Death of an Oil Tank

While it was an extremely exciting day for us at our house, those of you that are
A) not homeowners, or
B) homeowners that have a pristine house and property with no issues ( if so, I hate you)

Well then, you might not find this all that thrilling. BUT! If you’ve ever bought a house with a potential environmental disaster brewing underneath the property, then this series of photos is for YOU!
A recap: when Kate and I bought our house, we were aware of the underground oil tank, which is filled with diesel fuel and used to heat the house via oil furnace. What we weren’t terribly aware of, is the fact that a house with an oil tank—particularly of the underground nature—creates a huge hit on one’s house insurance, not to mention that with price of gas these days, it’s just a huge expense to keep using.

SO! We decided from day one that it would be coming out. Then we did the research on extraction of oil tanks, and read many horror stories of 50 year-old tanks that have been leaking for 47 of their years underground, thereby creating an environmental nightmare that requires tens of thousands of dollars to clean up, all at homeowner expense.


Now, we knew our tank was functioning pretty well, and by all accounts, no leaks existed. But it’s still been a bit tough to keep our fears in check while waiting to get this thing out of the ground. As you’ll recall, we converted to a gas line in past months, and since then have been gearing up to dig out the tank.

Well, yesterday was the day, and much to our relief, no Exxon Valdez-style damage existed underground! WeeHOOO!

The day was also a great pleasure for our young next door neighbour, Matthew, who at the age of two-and-something years old, has a healthy obsession with “big diggers” and firemen, both of which were on scene during the day (it is the fire chief’s job to inspect tanks once extracted). As an added bonus, Matt even got to sit in the cab of the backhoe.

So, with that job done, we can now focus on the much more enjoyable task of landscaping our yard! Heck, with any luck, it’ll look less (to paraphrase the Simpsons) like a full-scale Chernobyl, and a more like a mere Three-Mile Island in no time 

until then!

Jim Chase May 24, 1948 - April 14, 2007

When My brother, sister, and I were little, we all used to play t-ball. We've got pictures and super 8 footage of games and practices; Jamie standing on the pitcher's mound ( which is odd, as there is no pitcher in T-Ball...).

More often than not, dad was at the helm, coaching us. He had the same glove all the time we were growing up.
"It's older than you are," he'd say almost every time he brought it out for a practice or game.

As a T-baller, I was admittedly, not exactly the top of my game. Low self-confidence, awkwardness, and clumsiness were generally my best attributes at that age. And, even with a ball sitting atop the tee, I still couldn't hit it off. If I didn't chop the top off the ball with my bat, sending it dribbling just beyond home plate, then I'd hack at the Tee, and the ball would simply fall lifeless to the ground.

I can just picture my dad rubbing the back of his neck with his hand in frustration.

But there was one day, one game, that I have held on to for good reasons, not bad ones.

It was a typical at-bat for me. I had just spent my first swing, whiffing the bat over the tee without even touching the ball.





Now, dad was not the most ideal coach, as far as we could tell. Short-tempered at at times, and despite a mantra of "it's not winning or losing, it's how you play the game"... dad wanted to win.

I am convinced he'd have more hair if he had stayed away from coaching his kids.
But then, no. If he stayed away from coaching, I'd be without one of my very strongest memories of him and I as I was growing up.

"Time out!", my dad called from the bench. I turned to see him coming towards me at the plate.

He turned me back to the tee, and crouching over me, he placed his hands over mine as I held up the bat. And he leaned in close, with his face next to my ear, and he said "Stuart, it's simple. Just take your time. Keep your eye on the ball, and just bring the bat away from the tee, then back to the ball. away from the tee, back to the ball. Then swing. Simple."

And with that, he stepped back, and I reared back the bat, liked he showed me...

..and I hit him in the head. He walked away with a grin on his face as he rubbed his head.

I reset, and did it again. Eye on the ball, bring back the bat. bring the bat close the ball, repeat. Then swing.

And the ball leaped off the tee and into the infield. Beyond this point, I don't really remember if i ran, if I made it to the base, if I got tagged out, or stood there or what, But I remember that hit.

And I remember my dad's arms around me. There, in front of all those people, maybe not saying that he loved me, but showing it none the less.
From all the memories I have been sorting through--frankly, ever since he was first diagnosed with cancer, this is the one that has come back again and again.

