sheddy or not, here I come!

Spring is still struggling to be reborn. I see reports of winter storms in the east, and it's been cold and rainy here. I'm done with winter -- didn't I make that clear a couple of weeks ago? Geez. Of all the nerve.

So I did what most Oregonians do, ignore the rain and go out and do yardwork regardless of being soaked and muddy. I cleaned out our garden shed, brought out our lawn furniture (what little there is of it), cleaned up the bulb beds, and de-mossed and fertilized the lawn (what little there is of it). The shed is nicer than one might expect. It is large enough to store everything, plus it has shelving, electricity, lights and windows that open, and not a single leak. The lawn is going to take some work. It's about half weeds, and the soil is hard clay. The previous owners dealt with it by just letting it die in the summer.

Our hellebore and one of the camellias are in full bloom, and the daffodils are poking their little heads out of the greenery. My neighbor has a large crocus bed that looks spectacular, all purples and whites. I'll be so glad to get some color (other than green and grey) around here.

I'm really eager to jump right in with landscaping projects, but common sense and a lack of coins in pocket tell me that I should wait and watch how the yard changes with the seasons. We moved in on November 1, and the real estate team solved the yard problems by chopping back everything in the back yard and raking up the debris, so I don't really have a sense of how the smaller plants grow and what the summer sun is like.

Mr. Reluctant spent a chunk of the day cleaning the spring tree mess from the gutters. We had one downspout fully blocked, and gallons of water stored up in one corner, yikes. Although I love my trees, I'm not a big fan that we have not one but TWO deciduous trees (the Siberian elm and European white birch) that drop catakins as well as leaves. The little bits of confetti that constantly float down are good as fertilizer, I suppose, but it means there is a year-round mess in the driveway and yard.

when vintage is, well, not cute

We are some of the lucky folk with vintage bathroom sconces. That is, if you consider fixtures made out of ceramic pipe joints and a chrome light switch cover lucky. I'm torn over keeping them and replacing them (if I can figure out how to remove them). The electrician said they were a "custom job." He had never seen anything like it, a refrain that is popular in our house.

The first thing we did when we moved in (after peeling off the apple wallpaper border in the kitchen) was a cosmetic interim renovation of the bathroom. The last picture is the old bathroom for comparison. We patched, caulked, de-mildewed, primed, painted, messed up, scraped paint bubbles off the ceiling, de-mildewed, re-patched, primed and painted again. We also removed the ugly mirror on the linen cabinet (keeping, for now, the ugly mirror on the medicine cabinet), and removed two of the light bulbs in our vintage sconces so they weren't screaming out LIGHT!!!!!!!!!!

In the bathroom pictures, you can see the odd placement of the sconces. There isn't another one on the left side of our sink. They are kind of smushed into the corner by the linen cupboard. My theory is that there was once a sink under the linen cupboard (hence, the lack of trim on the bottom of the cupboard), so the sconces were placed appropriately. As it is, they function well to light up the insides of the cupboard.

But still. They're weird. Quirky. Quirky is good, right? What do you do when vintage is, well, not cute?

fortification fridays - cranberry brisket for the lazy housewife

This is not company food. This is comfort food, plain and simple. Oh wait, I do serve it to company. Never mind. No one has ever complained. If you've never had brisket, it's worth a try. It's a cut that needs long cooking and not much attention, in short, the perfect cut for the remodeler. Corned beef is made from the brisket cut, but you want plain brisket for this recipe, not the corned beef brisket, which is marinated.

Kitchen needs: an operational range or, if you want to omit the browning, just a slow cooker
Serves: 6-8

4-5 lbs. beef brisket (note: NOT corned beef brisket)
2 medium white onions, chopped
3-4 garlic cloves, chopped
1/4 c. flour
1 bottle of fruity red wine, such as Merlot
2-3 c. beef stock or chicken stock or water
2 bay leaves
2 T. fresh rosemary, chopped (or 1 T. dried)
1/3 c. dried cranberries

If you are using a slow cooker, just add all the ingredients and turn it on. Cook for the first hour on high, and several more hours on low.

