Post by Breakingchains on Oct 14, 2013 23:13:41 GMT -5
I've been vaguely alluding to this for a long time, mostly in my diary thread, and earlier I posted the short version there. Now I need to actually explain all this, partly because I feel like I've been kind of stringing some of you guys along, and partly because it's such a defining thing for me and my life that I wouldn't feel right not talking about it. I'm finding it kind of hard, because it's hard for me to be this open about what's going on. I do find it kind of embarrassing, and I have this ingrained response that tells me it's something to be ashamed of. But I also feel like I'd be wrong not to tell this story. So here it goes.
Background:
TL;DR: My childhood home is now totally unsafe, leaking from everywhere, freezes solid in winter, has scary wiring problems but is too waterlogged to burn down and is full of dangerous black mold. The depression and hopelessness has gotten to me over the years. It is now set to be condemned and we're stuck.
So, that was chapter one of the most pathetic forum post o' tragedy I've ever typed. Here's chapter two:
Ever heard of Habitat for Humanity?
The city plans to condemn our house, but first, they referred us to Habitat. And Habitat builds houses. It's a little more complicated than just “Woo, free house!”—if it wasn't, the organization would bleed money—so here's how it works: all the labor is done by volunteer workers. After passing initial checks, families must perform 200-500 hours of volunteer work themselves, which is assigned according to their abilities and family size, etc.. The home built is modern, up to code, sturdy, thoroughly inspected, and extremely energy-efficient. The family then purchases the house at no interest and no profit—the payments cover materials only. It's definitely a charity, but it's not wild crazy TV-show charity—it's designed to spread and grow and survive even as it helps others.
So that's Habitat. But most people don't know about an offshoot group of Habitat for Humanity: the Road Trip Crazies. (If you want to put on some heroic music, now would be the time.) Based in Virginia and led by a construction worker named Tom Gerdy, they go around the country on their own dime twice a year—and once on site, they build a house in two days.
Read it again. Two days. A house. For a year and a half, we ran around like chickens with our heads cut off, working with our local Habitat group and others to get past all the obstacles and red tape and see if we could qualify to begin with; then we were on the job site doing our volunteer hours, hauling wood and cinderblocks and pallets and debris while people we didn't even know put together our foundation and joists and subflooring for us, just because we needed it.
And then we learned that Tom Gerdy was coming here.
TL;DR: Giant plot twist! Total lunatics to the rescue!
Chapter three!
TL;DR: A crazy offshoot of Habitat for Humanity just came and built us a house in two days. We all worked together to get the thing up in thirty-odd hours. I'm simultaneously baffled and touched to the core. Soon, everything is going to be okay.
I'm nervous about saying any of this in public. Part of me still wants to hide. But the rest of me wants to shout from the rooftops that, wow, somebody in this world did something wonderful for us, there are wonderful people in this world who still care. And I guess that's the last reason I have for posting this. When I think about it, I realize that probably thousands of people down the line contributed to this—the volunteers themselves, but also the chain of people raising awareness that eventually reached them, and the donors who give land and materials and money every year, and heck you could probably trace it back to Jimmy Carter for putting such a spotlight on the organization before I run out of people whose hands I need to shake. And I guess what I'm saying is that I can't let this branch of that tree stop with me. If you're looking for a cause to support, even with something as simple as Goodsearch or being that one guy who won't stop talking about it at parties, you could do way worse than picking Habitat—but it's bigger than them. Anything you're doing, for any organization or for none at all, that helps to move the world “one step on”... there's someone on the other end to whom you'll mean the world.
Now I am so, so sorry for this giant awkward textwall, and thanks for indulging me.
Background:
I don't think I've mentioned this much, but my family of six has been living in “substandard housing”. Actually, that's putting it mildly. Our house was built 118 years ago. We moved into it along with my father over 20 years ago, too long ago for me to remember. The house used to look magnificent—a big old two-story house with an open design and a yard full of flowers. But after moving, my parents realized the roof was leaking. And a leaky roof is like an infection—if you try to ignore it, the damage only spreads. The house was getting waterlogged, and as new problems sprung up year after year, we never really had the money to do more than band-aid fixes. The repairs would last maybe a year before breaking down again, and we knew that, but with our budget constraints the name of the game was stalling and damage control. My father seems to have a serious hoarding issue and that definitely didn't help, both seriously draining the family budget and making important areas inaccessible for repairs.
