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They are in
there. They are banging and bashing. Making such a racket on what I have left.
It’s not a lot, but it is all I have left.
A man who I’ve
met only once. Referred by a plumber. Without a reference and on blind faith,
I’ve shown him the work needed. He seemed professional. He had a tape measure
and everything. His estimate seemed resemble, but I have nothing to compare it
too.
One phone call
and the deal was made.
My preparation
meant moving furniture into cramp spaces. No sweeping or cleaning, just giving
space to a man I didn’t know to tear down the walls. I thought about moving
some things upstairs, but thought better of it by the steepness of the steps
and the weight of the objects, so they sit in the living room.
The rest of
the material from the attic was removed, filling the trash quota for another
week.
He arrived on
time this morning. That’s a good sign?
And he brought
a friend.
Reviewing the
area to be cleared, then handing me the proposal. It matched what he had
written on the back of his card and photographed with his phone during our
first meeting.
I’ve been
looking at these holes in the walls for months and hope that this will be the
jumpstart to the next project. Additional estimates are outstanding for the
trim repairs, new doors under the house, dormers patched or replaced, and a new
roof, but I can be painting inside while all that is going on outside.
But what of
the unknown?
Suppose they
hit a wire and cut out the electricity? Or start a fire? Or knock down the
ceiling fan I just had installed last week? Or they do a really crappy job and
I have to hire someone else to repair the repairs?
So here I sit
in Mansland, listening to strangers tearing up my house.
1 comment:
As scary as an operation. There's a recuperation period for both, too.
Good luck!
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