…with a concrete sawyer. The garage is built onto a concrete pad, so in order to pour a new one without causing a huge mess, someone had to make a clean cut along the garage door, the rockeries and the steps. The process started today. I wasn’t here, but god that must have been noisy.
I have cautious optimism about the contractor. That’s about as good as I get until I see proof of honest, prompt, quality work. My enthusiasm about engaging contractors corresponds to most women’s enthusiasm about mammograms and pap smears: it makes you feel vulnerable, it generally hurts, and there could be very adverse results–and whatever they are, you will have to pay. But if this is not done, water will keep getting into my garage and damaging my siding. Not good.
Part of the headache is the need to find alternate parking for my truck and Deb’s car for a week. Happily, we have wonderful neighbors. Mrs. A has graciously permitted us to park over at her place except for Sunday, when her place is full of family. Long life and health to Mrs. A.
Why am I writing about this mundane subject? Because I was told to, and because I didn’t do any other writing today (errands), and because writers must write.