2018 was the last time I posted. Five years ago. Back then I was browsing many a blog, until slowly, they all seem to peter out. I was dismayed when I would find a blog I enjoyed, only to have it quit, unexpectedly. What happened? Did they move to the dreaded BookFace? Did they shut down their platform? I missed them, I wanted resolution. This may be the only resolution for this blog.
I don’t know who will still read this, but in case anyone stumbles upon my ramblings, here is an update. It might be the last. I wish it weren’t – but there we are.
The last five years have been less a rollercoaster than being in the surf of a strong tide. I’ve wanted to write here so many times. Took pictures for projects, things I wanted to share, and yet, in the end, I didn’t find joy in writing anymore. There was too much knocking me down. Every time I would rally or something good would happen – another colossal wave would knock me down. I grew up in Southern California. At the beach, when we went, I was hit by a few strong waves, which knocked me down, filled my nose and mouth with salt water and sand, churned my equilibrium so I didn’t know which way was up, until the water ebbed and calmed. As a child I had the option to quit. Return to my towel, dry off, find calm. Now I’m a grownup, finding the towel is non-optional. Rollercoasters end. The surf and waves, never do.
2018 brought on the worst tenant ever. No more to say about that.
2019 brought the firing of one third of my co-workers due to lack of funds. It was devastating. We were not a corporate rat race. We were close. A family, with all of the strife that comes with that. Yet at the end of the day, we cared so much for each other. I still miss so many of them. The rest of the year at work was desolate. Those of us who were left didn’t know what to expect. We tried to rally, even though spirits were lower than ever.
In personal life, terrible tenant was replaced with absolutely wonderful tenant, who, thankfully is still here.
I spent a week with my father in the Sierra Nevadas.
I came home to find one of my rear neighbors had added a third floor to his house. By right, no zoning notice needed.
2020, I was in California for the holidays and the beginning of January to celebrate my Father’s 80th Birthday. It was a wonderful celebration. Family arrived from everywhere. But even as we celebrated, there were news reports of bad things to come.
And it came.
In March I was furloughed indefinitely. I was on unemployment for the first time in my life. I had more income than I in my own profession. I sewed masks after reviving my grandmothers sewing machine. I learned to make pasta. I knitted a lot. All after spending most of the day in bed, doom scrolling.
I was also teaching two classes that semester. First we were told we’d have a week to make plans, then three days, then less than 24 hours. I had my first full blown panic attack, how was I to teach my students!? Zoom to the rescue. My sister was also blind-sided, trying to manage over a thousand students at a school in Los Angeles. She organized weekly family zoom. It was a blessing to see my family once a week for a few hours to talk. It kept the terror at bay – that I might never see them again.
In August I returned to work. I cannot do my job from home. The anxiety of returning to work was terrible. With double masks, plastic curtains to section work spaces, effusive cleaning, having conversations far away from each other, we managed.
In September, without warning, the city demolished the house in the lot behind me. I went from my quiet, private, secret garden – to a wide-open space – visible to everyone from the other side.
Then in November, something happened we hoped would shift the tide. I was in Rittenhouse square, on a mild autumn day, at the market, when Pennsylvania was called for Biden. The cheers that erupted, the cars honking, the snarled traffic, full of joy, was a boost we desperately needed.
And more hope – my place of employment hired a new president. The man hit the ground running, created new projects, spoke to us with terms of “Team!” and became an indomitable force of positivity.
January 6th 2021
I was stuck on a zoning meeting with the city. Our appointment was at 2:30. We weren’t heard until past 6:30, at which time the Zoning board’s patience had been wiped out by a whiney, wealthy, center city neighborhood arguing about a stupid shed. We were opposing a building jammed into 750 square feet of a lot. The only person allowed to ‘appear’ on the zoom call was the opposing attorney. We were there – representing a poor disenfranchised community – and subsequently shut down. It was the icing on the cake of a terrible day.
In March I was finally fully vaccinated. Such a relief!
In June I was able to see my family for the first time in a year and a half. So grateful to be able to go home to California for Father’s Day.