For a conventional oven (recommended), preheat oven to 300 degrees. Brown the whole roast in a dutch oven over medium high heat in a couple tablespoons full of hot fat. I used butter and oil, but salt pork or bacon drippings would be good, too, if you are even less health conscious than me. Remove roast and set aside. Brown the onions in hot fat. When onions are golden brown and cooked-looking, turn down the heat to medium low, add three or four garlic cloves, chopped, and flour. This is called making a roux, a thickener, but in the very lazy way. Mix and cook for a few minutes, until the flour starts to change to a golden color. Don't burn the roux.

Remove the pot from the burner and return the brisket to the dutch oven, brisket fat-side down. Pour in 1/3 bottle of a fruity red wine (maybe Merlot? I used two-buck Chuck Cabernet, which tastes like a Merlot), stock, herbs, salt and pepper. Then the key ingredient: a good handful of dried cranberries. I use the off-the-shelf sweetened Craisins ones. You can also use a scoop of cranberry sauce (too sweet for me) or a cup of cranberry juice (ditto). Add some orange juice at your own discretion. A bit of cinnamon might be good too.

Cover dutch oven and braise in the oven for about 3 hours. Take out pot after about an hour and a half and breathe in the delicious vapors. Flip the brisket over so the fat side is up. I don’t know if this matters, but it did look roasty and nice when I finished. Drink a tiny bit of the juice and think meaty thoughts.

When the brisket is soft and pliant, take out of the oven and add about a 1/2 cup (or more?) of red wine to brighten up the color and make it taste more like cranberryish. Let cool enough to handle.

Take the brisket out of the pot and slice it across the grain in long, thin slices. Note to brisket virgins: this is important. If you cut it in chunks or shred it, you will look like a caveman at a mastadon roast trying to eat it.

Place the slices back in the delicious gravy. This dish improves when left to sit overnight. Serve with egg noodles, mashed or roasted potatoes.

contractors overcharging

We were recently surprised and irritated to receive a bill for $300 to bring our gas line up through the floor from the T under the house about 6 feet away from the stove. The contractor, who was recommended by our plumber, came over for an estimate. He tried to tell me it could be up to $500 for the job if the gas T was far away, and that it would need himself and another man, each at $60 an hour. I told him that the inspector indicated the gas T was close and it shouldn't be that complicated of a job. I OK'd the two men and made an appointment.

He shows up with two additional men, not one, and they install the gas line in an hour. I'm not sure how licenses in gas appliance contracting work, but he seemed to be there solely in a supervisory role, and the two younger men (subcontractors, I later find out) do all the work. I figure one of them is an apprentice and don't say anything, since apprentices very frequently show up with contractors and I've never yet had them charge me.

A couple days later, I get a bill for $300, with no breakdown. I call and ask. In a series of several calls in which I express my surprise at having to pay for the third man and such a high price for parts when I was led to believe the labor was the major cost, he provides me an oral breakdown of the bill. He tells me that he charged $60 for his labor, $15 for a gas cock, $25 for the flex connect above the floor, and $17 for the floor flange. The subcontractors charged $123 for their labor (charging $61.50 each?) and $60 for parts. He said they didn't specify what their parts were, but it sounded reasonable to him to charge $60 for line under the house and brass fittings.

Sears charged me $8 for the flex connect that came with the stove, and since he also charged me for the same part at $25, I am suspicious of all the charges.

This angers me especially because our plumber did great work and we were counting on his referral. We were happy to give him a big chunk of change for his work, because he did a fine job and worked the entire time he was here and watched the clock and provided us with a list of parts he used and their cost. We don't mind a slight markup on parts -- that's the cost of having a contractor do business.

We do mind a lack of transparency in billing and taking advantage of customers.

