Journal: August 12. Did they scare the hell out of you? Chimney inspection. More cousins.

George, John, and Chris arrive early to keep working on porch. Hunter and Mark from Luna Chimneys arrive to inspect chineys.  George had told me I should do this before proceeding.  The plan was to inspect the three chimneys.  They set to work in the front parlor with a video cameras, vacuums and a scope. In olden days, these inspections were done by guys covered with soot, scrambling in and out of chimneys (think Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins). Today, they are as clean as can be--the process is similar to medical examinations where cameras on tubes are inserted into various orifices and happily send out pictures of all sorts of intestinal woes.

The chimneys, alas, are seriously ailing.  Their report was not encouraging. Chimney codes began to be enforced in the 1880's--maybe 80 years after my chimneys were built. It would perhaps cost about $20,000 to bring the chimney up to code.

"Are the other two chimneys basically the same?" I asked. Of course they were. At $200 an inspection, I suggested we stop the process right there.

Ed, the boss was on his way. He told me that using the chimneys in their present state would most likely burn down the house.  Pointing out the wooden mantelpiece, he warned that could catch fire in a minute--and that was just the beginning.  He also suggested the whole house might be on the edge of collapse and strongly recommended an engineer take a look at things before we went any further.

By the end of our conversation, it was clear I'd have to start learning fast about wood-burning stoves.  So much for chimneys.

I was, I must admit, quite shaken by all of it.  Just as progress was being made, huge obstacles were once again looming ahead.  My cousins Gilda and Jennifer were arriving soon.  I had shopping to do, preparations to make, and new worries about the house burning to the ground.

The skies were dark.  Rain imminent.  Logan arrived to do some tree clearing and work on grading the patio stones, and the astounding Dave Gommoll, volunteer mower, and semi-retired engineer arrived with his tractor mower.

"Oh, Dave," said I.  "The chimney inspectors were just here."  "Oh, did they scare the hell out of you?" he asked.  Somehow I found that extremely comforting.  And when Logan recounted a similar tale, and described how he'd installed a wood stove himself.  A bit of equilibrium restored--just in time for arrival of cousins. 

I hadn't seen Gilda in at least fifty years.  I got an e-mail from her--out of the blue--a month or so ago I'd found an old program announcing a concert in April, 1931 of a fourteen year old soprano, Sylvia Berman, singing at the Waldorf Astoria with the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra.   Sylvia is Gilda's mother. My father for years would recount that William Morris, the agent, not the agency, heard her sing and offered to make her a pop star. She only wanted to sing opera. That didn't happen and she sold cosmetics at B. Altman's instead.  My father repeated this as cautionary tale, but who's to know?

After living and working in Manhattan for many years, Gilda is now retired and living with her partner in Peekskill, NY. Her daughter Jennifer, was visiting from Asheville, North Carolina, was visiting and they both drove out on this gray and rainy day. Jenn is an actress, was in Guiding Light or Search for Tomorrow at the age of 14, and continued as a working actress for many years, living in Los Angeles for a good part of that time.   A few years ago, she moved with her partner, an assistant director to Asheville.
Sam has revived my father's old 16 mm movie projector. My father took millions of feet of home movies.   Choosing one at random the other day, Sam found the footage of my first birthday party--a grand Glauberman gathering held right here.   Gilda was there with her parents.

Jenn and Sam

After a fine lunch, we ran the film.  Gilda's father died when she was four---she has next to no memory of him--but there he was at my first b-day party holding three year old Gilda in his arms.

Spanning decades, the four of us spoke for hours filling in all sorts of family facts and figures.

The rain got heavier and heavier.  Logan had to stop, the porch workers had a bit of shelter, and the intrepid Dave mowed the entire expanse of lawn.  All in all, a very fine day.