Death, Chaos, Million Dollar House...

My AI image should not have neatly placed backpacks, or tidy pencil cups. Instead imagine many adult-sized High School students clustered together ignoring the teacher who is digging through piles of disorganized papers on her desk up front and desperately trying to get the class quiet so she can at least take the required attendance.

Yesterday I got a shocking email from my builder’s wife letting me know that her husband had passed away suddenly, unexpectedly, at the end of December.  Just days later, she was dutifully and painfully going through all of his work emails to let clients know.  I wrote back letting her know how sorry I was for her and her family.  What a shock for her, what a loss. 

He was a wonderful father, I could tell from only meeting him once. I liked him right away.  As we stood looking at the view in Randolph Center, he told me about his family. 

We talked houses and I really appreciated the approach he would take.  He was above all else, flexible.  He was patient.  He emphasized understanding the process and realizing that things don’t always come out the way they are imagined.  He talked about being able to shift gears and change things up for the owner as the building evolved.  This was not something I asked about or was even looking for, as I am a newbie to a house-building project. Of course, I was assuming that I am sure what I want, have already thought it all through and my plans are set in stone, so-to-speak.  But he must have known this is not realistic and brought it up which was really generous I thought. What builder wants a homeowner who constantly changes their mind or heads off in a different direction, mid-build?!

He was not only a knowledgeable craftsman, he was a designer, problem-solver, and just a nice person to spend time with during the building process.  He was going to work on Charles Cooley’s barn for me starting at the end of March, beginning of April:  add a fully enclosed east side with barn doors, new ramp to hayloft, just get the place truly equine-ready. 

Another builder can take over for me, but for his family it is a different story entirely. 

I went to bed last night unsettled.  I had done the math with another builder who told me to count on $450/square foot.  32’ x 40’ Ridge Road house x 2 stories = 2560 square feet  x $450 = um….over a million dollars.  $1,152,000 to be exact and this didn’t even include the screened-in porch, deck, garage.

My brain went into my usual dream sequences when I feel like life is out of control.  I am a teacher again but this time I have all new students and even taking attendance turns into a nightmare.  I can’t find an obvious list of students I’ve been assigned and have to try to glean this information from a large classroom full of unruly hooligans, large adult-sized bodies (being in High School), and full of themselves, laughing, talking loudly, listening to loud music, ignoring me as if it is a sign of victory.  I dig through disorganized piles of paperwork on the front desk, I work at getting them quiet so I can speak and ask who they are.  This appears impossible as I get one person listening and talking just pops up in another quadrant of the classroom. Many students are in small groups with their backs turned to me, huddled together, completely enjoying themselves. When I am able to get their attention, they laugh and give me false amusing names.  And this doesn’t even include the part where I need to fill their young minds with important scientific information.  I woke up exhausted.  God there are so many hard parts involved in teaching.  It is truly a miracle that there are many accomplished, creative, truly great teachers out there.  I am glad to be retired. 

But then this morning I got an encouraging email from Builder number 2 who said (regardless of the $450/square foot potential costs) that a simple Cape Cod, three-bedroom house in Vermont indeed should not cost a million dollars to build.  Instead $600,000 was a figure mentioned.  OK, we’re good.

Rest in peace, Matthew and thank you for our short partnership.  I will hold your family in my most positive thoughts for the difficult times ahead for them, navigating their new world without you.