A beard and a tutu

One setback to our new set up on West Johanna Street was our lack of a hook up for a washer and dryer.  When Rob and I split up domestic responsibilities, I took on the job of going to the nearby laundromat.  I was in graduate school and I figured that while I was waiting for each load I could get some reading done.  Most Sundays (unless we were out of town, in which case we brought our laundry with us and burdened our hosts with a few loads), I would head out to wash my dirty laundry in public.

In the end, I got very little reading done on those trips.  It turned out that many of the families of the students I taught also liked to come to this same laundromat on Sundays.  I would talk to parents about how their children were doing in school, getting the chance to practice my Spanish as I folded Rob's undershirts or my pajamas. 

One day, as I dragged three large laundry bags from my car to the bench inside the 'washateria', it wasn't a parent nor a student I saw.  It was someone even more familiar around Austin--Leslie.  He was sporting a leather vest over a bare, leathery chest and a pink tutu.  His cowboy hat tipped over his eye and his heels clicked as he walked toward me.

"There she is!" he said in his scratchy yet jovial voice.  I smiled and laughed a little.  "I've been looking for you," he continued.

"Oh, really?" I snickered as I hoisted my santa-size bag over my shoulder and pulled the door open.  I'd seen Leslie around the neighborhood several times. Rob had even spotted him checking out the dryer we'd put out on our curb. But we had never spoken.

"You look like someone who would like to drive me to H.E.B," he said flirtatiously.  Leslie followed me as I took my usual seat on the bench. I recognized a few families inside the laundromat and I wondered what they were thinking when they saw la maestra walk in with this scantily clad, bearded man.

"Sorry, Leslie, I have a lot of laundry to do," I apologized as he plopped down next to me, close enough for me to get a good look at the wear that walking the streets in the Texas sun has had on his body. 

"I have an idea."  Leslie didn't give up easily. "Put your wash in, drive me to H.E.B., and when you come back, your clothes will be ready for the dryer."

His plan had few flaws.  His supermarket destination was less than a 5 minute drive away.  I'd be back before the first cycle was complete.  "My husband doesn't like for me to leave his clothes unattended. I need to stay here to keep an eye on everything. Sorry, Leslie," I lied.

Leslie laughed as he stood up.  "You know what? You're right.  You leave your undies in that washing machine and you never know what man might be wearing them around Austin tomorrow!"  As he jauntily left to find a more willing chauffeur, his tutu bounced like that of a ballerina, exposing his black thong and tan buttocks to all.

After a little over a year of trips to the laundromat, Rob and a carpenter/handyman, Dave, put in a washer/dryer hook up in a nook just outside our new bathroom.  After much deliberation and research, we bought the most beautiful front-loading set I've ever seen.  While I am ever so grateful each time I can do a load of laundry in my very own home, I must admit that I do sometimes miss the company I enjoyed on the corner of Oltorf and S 5th streets. I have yet to find another place where I can mingle in Spanish, get some household chores done, and chat with cross-dressing, local celebrities.

A House Full of Furniture

Rob moved back to the states from Buenos Aires only days after his 30th birthday.  A few months before, we had made the decision together that we would be moving to Austin.  Rob went to UT, loved Austin, and we had a few mutual friends who would, coincidentally, also be moving to ATX from Argentina. Plus, for me, Texas seemed a more logical transition from the slow-paced Latin American world I'd grown accustomed to than heading straight back to the hustle and bustle of Washington, DC.

Lincoln, the International School of Buenos Aires, where I taught, required several months notice so that they had time to recruit new teachers from the states.  It may have been as early as November or December when I let them know that I would not be returning for a fourth year.

As soon as we decided we'd be heading back stateside, Rob began to let friends and ex-colleagues know that he'd be looking for work in Austin.  Sooner than we'd anticipated, a friend of Rob's was able to set him up with an interview.  Rob would need to be back in Texas by mid-February if he hoped to be considered for the position.  With a three year hiatus explained as 'world-travel' on his resume, Rob decided he should go ahead and be there.

Rob would be turning 30 on the 11th of February, so I organized a large birthday/going away party for him.  It was a great party with so many friends we'd grown close to in those 2 or so years we spent together in Buenos Aires.  However, this send-off did come with a bit of pressure.