I got the contractor to remove the $25 from the bill and am going to call the plumber and let them know what happened with their referral. At this point, I think we're just going to pay the rest and make sure other people know not to use this business.

happy paczki day

It's Fat Tuesday, also known as Mardi Gras. In the Reluctant household, we celebrate the Polish version -- Paczki Day. Paczki, pronounced basically /POONCH-key/, are jam-filled donuts with a fine crumb and a rich taste. Paczki Day is celebrated mostly in the Polish-American enclaves of the Midwest, although we did manage to score a great box of genyooine paczki at the Big Y in Mansfield, CT, one fine year. This article provides history and some recipes, which are probably better than the one in my first Polish cookbook, which yielded what could only be called paczki crepes.

I grew up in the Detroit suburbs, but didn't really celebrate Paczki Day until high school, when I began with the zeal of a born-again paczki-thumper and haven't stopped since. My great-grandparents came to Michigan and raised their children in Hamtramck, like many Polish families around the turn of the twentieth century, forming a community that still spoke Polish at home and kept Polish traditions alive in schools, shops and churches. Take a virtual tour here. By the time I came around, the families had long since moved into the suburbs and Hamtramck was in decline, as was much of Detroit. My exposure to Polish-ness was a few phrases and songs and my grandma's cooking. Mmmm...Easter soup, kielbasa, city chicken, Polish rye bread, fresh horseradish. And it was the message to stay away from Detroit because it was dangerous.

Still, I get an ancestral pang when I see images of Detroit. It's not really nostalgia; it's anger at the destruction of poverty and the ravages of time and the ache of being unwanted and misused. It's horror at the wasteland of a once-vibrant midwestern city, and worse yet, one that bred my people and gave them a safe place to land when they began their American journey. It's the loss of one particular community at one place and one time. It's hopes that were scattered far beyond the streets of Hamtramck, falling into the crevices and furrows of other neighborhoods and other cities. It's my America.

So here I am. I read the New York Times and live in Oregon and sit in California chairs and Japanese cars and celebrate Passover with the zeal of a born-again brisket-thumper. And I encourage everyone, therefore, to reach into that bakery box for another paczki, because some things in life are worth tradition.

Image courtesy of a 2007 Paczki Day graphic at the Hamtramck Star, a blog about the Hamtramck area of Detroit, which seems to be undergoing revitalization as a hip place to live. Cool.

stick 'em up

Some of us use caulk. Some of us use joint compound. Some of us use foam. And yet others use...a stick. Yes, it's another day at Raccoon Tree Acres, home of the toilet held together with a brick, and we're undoing more of the creative repairs done by the previous owners. I didn't make much progress on painting the kitchen last weekend. I was just too overwhelmed and cold and, er, lazy. I'll admit it. I couldn't be bothered to do much of anything this weekend but buy a microwave and vaccuum the house and sit by the fire with a good book and my laptop.

Mr. Reluctant, however, went on a cleaning spree, and he removed his bicycle parts from the porch and cleaned up the back yard. He went through two boxes of tchotchkes and cleaned the kitchen several times. He also (bless his heart) decided to clean the bathroom fan vent, which was filthy and wasn't cleaned when the guys installed the new fan motor. The POs were using a broken fan that was somehow (?!) missing not only the plastic light shield but also the entire housing, exposing a bare bulb and holes for the vents. Although I would have much preferred to wait and get a nice fan in a different shape and material, the mildew in the bathroom dictated a quick fix, so I bought a stronger motor and kit to replace the plastic parts, which the electrician installed when he was rewiring the kitchen. I've been meaning to unscrew the housing and clean the vent since then but was put off by the thought of such a dirty overhead job.

Mr. Reluctant tackled the project. He took down the fitting and cleaned everything out, then inspected the installation and cleaned out the cracks to make room for caulk. Wedged along one side of the fan, probably to reduce rattling, was an elm stick. I've heard of hardwood floors, but this is the first time I've heard of hardwood caulk.

Vernacular WWII-era Cottages

This post is image-heavy. Apologies to those with dial-ups.
This is a visual history of an architectural style that isn't well-documented. I've never seen these kinds of houses anywhere else (but granted, I wasn't looking for them) and they are abundant throughout south Eugene. so I'm assuming they are "vernacular," or specialized local architecture from the mid-century.