More rooms began to leak, one at a time. One of the bedrooms (mine) took so much water damage that, after a failed attempt at repairs, we simply closed the door and left it. The dining room ceiling fell in, then the den ceiling. The plumbing proved ancient and fragile. The wiring died, leaving only a few outlets and no light fixtures that still functioned. The big beautiful porch I'd played on as a kid fell to pieces. There was no heat or air conditioning, and the house was full of cracks and holes with no insulation. Just living in my childhood home meant watching a constant losing battle, and I think I coped by closing off to the world. We usually didn't talk about it outside the household. We treated our home like a dirty secret, and I began to feel this sense of shame, like we'd personally done something wrong. I dove into my creative projects, ignoring the universe and oblivious to the years. It took a long time, but my coping skills eventually improved—but the house never did.
Then seven years ago, my parents split up. It was one of those things that shocks you for two seconds but then seems obvious. Dad left, we stayed—and from that point on, the decay seemed to accelerate. The wiring to the dryer gave out. We went five weeks without running water one winter. More ceilings fell. My sister's room started pouring in unpredictable spots every time it rained, which was incredibly hard on her because she couldn't keep her art projects safe. The divorce meant money was even tighter, and we were basically helpless. The gutters fell off. Two rooms, including the sole bathroom, started to list sideways, as if about to collapse off the hill. Even with me and my Mom both working, we had no budget and no skills for such extreme issues. Then this year, the plumbing fell apart in all new ways—the toilet and shower broke at the same time that the hot water to the tub started pouring out into our wall, and we had to just shut it all off. The kitchen sink started leaking underneath so profusely that the countertops warped. We were baffled, and we were overwhelmed.
More rooms began to leak, one at a time. One of the bedrooms (mine) took so much water damage that, after a failed attempt at repairs, we simply closed the door and left it. The dining room ceiling fell in, then the den ceiling. The plumbing proved ancient and fragile. The wiring died, leaving only a few outlets and no light fixtures that still functioned. The big beautiful porch I'd played on as a kid fell to pieces. There was no heat or air conditioning, and the house was full of cracks and holes with no insulation. Just living in my childhood home meant watching a constant losing battle, and I think I coped by closing off to the world. We usually didn't talk about it outside the household. We treated our home like a dirty secret, and I began to feel this sense of shame, like we'd personally done something wrong. I dove into my creative projects, ignoring the universe and oblivious to the years. It took a long time, but my coping skills eventually improved—but the house never did.
Then seven years ago, my parents split up. It was one of those things that shocks you for two seconds but then seems obvious. Dad left, we stayed—and from that point on, the decay seemed to accelerate. The wiring to the dryer gave out. We went five weeks without running water one winter. More ceilings fell. My sister's room started pouring in unpredictable spots every time it rained, which was incredibly hard on her because she couldn't keep her art projects safe. The divorce meant money was even tighter, and we were basically helpless. The gutters fell off. Two rooms, including the sole bathroom, started to list sideways, as if about to collapse off the hill. Even with me and my Mom both working, we had no budget and no skills for such extreme issues. Then this year, the plumbing fell apart in all new ways—the toilet and shower broke at the same time that the hot water to the tub started pouring out into our wall, and we had to just shut it all off. The kitchen sink started leaking underneath so profusely that the countertops warped. We were baffled, and we were overwhelmed.
TL;DR: My childhood home is now totally unsafe, leaking from everywhere, freezes solid in winter, has scary wiring problems but is too waterlogged to burn down and is full of dangerous black mold. The depression and hopelessness has gotten to me over the years. It is now set to be condemned and we're stuck.
So, that was chapter one of the most pathetic forum post o' tragedy I've ever typed. Here's chapter two:
Ever heard of Habitat for Humanity?
