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thanateWent through the ex-closet into the new bedroom in the sunny afternoon, and am reminded of why we're doing this. This is my new desktop image. It makes me happy:
Things that do not make me happy include the fact that the idiot driving the cement truck decided his first placement wasn't quite good enough, and backed out only to discover that the ground in the backyard wasn't up to being driven on twice. So he rocked back and forth in a full cement mixer, driving at full speed, over the base of the oak tree at least twenty times (really) while I cringed & whimpered. If the tree is still alive in five years after that amount of root damage, it'll be little short of miraculous.
After all that, the truck ended up in a worse place than it had started, which meant that they needed to add a lot more water to the cement, and so the guys smoothing out the basement just left. For the last two hours or so they've had a fan on the concrete to help it dry, which would be great except that it has been aggressively blowing air in from where they went for their smoke breaks, and my house now smells so bad that I am sitting on the porch so I can breathe. I really am not looking forward to rolling around on the floor in misery tomorrow afternoon when I'm supposed to be driving to my grandparents house. Also, I am not done packing, and it's getting very cold out here. And there's bread dough I was going to bake, which is sitting out on the living room table and may or may not be edible by the time I can get it in the oven.
There are currently no pictures of the massacred back yard, or the beautifully finessed concrete. What I have photos of is the journal I made myself to take to Viable Paradise.the_impassive may think it's pretty.
antler button, bit of lucet cord I used as a hair tie at pennsic, fancy machine zig-zag stitch
No one but me will ever see my pretty coptic stitch chain binding.
A Journal of Writing created for the Viable Paradise Workshop and thereafter in this year MMXI anno Domini by the common reckoning created for [[me]] by her hand, this seventh day of October known also in [[our house]] as the day that the giant cement truck did its best to murder our mighty oak, may it live to shelter many sedges hereafter, and also birds and squirrels.
packing paper from when my parents moved from Hawai'i to Long Island, old archaeological drawings from a fabled project before-my-time
nautical charts retired from the submarine my father was on when I was born
evil contour drawing from middle school art class, historical map of the Ft Meyer area
instructional poster from my brother's vintage laser tag set
and a copy of the english-metric cocktail construction chart, just in case
Things that do not make me happy include the fact that the idiot driving the cement truck decided his first placement wasn't quite good enough, and backed out only to discover that the ground in the backyard wasn't up to being driven on twice. So he rocked back and forth in a full cement mixer, driving at full speed, over the base of the oak tree at least twenty times (really) while I cringed & whimpered. If the tree is still alive in five years after that amount of root damage, it'll be little short of miraculous.
After all that, the truck ended up in a worse place than it had started, which meant that they needed to add a lot more water to the cement, and so the guys smoothing out the basement just left. For the last two hours or so they've had a fan on the concrete to help it dry, which would be great except that it has been aggressively blowing air in from where they went for their smoke breaks, and my house now smells so bad that I am sitting on the porch so I can breathe. I really am not looking forward to rolling around on the floor in misery tomorrow afternoon when I'm supposed to be driving to my grandparents house. Also, I am not done packing, and it's getting very cold out here. And there's bread dough I was going to bake, which is sitting out on the living room table and may or may not be edible by the time I can get it in the oven.
There are currently no pictures of the massacred back yard, or the beautifully finessed concrete. What I have photos of is the journal I made myself to take to Viable Paradise.
the_impassive may think it's pretty.antler button, bit of lucet cord I used as a hair tie at pennsic, fancy machine zig-zag stitch
No one but me will ever see my pretty coptic stitch chain binding.
A Journal of Writing created for the Viable Paradise Workshop and thereafter in this year MMXI anno Domini by the common reckoning created for [[me]] by her hand, this seventh day of October known also in [[our house]] as the day that the giant cement truck did its best to murder our mighty oak, may it live to shelter many sedges hereafter, and also birds and squirrels.
packing paper from when my parents moved from Hawai'i to Long Island, old archaeological drawings from a fabled project before-my-time
nautical charts retired from the submarine my father was on when I was born
evil contour drawing from middle school art class, historical map of the Ft Meyer area
instructional poster from my brother's vintage laser tag set
and a copy of the english-metric cocktail construction chart, just in case
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Date: 2011-10-08 12:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-08 03:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-09 11:53 pm (UTC)And yay house coming together!