home, improved.

We reduced our mortgage payment considerably, just in time for the house to need some more professional attention. Long-awaited foundation work has come due, exacerbated by the weight of the solar panels and the new attic storage space. Naturally, the floor joist running the length of the house–most definitely load-bearing–has no piers under it. Construction in 1938 had a certain YOLO vibe to it, although in fact that arrangement has been Mostly Kind Of Okay™ all this time.

All that unused space under the load-bearing center floor joist was practically an invitation to install the furnace and ductwork there. In defense of contractors past, they knew enough not to cut into the joist, instead installing the shower drain backwards to compensate. (Our first plumber gave us a steep discount, saying "Don't worry about it. I'll be back.") The furnace is about due for a replacement, and the ducting is old and probably contributing to my allergies, sooooo maybe it makes sense to tear it all out. California passed some mighty restrictions on gas appliances; can we even replace the furnace with another gas furnace? What then, electric? What poor sod gets to make that work with the fresh electrical stuff from the solar panel install?

This is what the computing world calls a "yak shave."

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(I'm not really sure who took the Yak Shaving idea from Ren & Stimpy and applied to computer programming, but now even American Express people use it.)

This is in addition to replacing the rotting fencing, adding gates to/from the neighbors' yards (they're lovely people, we like them), and finally creating a huge private space with GIANT GATES (and a human-size gate) across the driveway. It turns out that 20% of the property has been wasted all this time, and we barely know what do with it all. (Except to not build a small studio apartment: the permits were finally approved after 5 years, but jeez.)

The Fig Tree is untouched; we'd be happy to say goodbye to the Weird Apple Tree and the World's Worst Ornamental Pomegranate, but they're probably impossible to kill. For all I know, they share the same unholy root system as the Zombie Rose.

(Before our first summer here, we asked our professional plant guy friend to identify the trees. He said it was an Ornamental Pomegranate, that wouldn't produce much fruit. While he is great at his job, this is not remotely true of that tree, for which generations of opossums are grateful.)

Anna had the contractors move and level her tiny house trailer in the side yard, whereupon it emerged that the Thorny Lemon Tree over there had decided it wasn't done living, and had a respectable 2-foot-high revenant flourishing underneath the trailer, in the 18 inches of vertical space, closely surrounded on three sides by fences and structures from 7 to 15 feet tall. The fourth side gets maybe 30 minutes of dappled sunlight in the morning, peeking through the picket fence. The actually quite poor growing soil on our property appears to be like Pet Sematary for plants, because the Thorny Lemon, like its cousin the Zombie Rose, was actually dug up. Out of the ground. In 2013. Which is enough to kill most plants. But not ours.

And PG&E finally inspected the leased solar installation, so the house is 80-100% solar-powered on most days so far, because we live in a desert and also got the house-battery option. The phone app shows soothing animations of the power flowing one way and another, and tracks how much we use from each source. The lease arrangement provides a predictable price for electricity for the term...twenty years, maybe? With an option to renew. It may already be cheaper than PG&E, and it's sure to be so very soon. And more reliable, as PG&E escalates its "If you're just going to be angry when our lack of maintenance causes historic lethal wildfires, then we'll just turn off power to more and more people" strategy. (Last year their response to people who medically rely on electricity to live was, paraphrased, "Go fuck yourselves," and they're expected to steadily extend this policy into major metro areas.) 

It's Anna who really makes this sort of thing possible; I pay for stuff, occasionally lift heavy objects, and make sure the wifi works, and the rest is her doing. I mean, I'm exceptionally good at paying for stuff and making sure the wifi works, don't get me wrong. But her determination and project-management skills for this stuff are both waaaaaay better than mine. Not even in the same ballpark. Or playing the same sport.