalog and customer service, their shipping is exorbitant.  I called to get a shipping estimate, and they said $15, so I decided it wasn't worth the hour drive to pick it up at the warehouse in LA.  However, they shipped it to me in three packages, each of which was $15.  Sheesh!  Note to self: always pick up McMaster-Carr orders at the warehouse in person.

I cut the aluminum flanges to the correct lengths using my handy little jigsaw, a tiring procedure which used up three saw blades and made my hand and arm very tired.  After that, I installed it in the window frames.  It took me about 45 minutes per window.  As of this writing, I've done 7 windows and the front door, and I have 6 more windows to go.  I'm just waiting for cooler weather.  I have discovered that I'm very bad at using a drill with my left hand.  I sheered off one of my drill bits while trying to drill a pilot hole.  It will probably remain stuck in the window frame forever, fodder for some future house archaeologist's blog posts.

Old sticky oozy squishy gluey painted-over weather stripping

Speaking of house archaeology and sticky, oozy, squishy messes, I have one window that's pretty well stuck shut.  To get it open, you have to yank a little from the inside and then bang on it from the outside.  Upon examining it more closely, I realized that it is actually already weather-sealed with and compressible bulb seal that was subsequently painted over very thoroughly.  In fact, this is why the windows ticks.  When the previous owner painted, she first painted over the weather stripping.  Then, when she painted the window itself, she didn't wait long enough for the paint to dry before closing it, and the rubbery weather sealing bulb and the latex paint all got glued together.  I can't wait to try to get that off.  I'm saving that window for last.

Public service announcement: Don't paint over your weather seal.  Or your window hardware.  Or your outlet covers, doorknobs, or anything else.  Screwdrivers and painter's tape are your friends.

In case you're attempting a project like this yourself, here's the technique I came up with for actually installing the weather stripping:

1. With the windows closed, approach the window from the outside and place the top piece where you want it, mark the center hole, and trace the edge.  You don't need to compress the bulb too tightly, but it should be snug against the surface of the window.
2. Line up the side pieces and trace the edges, but don’t mark any holes yet
3. Go back inside.  Drill the center pilot hole for the top piece using the mark you made and then place the weather strip and screw it in loosely.
4. Now that the top piece is in place, you can line it up just right and drill the pilot holes for the other holes in the flange, and screw it in.  Sometimes you have to hang onto it pretty tight to avoid slippage when the screw heads hit the flange.
5. With the top in place, line up each side piece and mark the location of the top-most hole.  Take them down and drill the pilot holes for the top holes, and then screw them in using the top hole only, leaving them a bit loose.
6. Now that the side strips are hanging loosely in the frames, drill the rest of the pilot holes, and then add the screws, making sure the strip remains aligned where you marked it.
7. Try opening and shutting the window.  Make sure it’s not too tight to shut, and go outside and look to make sure you haven’t left a large gap anywhere.  It’s quite adjustable, and you will probably have to adjust it. You can loosen one or two screws at a time and rejigger it as necessary.
8. If you're doing a piece along the bottom, do that now.  I couldn't do the bottoms of my windows because the geometry is different.  That's a project for another day.

Stridulatorio: A non-staged operatic work performed by crickets

A cool breeze floats through my open windows, and the last remnants of the day's sunlight are just visible as I sit down in my living room to enjoy some peaceful reading.  Chirping crickets outside make a gentle drone.  Then, suddenly, a violent, ear-piercing stridulation disrupts my peaceful evening.  Crickets are LOUD when they're in your house.  Yes, in the house.  I seem to have a cricket problem.

"Stridulation" is the technical term for cricket chirping.  The term describes a sound produced by rubbing body parts together.  In the case of crickets, it's by rubbing their wings together.  Male crickets stridulate in order to attract females and scare away other males.  They stridulate during mating, and after mating.  Basically, they stridulate all the time.

An oratorio is a piece of music featuring operatic singing and a chorus but, unlike an opera, performed without staging.  You're probably familiar with Handel's Messiah, which is an oratorio.  It's about two-and-a-half hours long and alternates between the orchestra, the chorus, and recitatives by the soloists.  Oratorios were often performed during Lent when normal theatrical productions were prohibited, and they tend to be religious in subject matter rather than about mythology or romance like operas.

Watch a few minutes of Handel's Messiah, and then imagine the choir as a bunch of stridulating crickets.  Now imagine that they're singing about their girlfriends instead of Jesus.  Imagine that they do this every night, all night.  What do you get?  A stridulatorio!

My house was full of crickets last fall and winter.  I think they liked it because it was warm inside.  They always seemed to be in the laundry room, hanging out under the hot water heater.  They would be stridulating with gusto, but as soon as I approached, they would all go silent.  As a friend of mine remarked, "It's like when you're singing in the shower and you hear your roommate come into the house, so you stop."   I can just picture the guilty-faced little buggers pretending like nothing had happened.  "Singing?  What singing?  I have no idea what you're talking about.  I wasn't singing. <smirk, smirk, I was stridulating The Messiah, except it was about my girlfriend>".