The city plans to condemn our house, but first, they referred us to Habitat. And Habitat builds houses. It's a little more complicated than just “Woo, free house!”—if it wasn't, the organization would bleed money—so here's how it works: all the labor is done by volunteer workers. After passing initial checks, families must perform 200-500 hours of volunteer work themselves, which is assigned according to their abilities and family size, etc.. The home built is modern, up to code, sturdy, thoroughly inspected, and extremely energy-efficient. The family then purchases the house at no interest and no profit—the payments cover materials only. It's definitely a charity, but it's not wild crazy TV-show charity—it's designed to spread and grow and survive even as it helps others.
So that's Habitat. But most people don't know about an offshoot group of Habitat for Humanity: the Road Trip Crazies. (If you want to put on some heroic music, now would be the time.) Based in Virginia and led by a construction worker named Tom Gerdy, they go around the country on their own dime twice a year—and once on site, they build a house in two days.
Read it again. Two days. A house. For a year and a half, we ran around like chickens with our heads cut off, working with our local Habitat group and others to get past all the obstacles and red tape and see if we could qualify to begin with; then we were on the job site doing our volunteer hours, hauling wood and cinderblocks and pallets and debris while people we didn't even know put together our foundation and joists and subflooring for us, just because we needed it.
And then we learned that Tom Gerdy was coming here.
Chapter three!
On October 12th around 7:00 am, this happened:
(That's bare subflooring with unattached studs lined up on it to outline the wall shapes.)
And October 13th around 2:00 pm, this happened:
Yes, that is two shots of the same site, thirty-odd hours apart. I was up there on that subflooring, putting my own walls together with a hammer and a belt full of nails. I got to know the kind of people who fly out from as far away as Texas to make homes for total strangers. A guy who broke his wrist working on the house next door had come back in an arm brace to work on ours. A group of students from a nearby city decided to spend their Fall break this way. Tom Gerdy? My God, the man is just this giant screaming cannonball of joy. He described what they do as “Moving the world one step on”... when he wasn't singing songs from The Wiz or cheerfully interviewing the reporter lady who was trying her best to interview him. (Here's a little more on Tom here from the website of another branch of Habitat--he also writes occasionally for Huffpost.) We exhausted ourselves over two days, working eleven hours the first day and eight the second. The outer walls went up, the inner walls went up. The siding went on, windows went in, the bath and shower were installed. The electrician ran around doing his thing, asking us what we wanted customized and where. They brought in beautiful plants to put all around the front, the landscaper arranging Juniper and Nandina and ornamental cherries around our new porch to create a beautiful garden. People wrote kind and encouraging messages on the insides of the walls that will stay there, hidden but present, for as long as the house stands.
Oh, and Tom nailed a cell phone to the deck as an example of what happens when you try to text and work. But besides that.
We were on the front page of the newspaper. We got interviewed for TV. (Yeah, we're one of those stories now and everyone knows it. I'm a little scared to go back to school because I'm worried I might get recognized!) And after just two days, we had to say goodbye to Tom, and Larry and Tony and Susanna and the 168 other friends we'd made, who decided to build us a house just because “LOL LET'S GO BUILD SOMEBODY A HOUSE REALLY REALLY FAST =DDDD” is their mission statement in life. Thanks to them, we won't be breathing in this mold much longer. We won't have to worry about how we're going to deal with the weather this winter. We'll all be able to sleep for once. My kid brother and younger sister will be safe.
It will still be a while before we can move in. We'll keep working with the local crew to put flooring down, paint, get the plumbing in and the electrical work finished. We need to get the rest of our volunteer hours and take a few required classes on home ownership and finances. They're saying we'll be in before Christmas; I'm saying, “What just happened?” and wondering why my body is so sore before I realize, oh yeah, I hammered about a hundred sixteen-penny nails into studs and carried loads of sheet rock and probably ran several miles around a dusty construction site a couple days ago. It feels less like something that happened to me and more like a TV special that I vaguely remember watching at some point, some time, somewhere. But it happened, and it happened to me, and the house is there, waiting. And I don't know when, but sometime down the line, when money and time allow, I'm going to try to take a building trip myself with the Road Trip Crazies. Because I love those guys, and this is beautiful, and all I can do is try to pay it forward.