Rob's and my decision to make this international move together was a serious one.  I'd be leaving a pretty cush job.  To live in Texas.  Rob's days of reading books, walking the city, and hopping from one Latino country to the next had come to an end.  He was not only turning 30, he was also now in a serious relationship, heading back to find a job and to rent a house so that we could set up a life together. No pressure.

I wouldn't be moving to Austin until June and had plans to visit just once in May to go to a job fair.  I would be, essentially, committing to Austin sight-unseen.  I'd never been.

Once back in town, Rob was blessed with many friends and family members ready to put him up, help out with interviews, and offer hand-me-down furniture.  For awhile, Rob lived with his parents in Houston.  Finding that it was tough to get interviews satellite (the first interview didn't pan out until after he'd accepted another one months later).  His friends, Ross and Scott Perkins, put him up for several months in Austin while he continued to interview.

When Rob found the rental house in South Central Austin where we lived for two years, he accepted each of the couches, recliners, tables, and bookshelves that were offered as help to get us started.  By the time I joined Rob  in Austin about four months later, we actually had more couches than we could fit in our living space.  When a donation would come to us that was newer or more comfy than the last, we would trade them out.

One recliner that we inherited will never be forgotten.  It was a cozy recliner but during the months we had it, we didn't use it much.  Once, when my mom came to visit, she suggested that we pare down our collection of second-hand pieces.  The space was too cramped.  We agreed that we could do without the recliner.

We love the fact that both on Ethel Street, where we lived those first two years, and now on Johanna, we can put pretty much anything out on the street and it will be taken within hours, literally.  We've gotten rid of washers, dryers (yes, plural), furniture, wood, lamps... you name it... without ever having to make a trip to Good Will.  Rob actually spotted Austin's famous Leslie Cochran checking out our dryer when we put it outside our West Johanna house.

So, my mom, Rob, and I put the black recliner out on the curb and by morning it was gone.  It was one of those decisions that was hard to make but that felt like the right thing once it was final (or so we thought).

About a month later, Rob and I arrived home after a night out with friends.  Our headlights shone on the sidewalk as we pulled up to park. What was that on our curb? Could it be?

It was our black recliner.  Someone had taken it, used it for a month, and then returned it to our front stoop!!!  We laughed in disbelief, walked passed it and once inside, called my mom to share the funny and slightly bizarre story.  None of us could quite understand how returning the chair to our yard was more convenient than just putting it back out on the street.  While the chair was gone again by morning and we haven't seen it since, who knows when it might come back to us again?  Once the house is built we might just be glad to have it back!

Our transition from a care and responsibility-free life in Buenos Aires has been full of its challenges.  However, in a few short months, filling our brand new dream house with furniture is surely a challenge we can look forward to.

"My baby wants internet"

The day after Rob drilled a hole in his fingernail, we had an appointment with Time Warner.  Ever since we moved abroad, Rob and I have foregone television or cable service, doing our best to minimize the time we spend in front of the boob tube.  No doubt, though, that once back in the states we did begin to stream series such as Parks and Recreation or The Office on the web.  Like many Americans in the grind of 40-60 hour weeks, we often found ourselves reading less books and watching more movies and sitcoms.  We also get all of our news online and, of course, keep up with friends and family via email.

So when we moved onto West Johanna Street, having access to the internet was about as important as having access to the food in our new refrigerator. We would starve without wireless.

Rob and I were both home when the nice man in his early thirties showed up to re-connect us to the world wide web.  We welcomed him with smiles.  He took a look at the house and realized that the previous owners had not had internet set up.  The only way to get us hooked up was to climb twenty feet up a telephone pole located on the corner across the street from our house.  "Those are live wires up there," he told us.  We looked back at him, not sure what he was trying to say.  He had on construction boots, jeans, and a tool belt and looked fit and more than capable of  climbing the ladder that he had in his truck. He looked back at us.  "I've got new baby twins at home," was his response to our confused faces. "That's gotta be 20, 25 feet up that pole."

Rob and I looked at each other, a little bewildered that the internet guy was not prepared to set up our internet.

"I'm an engineer," Rob said with authority that implied that his degree qualified him to scale telephone poles. "If you can just tell me where to attach the connector, I can do it." 

I raised my eyebrows. "Rob, the wedding is in less than a week.  If you are on crutches down the aisle..."  My tone was concerned and argumentative.  However, I had seen Rob climb plenty of trees even with a chainsaw in one hand.  He has done a little bit of rock climbing and is incredibly agile.  Plus, I really did want that internet hooked up. 

