It's been nearly four months since the last blog, and I hope it's not another four until the next. Apparently, securing a building permit in the City of Sacramento can take that long. We'd heard this, but were hopeful our plans wouldn't be that difficult to sail through. Turns out, we were wrong. I won't get into the nitty gritty -- mostly because it's boring -- but the bottom line is it took longer than we'd hoped. Way longer. Both Ryan and I spent some quality time at the building and planning departments. You can see how thrilling it is.
Patience, tested. And tested. And tested again. So, fast forward from the early part of summer to this past Friday when we finally got the news we'd been waiting for. Ryan sent me the news via text.
You should know he typically only reserves the ALL CAPS TEXTS for really big things (like, for example, he texted that way a lot this time of year back in 2010, 2012 and 2014). You can also see how incredulous I was at first. But it's the real deal and now we can finally, officially move forward.
These past four months didn't pass by, however, without some drama. We had the lovely experience of meeting Sacramento's finest, not once but twice. Both times because of break-ins, and once for a full-fledged burglary. The first time someone kicked in the door -- apparently looking for a reprieve from the Sacramento summer sun because, luckily for us, whomever took their emotions out on our poor door, took none of our belongings when they left. This is what the door looks like now, from the inside.
To be clear, this first break-in happened at the duplex on the property, next to the main house. Yes, we bought two homes of sorts. This particular break-in happened at the duplex we fondly refer to as "the chalet." (More on why that is, in a future blog.)
The second break-in was a much bigger deal. It happened one night in September, just after dark. This time, it was at the main house. The alarm sounded, just as it should. The alarm company called us, just as they should. And we called 911, just as we should. Unfortunately, Ryan was out of town. Also unfortunately, the call came when the kids were in the bath. So it took me a little longer than it might have to rush them into the car and drive over to the house. But I wasn't panicked. For one thing, it takes a lot to panic me. For another, for all we knew a squirrel had somehow made its way in through a very high open window (one which we knew would be impossible for a human), and triggered the alarm. I wish that had been the case.
The kids and I drove up and waited. The police had advised us not to go in until they got there (duh). So, we waited. And waited. Blake was nervous. Cade was cranky. It was dark. Thanks to my sister and one of Ryan's co-worker's husbands (shout out to Steve) who came over and kept us company. Ninety agonizing minutes later, two officers responded. They went in and cleared the house. No one was inside, and strangely -- there was no sign of forced entry.
Given the total darkness (no power to the inside of the house), and the fact that the kids were clearly well past bedtime, I decided to wait until the morning to check out what, if anything, may be missing. Again, at this point, it still could have been a stupid squirrel. I re-set the alarm and called it a night.
The next morning, I headed back over in the daylight and realized it was not a stupid squirrel. An actual bad guy had been inside. Several of our large tools were missing, including a jackhammer, a drill, a saw and multiple lithium ion batteries. It likely only took someone only about 10 minutes to get away with the only real valuables we had in there. Ugh. As upset/frustrated/bothered as I was by what was missing, I was equally -- if not more -- bothered by the fact that there was no sign of forced entry. In my gut, I wondered if we had inadvertently left the house unlocked when we'd been there two days prior. That's just not like us. But neither Ryan nor I could specifically recall locking the door, or double-checking it, as we almost always do. To be honest, I was a little sick over the notion of our possible negligence. So I scoured the place, looking for any sign of how a human may have gotten in.
And then Eureka! I found it. In a small, dark room (what will be our future amazing wine cellar), one of the pretty small-but-not-small-enough-for-a-human windows that had been boarded up had, indeed, been pushed in. With a yard stick, of all things. A yard stick I had found buried somewhere in the house (another blog coming on all of the random things we've found). I had set it aside on the outside as something to maybe keep. Guess I should have just tossed it in the trash, but it's one of those really cool, old yard sticks, you know? Who knew it would be used as a welcome mat for a burglar?
By the way, the boarded up window the bad guy pushed in is at ground level, covered in weeds, behind a fence, and along the part of the house you CAN'T see from the street. Sheesh. I guess the only good news that day was realizing we had not, in fact, left our house unlocked and even more vulnerable than it apparently already is.
So despite the prolonged permit process and a couple of criminal calamities, we can move forward! I've already got a few blogs on deck. Besides the two I already teased, I'll be writing soon about demolition delights, reflect on the history of the house, and a post called "If These Walls Could Talk."
Stay tuned...