And October 13th around 2:00 pm, this happened:
Yes, that is two shots of the same site, thirty-odd hours apart. I was up there on that subflooring, putting my own walls together with a hammer and a belt full of nails. I got to know the kind of people who fly out from as far away as Texas to make homes for total strangers. A guy who broke his wrist working on the house next door had come back in an arm brace to work on ours. A group of students from a nearby city decided to spend their Fall break this way. Tom Gerdy? My God, the man is just this giant screaming cannonball of joy. He described what they do as “Moving the world one step on”... when he wasn't singing songs from The Wiz or cheerfully interviewing the reporter lady who was trying her best to interview him. (Here's a little more on Tom here from the website of another branch of Habitat--he also writes occasionally for Huffpost.) We exhausted ourselves over two days, working eleven hours the first day and eight the second. The outer walls went up, the inner walls went up. The siding went on, windows went in, the bath and shower were installed. The electrician ran around doing his thing, asking us what we wanted customized and where. They brought in beautiful plants to put all around the front, the landscaper arranging Juniper and Nandina and ornamental cherries around our new porch to create a beautiful garden. People wrote kind and encouraging messages on the insides of the walls that will stay there, hidden but present, for as long as the house stands.
Oh, and Tom nailed a cell phone to the deck as an example of what happens when you try to text and work. But besides that.
We were on the front page of the newspaper. We got interviewed for TV. (Yeah, we're one of those stories now and everyone knows it. I'm a little scared to go back to school because I'm worried I might get recognized!) And after just two days, we had to say goodbye to Tom, and Larry and Tony and Susanna and the 168 other friends we'd made, who decided to build us a house just because “LOL LET'S GO BUILD SOMEBODY A HOUSE REALLY REALLY FAST =DDDD” is their mission statement in life. Thanks to them, we won't be breathing in this mold much longer. We won't have to worry about how we're going to deal with the weather this winter. We'll all be able to sleep for once. My kid brother and younger sister will be safe.
It will still be a while before we can move in. We'll keep working with the local crew to put flooring down, paint, get the plumbing in and the electrical work finished. We need to get the rest of our volunteer hours and take a few required classes on home ownership and finances. They're saying we'll be in before Christmas; I'm saying, “What just happened?” and wondering why my body is so sore before I realize, oh yeah, I hammered about a hundred sixteen-penny nails into studs and carried loads of sheet rock and probably ran several miles around a dusty construction site a couple days ago. It feels less like something that happened to me and more like a TV special that I vaguely remember watching at some point, some time, somewhere. But it happened, and it happened to me, and the house is there, waiting. And I don't know when, but sometime down the line, when money and time allow, I'm going to try to take a building trip myself with the Road Trip Crazies. Because I love those guys, and this is beautiful, and all I can do is try to pay it forward.
TL;DR: A crazy offshoot of Habitat for Humanity just came and built us a house in two days. We all worked together to get the thing up in thirty-odd hours. I'm simultaneously baffled and touched to the core. Soon, everything is going to be okay.
I'm nervous about saying any of this in public. Part of me still wants to hide. But the rest of me wants to shout from the rooftops that, wow, somebody in this world did something wonderful for us, there are wonderful people in this world who still care. And I guess that's the last reason I have for posting this. When I think about it, I realize that probably thousands of people down the line contributed to this—the volunteers themselves, but also the chain of people raising awareness that eventually reached them, and the donors who give land and materials and money every year, and heck you could probably trace it back to Jimmy Carter for putting such a spotlight on the organization before I run out of people whose hands I need to shake. And I guess what I'm saying is that I can't let this branch of that tree stop with me. If you're looking for a cause to support, even with something as simple as Goodsearch or being that one guy who won't stop talking about it at parties, you could do way worse than picking Habitat—but it's bigger than them. Anything you're doing, for any organization or for none at all, that helps to move the world “one step on”... there's someone on the other end to whom you'll mean the world.
Now I am so, so sorry for this giant awkward textwall, and thanks for indulging me.