2021 continued on – a building to the west of me spring up – blocking most of my sunset. But otherwise, things started to try to get back to normal. I finished the year in California again grateful to see family, especially my niece and nephew.
2022
Started off with positive resolutions which seemed to be coming to fruition. The new president at work was starting his second year, and, so far so good. I was able to visit home twice in the spring, once for a conference where I presented.
But mid-year, the good things came crashing to a halt. The property next to me had sold, and a developer decided to build a massive building, 16 units on two properties, all without a word to me.
The demolition started on the other “half” of my building. Originally, my house was a twin, meaning it was built as two separate houses with a party wall. These houses were built in the late 19th Century, never intended to be parted. They essentially “leaned” on each other. Yanking them apart meant wrenching the foundation of my home.
At same time the demolition was in full swing, SEPTA, our public transportation system, decided it was time to replace the tracks in the street. For a full month access to my home was in limbo.
On the property we tried to stop at the zoning meeting on Jan 6th, sprang a building. They built higher than their plans, and instead of making sure that electrical wires were re-routed – simply incorporated them into the building. More zoning hassle.
And Pennsylvania/Presbyterian Hospital across the way, decided to build a massive parking garage.
Then Mr. El bought a house in Delaware and declared they were moving out. Luckily, Ms. Mary put her foot down and said she wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t think I could handle any more loss.
In August my tenant reported a massive crack on the third floor in my house after demolition. The walls were separating.
In September I had to hire an attorney.
I wasn’t able to hire a structural engineer until mid-October – they are all booked up with the ridiculous amount of construction happening in the city.
The Structural Engineer did not have good news. By now the project was excavating a basement lower than code and the plans, approved by Licensing and Inspection, didn’t have any plans. They simply stated – “designer required”. But there was none.
The black washed stone behind the excavator is my basement. The blackwashed stone on the right is the basement of the house on the other side of the property. Seems no one checked to be sure the basements were level. Nor did they care.
I started a campaign of calling the city, all were ignored. The project was digging far below my basement with no plans to underpin my building – nor contacting me for an easement to do so. Thank goodness for people in my council person’s office. They managed to finally put a stop to the project in November in order to figure out the plans. This was after walking past a few buildings in my neighborhood, which had not had the same luck. The construction destabilized their foundations and the buildings had to be evacuated and demolished.
January 2023, despite planned resolutions for a positive year, started off terribly. In California I caught a cold from my darling niece and nephew. Really a cold – not COVID - I tested every day – never positive. I returned home on the 30th of December. On the 31st my phone “bricked” it completely shut off – wouldn’t charge - couldn’t turn it on, nothing. I couldn’t contact anyone, couldn’t access my contacts. On January 1st I lost my voice to laryngitis for a full week. This made trying to recover my phone an even more difficult task. Finally, (after discovering that two other people had the exact same thing happen at the same time on the same day! as my phone), four weeks of vendors to fix it, contacting the better business bureau, and mailing my phone in, I received a replacement.
Then the construction project started back up. The anxiety of dealing with what was happening was astronomical. Medication helped a bit. But it wasn’t until their foundations were poured and there would be no more digging, that it began to abate. But only a bit. There was still no word on how they would protect my house. They were required to stucco and weatherize the exposed wall within 30 days of demolition. (August 2022) That didn’t happen. There is a giant gap between our buildings, they have trespassed on my property numerous times, they have no easement, and are ignoring our requests for information.
Any contact with the developers elicits asinine responses. There is a massive, four-story wall my back yard.
This is only three stories. I can't fit the final size, four stories in my camera lens.
I have a modicum of privacy again, yet they need access to install siding to their building. Their attorneys pushed for a flimsy agreement, where we barely got any information. When I pushed back, demanding to know what they planned on doing in my garden – scaffolding? We got crickets. The antics to which they’ve subjected me are appalling. They’ve left a mess on my front roof, the back yard, and I can only imagine what the top roof looks like. We will have to go to litigation to get some response.
I can’t believe I am here.
The city also reassessed my property and practically doubled my property taxes.
Fifteen years.
The life of a house.