Although the choir of this cricket stridulatorio sings in the yard, often one of the soloists would venture out into the kitchen.  Whenever I saw one, I would scoop it up in a can I kept on the countertop for this purpose and throw it outside.  I felt bad smooshing them because they're harmless.  But I can't say I'm too sympathetic.  One evening, while I was talking to my aunt and uncle on the phone, I watched a spider snare a cricket in its web in the corner of the kitchen and proceed to disembowel it.  It was actually pretty cool.  Another time, I came home from work to find that a cricket had been disemboweled on my bed.  There were legs everywhere and a spot of cricket gut juice on the sheet.

I've been sealing up cracks and holes in the house ever since I moved in, both in the interest of energy efficiency and also in an attempt to keep the crickets out.  After I noticed crickets lurking around the fireplace in my living room, I discovered a large gap between the river rock facade and the bottom side of the mantle piece.  I filled that up with my dad's favorite expanding foam and touched up the remaining holes with caulk.  It expanded a little out of control, so I had to cut it back down with a utility knife.  It still looks a bit odd, but you can't see it unless you're sitting down or you're really short.  Nevertheless, despite sealing up all the cracks, there are still crickets in my house, stridulating their little hearts out...

Ding-Dong, the Tree of Heaven is dead!

Did you know that you can treat mental illness with a mixture made from the roots of a Tree of Heaven, douchi (fermented and salted soybean), and young boy's urine?  At least, that's what somebody thought in 723 AD in China.  I wonder how they came up with that recipe.

Tree of heaven with big sapling clump in front of it

Until recently, my backyard suffered the misfortune of being home to a Tree of Heaven.  The Tree of Heaven (Ailanthus altissima) is an aggressively invasive fast-growing weed tree native to China.  They're widespread across the world these days because, unfortunately, European and American gardeners planted them in order to invoke a sense of Asian-ness whenever Chinese culture was vogue.

Trees of Heaven grow extremely quickly, generally taking over recently-disturbed areas by choking out native plants.  The roots give off chemicals in the soil that prevent other plants from growing. It can grow in a range of climatic conditions, in all types of soil (including concrete rubble), and in the presence of all sorts of noxious pollutants.  In Southern California, grows very happily in full sunlight with no water.  If you cut it or disturb it, it responds by growing back even stronger.  Female Trees of Heaven reproduce copiously by seed in addition to suckers spawned from the mother tree's roots.  Male trees produce root suckers as well, and also give off a foul odor.  Female trees don't stink, but they do smell kind of peanuty.  If you've read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, the featured tree is a Tree of Heaven.

My backyard was being completely taken over by Tree of Heaven.  Saplings were sprouting up everywhere, and I couldn't keep them under control.  I'm still hoping to landscape my yard into a wonderland of droubt-tolerant shrubbery one day, but I could see that there was no point in even trying while the Tree of Heaven was there.  So, as much as I hate to cut down a healthy tree, I decided I had to try to eradicate it.

Free of the Tree of Heaven - for now...

How does one get rid of a Tree of Heaven, since it's so indestructible?  The US Forest Service provides a management field guide, which gave me some ideas, but I really wanted to find a local tree-cutting service that knew about Trees of Heaven specifically.  I talked to several tree services, and I was generally unimpressed by their knowledge of tree species.  I got quotes from three different services.  I ended up going with the one that was most expensive but with the proprietor who seemed to actually know something about the biology of Trees of Heaven.  In hindsight, I probably could have gone with the cheapest one, since they were all offering to do basically the same things.  However, the more expensive guy also struck me as much less sleazy than the cheap guy, who probably used unlicensed and uninsured laborers.  He also seemed like he would be really thorough, and he was.

The tree guy and his crew came out one morning, and within a few hours, the Tree of Heaven was gone completely.  They ground up the stump and all the saplings and left the yard very neat.  They did grind through one of the sprinkler pipes, but they were nice enough to tell me about it.  There are several old sprinkler systems in the backyard, none of which work, so it didn't matter.

The yard looks soooooo much better with the tree gone.  It's much cleaner and neater, and I know I made the right decision to have it removed.

Growing inside the garage

The tree guy warned me that the tree would no doubt come back, so I will have to keep on top of them and eradicate them before they get well established.  Consequently, all future saplings are on a strict Roundup diet until there are no more.  Unfortunately, there are incursions of this annoying plant in both of my nextdoor neighbors' yards, so unless those are kept under control, too, we'll continue having this problem.  In the weeks since the tree was cut, I've found a few scattered incursions, but Roundup kills them in a matter of hours.  I sort of hate to use the stuff, but in this case, I think it's warranted.  Yesterday, I found a sapling growing inside my garage out of a crack in the wall.

Maybe it's a good thing that nature can furnish such an indestructible plant species.  After we've screwed up the world due to climate change or nuclear holocaust or something, there will still be something nice and green and leafy to put things back into balance.  Won't that be a paradise!  The roaches and the Trees of Heaven, partying on after the apocalypse!