The City of Eugene has a great site for residential architectural styles and "modernism" in Eugene, which I've linked to the right. Unfortunately, the website has an odd redirect command that won't let you link to the historic preservation page, so follow the links to the left of the neighborhood map for the historical/architecture stuff. The black and white images are from these pages, and the rest of the photography is mine. Also, my lack of knowledge in html and blogger's layout inflexibility makes my images/text integration a bit rough. I'm sorry about that.

The first image is my house. The next four are of the earliest form of the "WWII Cottage" type, which are a bit different from my post-war cottage but still have many of the same features. The cottages were built during and immediately after WWII (late thirties to late forties), just prior to a severe housing shortage and building boom as soldiers returned from foreign shores. Wood was still being conserved for the war effort, so these houses are characterized by very minimal detailing and no eaves. No eaves?!? In Oregon!?!? Yes, it is true. Add that one to the What Were They Thinking file. Unlike ranches, which have low-slung eaves and a horizontal stretched-out footprint, our cottages have no eaves, even over some of the doors, and are boxy in appearance.

The earliest houses of the era are very small, usually under 1000 square feet, and they have cute little circular or octagonal windows, and windows that meet in the corners of the house to create a wrap-around effect.

The turquoise house with the excellent door was built in 1938 (or so says zillow.com). Because they are so small and humble, many are used as rental properties, like the tan one with the half-hidden octagonal window. Others are in terrible disrepair. These houses were never meant for rich people; they were built for homeless soldiers and their young families at what was then the edge of town. The airport was nearby, and streetcars rumbled down the street in front of my house. It was far from posh. Things were built to last, though, so these constructions held up over the years.

EDITED TO ADD: The City historic preservation site has information about mid-century houses River Road, another area in Eugene with more agricultural roots. They provide a picture of a 1945 home that looks similar to the ones in this post, and mention that it is a late kit-house from Sterling. The model is called the "Marleen." Even though kit-houses were popular in the first couple of decades of the twentieth century, they were still being manufactured as late as post-WWII. My guess is they were a very attractive option for Eugenians desperate to build new housing stock. If ALL of these WWII-era cottages are kit-houses, that would explain the lack of eaves. Because they aren't native Oregonians, they didn't understand rain.

The next set of photos are cottages that are closer to mine in age, and still in good shape.



The peach house and the blue house with the slanting lean-to carport are both of very similar construction. These houses are distinct from the WWII Cottages because they have a picture window in the living room and dining room, they are bigger but still boxier than a ranch, and they often have little porches instead of just a stoop leading to a bare front door. They generally have cedar-shake siding, and many of them have been renovated.
What makes our house different from other houses of the same vintage is that there was an early remodel. The garage was converted into a laundry room and a large back room, and a foundation was poured for a kitchen nook and ranch-style patio in the back. It was by no means a fancy project, but the original craftsman did install two large banks of built-in cupboards and drawers of knotty pine that serve most of our backend storage.

The peach house still has the attached garage, and it looks like the blue house did the same garage conversion that was done to our house. The cream house has an even uglier carport than the blue one. Ugly carports and no garages are very popular around here. It makes sense, given that anything stored in a garage won't stay dry and mildew-free, so there are better uses of space.


And of course, the renovations are varied and creative. Taking off the flattish roofs is popular, and adding a second storey when you do so is even more popular, like the folks with the green house. Adding shutters in bright colors is popular, too, for some reason.

I particularly like the grey house on the corner, because they didn't take off the roof, they just joined the original cottage with a two-car garage/apartment combo via a glass-bricked in breezeway. The construction takes up their entire lot, and the addition is almost as big as the entire cottage. They get points for creativity, though!

Finally, the last three photos show early ranches in our neighborhood. They are built alongside the cottages, usually in slightly smaller lots and with much more uniformity in lot placement. There is great variety in the design of these earliest ranches, but they are definitely ranch-like in their own way. Quite different than what came just before, eh? I'm very fond of these early ranch houses because of their windows and landscaping, and the mcm elongated style. They still retained features of earlier styles, such as the little round window in the white house, the windows pushed to the side, and the modest eaves. I guess there's room in my neighborhood for these newfangled newcomers.