Holey Moley!!!

I rarely use this as a forum for complaints, but today I just can't help myself. I'd like to talk about substandard housing which usually afflicts the poorer segment of society.

We've all read the horror stories of rat-infested, roach-overrun, despicable housing circumstances. I even read somewhere that there are certain rules governing when a landlord is required to turn the heat on in buildings where the tenant has no control over the settings. In some states even if the temperature is cold, they aren't required to turn it on until a specific date. And be assured, they don't until the last possible moment.

Never in my wildest dreams though have I ever thought I would be in the situation I am at this time in my life. Only once have I lived in a house that I considered swanky. And that was due to the wages my husband earned, nothing I did or didn't do. But the rest of the time I lived in nice and nicer apartments, willing to forgo the pride of ownership and left old age to when the time came.

I worked hard and my surroundings reflected what I considered valuable. Having grown up poor, I never placed much value on material things. I never had them and then there came a time when I had them and lost them. The bottom line always was (and still is), you can't take it with you anyway, so what's the point?

My needs were like those of any other person... food, shelter and clothing. I didn't need anything fancy and I certainly didn't need to impress anyone. My life has been one of giving where I could and helping others in any way that was possible for me at any given time.

And then the unthinkable happened. I was forced out my job of 20 years over circumstances over which I had no control. Since that time with very limited funds of disability, I have been forced to revisit my early days. There isn't anything wrong per se with being poor. It's mostly what it forces a person to feel like that seems to bother me the most.

My philosophy has always been that if you can't do it yourself then it really doesn't need doing. My parents were firm believers in the fact that you should always do for yourself and never ask others to help. I'm not sure that's the best way to go, but it did instill in me a certain determination to get things done on my own.

If you wanted something, I mean really wanted it, then hard work would get you through to that end. And that has never failed for me... until now.

The last three and a half years have been a horror show. It's been one slum after another with no respite in sight. I even applied for subsidized housing, but the waiting lists are so long that I might come up on the list about three months after I die. And so I just gritted my teeth and told myself, "This is only temporary. You can do anything as long as it is temporary." And so it has been for three and a half years.

One sad story after another has played out. And then I came here. It's not the Ritz by any stretch of the imagination. But after the last place which flooded I thought the second floor would be wonderful in spite of the hardship of the stairs.

I am in one of six apartments. I have never seen the person in the apartment next to me. On the other side is the Noise Patrol. This man came in when I didn't even have my furniture all moved in to warn me about the 'paper' walls and how he doesn't like noise. Yadda yadda yadda... and so I told him that I had a hearing problem and that sometimes my TV may be a little loud. But if it bothered him to please just tap on the wall and I would know it was too loud and turn it down. Hey! I'm easy to get along with.

Well, two times he has nearly given me a heart attack by pounding on the wall with his fists screaming obscenities. It's usually in the middle of the night being that I am a night person. The last time though, all I was doing was talking on the phone with the TV off. I thought that was a bit much.

And then there are the three other apartments whose occupants are all friends with each other. They have some pretty wild parties and there is a lot of hooting and hollering from those places. (Funny though, I never hear the Noise Patrol screaming at them. It must be because they are all men and he just thought he could intimidate the old woman here.)

Throughout all this, the landlord never told me that my apartment overlooks one of the local watering holes. On any given night you can hear the drunk patrons either arguing or fighting in the parking lot. Oh, joy! But somehow, I just tuned it out and still proclaimed that all this was doable because it was only temporary.

Although the apartment is the size of a thimble, I sought to make it as homey as possible. It is after all my home. The first problem came two days after I moved in. There was a considerable leak under the kitchen sink. I called the landlord and he was Johnny-on-the-Spot about it. He came, fixed it and I thought I had found an honest landlord who was willing to do his part as long as I was.

I live over a sports card memorabilia shop. In the first week I went and introduced myself. This was going to be my neighborhood for a while. I may as well try to fit in. He warned me about my shower possibly leaking into his store. I notified the landlord and he assured me he would come to look at it.

It turned out that it needed replacing. That was 8 months ago. I still don't have a shower. What could possibly be worse than that?

And then during the week the snows came. It started on Wednesday with dripping from the ceiling. The first loss was the TV. It's too heavy for me to move so I had to sit helplessly by and watch it fill up with water.

I noticed my friend, Pat, online and summoned an encouraging word. She was more than happy to listen and offer advice. I called the police because the landlord would not answer or return my calls. They advised me that if it got bad in here that I would have to leave. I didn't realize it, but they can force you to leave your own home if the circumstances are bad enough. The idea of going to the shelter just sickened me. And so I didn't bother them any more.

