I’m writing this under siege.
Since I signed the first check July 7 to cover the framing materials for the addition to our circa 1894 cottage, I’ve had the contractor or some member of his crew dropping by every day. Or almost every day. At a specified or unspecified time.
The contractor gave us a six-week completion estimate. My husband and I, experienced in this game, scoffed and allowed for twelve. In this, the twenty-second week, our countenances grow long.
Way back in the beginning, the appearance of framing crew was exciting, despite the intermittent whine of saws and the bang of nail guns. More difficult to tune out was the post-adolescent guy who liked to sing. And giggle.
Our heavily-accented ditch-digging foundation specialist doesn’t think much of the current wave of immigrants, but he was a hard-working charmer, fit enough to qualify as a Blaze cover model. The plumber was a congenial fellow, as was the HVAC guy. The longsuffering city building inspector, who yearns to retreat to his acreage near Gadsden, was a fine man.
During this half year, the painter and his assistant/girlfriend accepted that their long-term cohabitation qualifies as a common law marriage. The trim work assistant advanced to a full-time position with the contractor. The contractor sold his rental property in Tuscaloosa and his salvaged his marriage. Maybe these happy endings signal that the work will soon be done.
I’ve hoisted several white flags, and it appears that I might be writing the final check this week. Or at least by next week.
The payoff for all this story material I've collected won’t arrive until I get the source material out of here. Then, I expect to resume a normal, regular and productive writing schedule. Or to be distracted by the holidays. I have to furnish the new room before company arrives!