20091229

An Unexpected History Lesson



It almost fills me with pity not to have taken photographs of the 150-gallon heating oil tank that stood in the basement near the front windows. That glorious Diesel-like essence that hung around the air down there, along with the dark, greasy stains on the tank and areas of the surrounding concrete were something to behold.

Pity not to have recorded it for posterity.

Soon after moving in, I watched the price of oil cross the $100-a-barrel threshold. Not having any faith in the idea we would be seeing irresponsibly cheap oil in the near future, I decided to switch to gas heat. Luckily for me, Keyspan, the local gas company, had decided to capitalize on the competition's soaring prices and was offering a financing deal I thought too good to pass up.

The big, bulky oil tank seemed too large to fit through the standard-sized basement door. I wondered how it would be moved. Maybe I could paint a fireplace on its side and hang Christmas stockings beside it. Or put a curtain around it.

As it turns out, I didn't have to worry about it. The gas company had arranged for a scrap metal dealer to take care of everything.

Like a modern-day traveling circus, Joe and his employees pull up in a truck loaded to the hilt with a staggering array of, well, metal. It was like the trash compactor scene in "Star Wars." The men descend upon the oil tank like locusts, proceeding to slice it in half across its equator. They cut that part into smaller pieces and carry it outside.

Joe looked as if he had just crawled out of a furnace. Soot covered his face. His hands were caked with dried oil, which I noticed when he looked for a lighter with which to light his cigarette. (I don't generally allow smoking in my house, but this character was too compelling not to watch with as little interference as possible.) Oh, and he spoke like a Hollywood version of a New York City cabbie.

In between barking orders sprinkled with insults at the few workers emptying the tank and scraping oil off the sides, Joe explains he grew up in Bushwick when it was predominantly inhabited by his German ancestors.

"Yeah, even one of the main streets through Bushwick was called Hamburg Avenue," he said. "Of course, after World War II broke out, all the Germans demonstrated in support of the Nazis and the mayor at the time had the street name changed to Wilson Avenue, after President Wilson."

Naturally, I went looking to read up on what Joe had said, and he was, essentially, correct.

You never know where your next history lesson will come from.

It's Been A While

It seems amazing that it feels like just yesterday I was pointing out what a nightmare OneWest Bank was in dealing with my attempt to refinance my home — and the topic of this blog. Yet it was just a hair's breadth more than five months.

So much has happened with house and home since my last update, I hardly know where to begin.

Stay tuned.