Dad always figured that we hated having him as a coach, but with a memory like that, to last me a lifetime, how could I ever say I hated him as a coach. And it's through this memory, as well as the millions of others, that Dad gets to live on, that I can keep him earthbound.

And it is the same for everyone else. He is only a dad to me, my sister, and my brother, but he is also a brother, a cousin, a son, a husband, a friend, a co-worker,
a boss, a teammate. And all those people have their memories, too.

And some day, if I am so fortunate to have kids that play t-ball, like I did, and like my dad did, maybe I'll have the chance to come up to the plate, lean in close to the ear of my child and say...

..."now, this is how your Granddad taught me how to do it."

I miss you dad. I love you.

The EVOLUTION OF (our) FIRE(place)

okay, so the dramatic title is less dramatic than it could be. It's the sad realization that this update is about (groan) home improvement rather than (woohoo!) that scintillating phlogiston that so captures our attention, be it little campfire or a whole forest at once.

If nothing more, you're now at least curious as to what 'phlogiston' means.

BUT I digress!

It's been months since Kate and I started probing into our walls to see what lay beneath. we are but one step away from a completely new look to the wall that separates our living room from our kitchen.

Let me take you down memory lane for a moment...
You may recall that this is how our wall used to look, both from the living room side, and then from the kitchen side:



And then we went to work. There was limited exploration at first, just--much like the bear going over the mountain--to see what we could see. we quickly discovered that there was a chimney and a fireplace concealed within.

Exhibits C and D, for your approval:




unable to restrain ourselves much longer, we soon ended up tearing down walls, to reveal this crumbly, sagging, Gothic monstrosity:



But fear not! with the help of our chequebook and Bob, from cornerstone masonry, we now have this!


TADAAAAA!

we've just one step to go now: the installation of a gas fireplace. just as of last week, we have a gas line running into the house, so that'll make it easier to have a gas fireplace :) (this house has previously been heated by an ancient, unreliable oil furnace), and by then... well, by then, it'll be summer, so we won't use it... but... it'll be there, so.. yay.
so, for the moment, we have a lovely fireplace, and a more open floor plan. Swing by and take a look for yourself some time!

sunshine and happiness! :)

well, as promised, the next blog update would be all smiles und sunshine, and it is!!!

First off, we have a new contender for cutest member of the Chase family ( that's right, I've been challenged!) (cue rocky theme or Eye of the Tiger...) Ladies and Gentleman, now entering the ring, weighing in at 8 lbs 7oz., wearing nothing but a shock of dark brown hair, The newest member of the claaaaaaan... ARIA NICOLA CHAAAAAAAASE!


congrats to muh big brother Jamie, and his wife Dina on their first child!

Little Aria arrived on this side of the womb at 6:37 on March 1st. She was delivered at Royal Inland Hospital in Kamloops, safely and soundly during a very smooth birth.


I'm pretty excited to be an uncle, Kate's excited to be an aunt, and can't wait to meet the new wee one!

Now, the smiles und sunshine fest continues, as I direct your attention to the video below! it's pretty self explanatory once you get started, so I'll just leave you to do the clicking! It's a wee bit grainy, but hey, whatdya want for a web cam? and once you're done, if you stand anymore sunshine, keep reading down below the video link.




Third, and finally on this blog update, I would like to announce that I'm employed again! okay, so this is actually old news, and many people are well aware that I have been working for a while, but I haven't put the word out there all that much.

yep, I'm working downtown, in a public affairs officer position with the BC Ministry of the Attorney General. It's been great fun so far; hardly one hour the same as the next. I assist with communications pieces, I go to court, I network all over the place, I go back and forth to Victoria now and again... and the list goes on. All in all, just really enjoying the gig!

okay, that's enough sunshine for one edition, I think, more than making up for the drama of the last few entries! ta ta for now!

responses from y'all.. and more on Francois...

Well, the last update got a ton of response, and I thought some of what you had to say was definitely worth sharing, so here you go! (Don’t worry, names have been removed, and I left *most* of the glowing praise out of it!) And at the end of reading all the comments, stay tuned for an epilogue of last week’s episode.

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"...with all your best effort and intention things out of both your and Frances' control got in the way. That with all the wealth this province and country has there is such a lack of human services and long-term solutions. But, like you mentioned, you two didn't just talk about the problem you acted on it. That is true compassion and that is what although it may not seem so at the time, in the big overall picture makes a difference. That six weeks may be a short time but for Francis you never know what doors and possibilities that may have opened up, even if the aren't apparent right away..."