"I'll be fine," Rob said nonchalantly. 

"At least change your shoes," I suggested.  There was my mistake. Rob was wearing flip flops, absolutely not designed for climbing anything.  Anyone who knows Rob knows that a suggestion to wear something other than what he feels like wearing seals the deal. He will not change.  Furthermore, my request for him to tie on some sneakers was like saying I didn't think he could make the climb in flip flops.  I had, essentially, five days before my wedding, just dared my fiance to climb a 20 foot ladder in flip flops and balance there while weaving his arm through live electrical wires just so I could watch Grey's Anatomy. 

The Time Warner guy braced the bottom of the ladder.  "We're getting married next week," I told the stranger who was spotting my husband's latest stunt. He gripped the rungs tighter.  I stood in front of our house and watched Rob ascend, the wire clutched in one hand, his flip flops bending over each step. Once Rob had reached the top, the cable guy shouted instructions such as "NOT that one!" or "Careful, now!" up to Rob.

Rob slowly wove his arm through the live cables and connected our wire.  As he was removing his fingers from the nest of electricity, the cable guy said, "Your husband's got guts.  He's pretty determined to get the internet set up."

Rob, having heard this compliment, smiled and paused his descent. He called down the motivation for his perilous adventure, "Well, my baby says she wants internet!"

And, I have to admit, that ever since meeting Rob I have everything that I want. ;)  

1 bathroom in 1 weekend

Before the foundation or demolition of the addition, came the bathroom.  For our first 8 months on West Johanna Street, each time I stepped into the shower, I felt the plastic floor sag, threatening to give.  As I stepped back out, I would try not to touch the mold-covered foam insulation busting out of the cracks of the piecemeal shower.  I shuffled across the bathroom floor, the loose linoleum tiles shifting around the room with me.  I leaned down to the tiny sink and bought plastic drawers at Target to avoid having to put my cosmetics into the dark wooden cabinet. Even once Rob had blocked out the bugs, I never got over the images of cockroaches falling out of that medicine cabinet.  The windowless room with the pepto pink walls and mustard yellow closet was suffocating and, pathetically, more than I could bear. 

The excitement of owning our first home had worn off and I just couldn't get used to that bathroom. I guess I complained about it enough that our friends eventually decided to put aside their plans for the 3-day Memorial day weekend.  A few months before, my brother, Sean, designed the plans. My mom and Sean came to visit to help choose the tile.  Our neighbor, Al, put us in contact with a tile guy and a sheet rock guy.

And Tim and Aaron and Rob spent three days straight tearing down those rotting walls, ripping out that decomposing subfloor, and throwing away that toilet, sink, flooring, and shower.  Rob got into the ceiling and vacuumed up years worth of cockroach and rat droppings.  Tim, with his experience as a contractor, guided the process and put his large truck to work with several Home Depot hauls. Aaron, having remodeled his own home, framed in walls, screwed in the hardiboard, and helped with the floor tile.  We even found a window behind the shower that let in sunlight and fresh air.  Rob took over the plumbing and the two of us grouted the tile floor.

Throughout the weekend I picked up food: P. Terry's, La Mexicana, Torchy's, and passed out beer after beer.  Whatever helped make the job more enjoyable!  The three of them worked like crazy, prying out walls and new ones up in their place before I could get back with the next meal.  I wanted to cry out with joy as I watched the bathroom be transformed. 
What good friends. What a great job! What a shiny new bathroom!

The vanity that Rob's uncle, Stuart, had given us on one trip to Waco to visit fit perfectly into place. We found an old wooden locker/cabinet at the Habitat for Humanity Re store. I painted it white, Rob built in cedar shelves, and we had a new, free standing linen closet.


Over the next two and a half years, I may have taken more baths than in the previous 30 years combined.  There was something to be said for a brand new space where I could escape the peeling wallpaper, see-through floors, and patched up ceilings.  The bathroom was truly a group effort with a lasting effect for which I will be forever grateful!!

Can you see those blue skies?

I decided to stop by the house after work and...!!!

Our master bedroom will be in the rear of the house

The main room will be here, a few small steps down from the original house

Here you can see the lot from the back corner.

This is the view of the layout from standing inside the current structure

Unbelieveable, isn't it?  Can you see those Blue Skies shining?  It's a beautiful day (77 degrees on February 1st!) and a beautiful site on West Johanna Street!