Demolition Derby

When we moved into our crazy little house from our big dream house I was three months away from getting two penises ripped from my belly. The crazy little house on the hill had one bedroom. House for five? No. No, Thank You.

Let the construction commence. Me: pregnant. Claire: 2. Paul Bunyan: broken wrist. Nother story, nother time.

The man who designed our teany little house on the hill lived in CALIFORNIA and was the brother of Peter who built and lived in it.


Here is our house today.




If you look closely at the tall section, you can see the pagoda style overhang of the roof. It's the only thing left of the original design.



The brother in CA also designed our neighbor's house, which Claire so aptly named the Funny House.

The square pagoda style of ours and the crazy triangles of theirs does not say Vermont. It does not scream cute little cabin in the woods. It does not say New England farm house with chimney and smoke. It does not say come have a lemonade on the porch with me. It says modern, new age, let's fall into the ocean together.

Our main living space was completely square with the exception of two corners that were bumped in. Don't know why. I've been living with this plywood for five years, going on six, after we bumped it out.



Don't you think it's lovely?



And here. Here is more. It used to be the mudroom. I love the grain in this one and how it matches so nicely with the cherry. I also love how I never have to mop it. It's perfect.




Well, the demolition derby has started again. Corner number two is getting bumped out.



Stairs going upstairs are getting reversed. Stairs going downstairs are getting reversed too.


All is well in the world because Paul Bunyan had another excuse to buy another tool. Yea, that's right- he didn't have a SawZaw (or whatever the hell it's called). He asked me not to tell anyone...something about how NOT having one suggested something about his manhood. I don't know...he mentioned something about being 'complete' now. Whatever.


Problem is I can't stop him.


He's a SAWZAW maniac. If he were really in the Demolition Derby he'd have a giant sized SAWZAW sticking out of the roof of his 1991 Honda Civic and when the crowd needed to place their vote for which car they'd be rooting for, he would play a loud speaker with the SAWZAW's booming noise into the air and the crowd would jump to their feet and yell and spit and scream and the announcer would say, "Oh, yea baby. We know who you're rootin' for now!!" Oh my god, what just happened to me?

Yes, all is well and good. I'll be picking drywall dust out of my teeth and out of my kid's hair, as if it were an infestation of lice. But I'll be happy. I do have one concern however. I'm not sure if you believe in ghosts but I have to tell you that there have been many occasions where I believe I have heard Peter upstairs in our bedroom. Peter is the brother who built this house his brother designed. He died of AIDS. I'm uncertain if he died in the house, but I know it meant a lot to him. I sometimes hear our bed creak. I know that's creapy, but I do. And sometimes when I'm sitting on the couch watching t.v. knitting, I hear the stair creak and I look up to see if it's the cat or something and no one's there. So, I'm a little nervous. I'm scared for Peter's sake. (get it, Pete's sake?) We're undoing all that he did. All that he built with his two hands. We're taking down his cherry treads and turning them around. We're punching out corners of rooms he intended to be there. And so I'm a little nervous that Peter, who has been a harmless ghost, might actually start to get angry. Especially when, this summer as Paul Bunyan has promised, we start ripping out his ghastly tiles in our upstairs bath. Will there be a haunted riot?

I'm worried Peter will be all lost and confused and unsure about where to go, what with everything all upside down and backwards. And to boot, the last bit of Peter's dad, George, tumbled off its cement block foundation and tipped upside down in the last crazy wind storm.



And now the toilet seat is hanging by its last thread and the ghosts will start shitting in OUR toilets.

Oh my, I don' t know what's happening to me but how great would that be? Me slamming into Paul Bunyan's Honda Civic with my Toyota Camry decked out with an upside down outhouse. I can feel the crowd's spit on me now.