"...Hmmm I appreciate the sentiment of doing good and all...but the whole Ned Flanders ...okilly dokilly ...live in my basement is a little much for me. A wonderful Christmas effort though...But, I don't think my scared little recovering catholic arse coulda done the same..."

"...I understand your frustration and sadness, having worked in health-related industry for going on 16 years now. I lived with my aunt, who was a paraplegic living alone, for about 6 months in 1997 and saw the health care system from another side as well. Currently, it’s quite upsetting to me that we’re spending millions of dollars on the 2010 Olympics and other ‘great things for the city’ when there are far more important issues to be addressed..."

"...there is so much wrong with the "system" and we may never understand what this kind of mental illness can do to a person. I'm sure soon there will be another Francois who may be able to take full advantage of your basement, and in the meantime its onwards and upwards..."

"...I was glad to read your story today, thought more about it and know that it is a problem. I see homeless people like Francois every day on my way to and from work and often wonder if I'm doing the right thing by offering food instead of money when I can..."

"...I am happy to hear I am friends with someone who tries to make a difference instead of just complaining that no one is helping. It is inspiring for the rest of us. I also wish the best for Francois and all those in similar situations..."

"...I'm just so sorry for that poor man. It makes me even more sad thinking that even medication cannot help him..."

"...It's really really sad and scary to think about. It could be anyone. It's not just reserved for a certain section of people.

Just think about Alberta right now, with the boom...people are living outside of their means. If something happens - and it will - lives and families will be ruined and people will have nowhere to go. And they, like Francois, will have to start the battle and possible find themselves twenty years down the road still trying to find peace, inner peace.

That could be any of us..."

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The day after he left, Francois was back again, looking level, wanting another chance. Wanting to try for at least another month. Kate and I were tired, but willing. But before he was going to be allowed to stay, rules would be set down. A tenancy agreement that left no stone unturned.

We sat Francois down. This was how it was to be: first, the damage deposit. We’d need it back. He didn’t have it. Strike one, but let’s move on. Next, we have to live our lives as we always have, with friends and family visiting, with repair and maintenance people coming into the house do maintain our furnace, etc.

And that was all it took. He lost it again. Stormed out. Ten minutes later, back again. Calm, again. We talk to him for an hour. This time, no trying to get him to stay, no telling him to go. Just trying to get him to the hospital.

And so it was agreed after much discussion with him, that Kate would take us to the ER first thing, and I would wait with him until we got him some help. 8:00 am, we said, we’d leave the house and take him to Vancouver General. He could stay in the basement suite overnight.

Would he still be here in the morning? Would he be here, but refusing to go?

At 6:45 in the morning, the bell rang. He was ready to go. Kate drove us over, and Francois and I went into the ER.

Long story short, he didn’t want to stay, but I found ways to keep him there. It was a long day of waiting, broken up with the occasional visit from a nurse or doctor. It was a very revealing day, listening to him speak to the staff. Turns out he went off his meds weeks ago, and was using cocaine. Now we know where our damage deposit went. Anyway, the whole day of waiting almost all fell apart when Francois decided that a man in the waiting room had a gun, and we had to go before we got hurt. Talking him down from that was worth it though, because 20 minutes later, there was two psychiatrists to talk with him. Off they went, and I headed to the nurses station at Triage.

I made it clear that no matter what, I had to talk to those doctors when they were done with Francois. And I got to. I filled in all the details of our experience and left nothing out (trust me, there is WAY more than what this blog says).

They had me go back to the waiting room, to sit with Francois. Shortly, they came out asking Francois to have another chat with them. One of the two doctors came out seconds later, saying that was it. He was in.

I left the ER, got on the bus, and went home.

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We’ve seen Francois once more; looking not just level, but human. He was out on a day pass and came back to us to get a bag of his clothing, and to get the damage deposit back. We had to tell him that we already gave it to him, that we understood how he may have forgotten, given what he was going through. As of today, we’re happy to report that Francois has stayed on with the hospital, where he can reconnect with housing and care services. Whether or not he stays on the system remains to be seen.

Next week, SUNSHINE AND HAPPINESS, I PROMISE!!!!!!!