It was late in the day before the landlord finally came. But short of taking the snow off the roof, which was all slush by the time he got here, he did nothing else.

I talked with the sports card guy and he had lost ten thousand dollars worth of memorabilia. I thanked God twice that night. Maybe my problems weren't all that bad.

I put out another panic call to my friend in Christ, Kellie. She returned my call promptly letting me know that prayer would keep me safe, that in spite of what may or may not happen, I would survive this. I rested easy knowing God was on watch.

I had been wanting to leave this area anyway. I didn't know how that was going to happen, but as in all things in my life, I prayed the prayers and let God sort it all out. I called another friend, Brie. Out of the blue she said she would come to get me out of here. But that's 900 miles!!! She assured me everything would be all right. I only needed to hang in there for a bit. Early April and I would be gone. "I can do that," I thought, very relieved.

Throughout this whole mess Charlie and Josie were of the utmost help and encouragement. Frannie IMed me, as did Charleen. The phone lines were burning up and I felt centered in the midst of disaster.

All day Thursday and Friday I sat here trying to remain calm as I watched it rain... outside and inside. I watched the ceiling fill up, bulge out and drip in 25-30 different spots. I had given up on trying to collect all the water. I didn't have enough containers anyway. The TV and couch are ruined. I was just thankful it wasn't encroaching on the bed. When God is good, He is really good.

On Friday the dripping stopped. I put the word out. All your prayers have been answered. The weather report said it would be freezing. Snow wouldn't be bad. It's the heavy snow I had to worry about.

The phone rang at about 2 a.m. It was Fred, Kellie's husband, just checking in. We hadn't been on the phone two minutes when all of a sudden water began streaming out from the ceiling again. It was like an open faucet. I watched as the drywall separated from the beam and about five gallons of water came pouring out. We cut our call short so I could do some damage control.

After that I called Charlie. Disgust couldn't even cover what I was feeling at the time. It turned to outrage and that is where I have lived for the last 18 hours. We talked for a while and I decided it was time for bed. Even the ceiling wasn't going to take that away from me!

At 8:02 a.m. I awakened to the most horrifyingly loud sound I had heard in a very long time as the ceiling came crashing down within a foot of my bed. Oh, hang on, it gets better.

I couldn't get out of the bed without stepping on the crap on the floor. I didn't know where my shoes were. Probably underneath that mess. Sure enough! But this I will say... I am glad I took my time. There were two huge spikes sticking up from the mess. Had I hurried to just leap out of the bed I could have driven one through my foot.

At 8:02 and 20 seconds the Noise Patrol was banging on the wall hollering. I hollered back. What's he going to do? Have me arrested for assault with a deadly ceiling? While he is screaming his obscenities I suddenly see the humor in all of this and start laughing. I can hear him on the other side of the paper wall having a hissy fit. I just laugh more. The relief from the laughter washes over me in a pure cleansing.

It's Saturday. After about the 20th attempt at trying to contact the landlord, I decide enough is enough. I dragged all the nasty ceiling parts out into the hallway and left them in a corner there. As I am hauling out the next to the last piece the Noise Patrol comes out of his apartment to see what's going on.

If I thought he was having fits before it's nothing like he is now. "You can't leave that there," he says. I refuse to engage in any conversation with him. But I drew the line when he began to follow me to my door. "I'm calling the landlord!" he shouted as I closed my door. "Good luck with that," I said. "Let me know how that turns out for you."

I don't like name calling, never have. But slumlords need to start being held accountable for the misery they inflict on others by not doing their parts. I live above that card store. He has had far worse damage than me. My heart goes out to him. But he can never collect on the landlord's insurance.

There is a deeper issue here though. That water that seems to be having its way in this building is filtering down through the fluorescent lights on his ceiling. I would think that is a serious electrical problem waiting to happen. I could be sleeping and the place could be going up in flames around me. At what point do we say Enough!?!

The hole in the picture at the beginning of this post, if the tiles are a foot square, is about 4x3. The hole in my ceiling is 4x6. There was no sun today so I don't know if I am exposed to current weather conditions. I do know, however, it is very cold in here. I have the heat cranked up, but it's still very damp and chilly.

When it was actually raining inside here my fear was that the ceiling would come down. Well, it's down. The worst is over. I thank God I didn't get hurt. And I thank him for my friends who saw me through this.

*** Point of interest: Of the friends I listed... the closest one is 350 miles. The power of Love knows no distance. Thank you, My Dear Friends. I Love You.