When special means special
I didn’t recognize the truck. Or the driver, actually. Not unusual; we haven’t had that many visitors since our arrival. With the dog on pause, I went out to meet and greet.
Turns out, the driver had been here before. As in before the house. He was the contractor who laid in our ICF foundation, and with a similar job underway, the almost three years since his effort here left him with technical questions. As in “How did I do that section around the main door?” I had no problem with a site inspection; it seemed strange when he asked where the basement stairwell was located, until I clicked. The last time he was here, this was just a muddy hole in a muddy field. The house came after the fact.
He took the needed measurements and we chatted for a bit before he turned the truck and headed west. It’s true; with a pre-built home, especially one where we were absent for the process, there hasn’t been much opportunity to “touch base” with those involved. Yes, I thanked him for his workmanship.
And with that out of the way, I bid farewell to she who would be a tourist on a beautiful day. A picnic, up near Kensington. The dog was content to stay here, with me, in the shadow of his biscuit box. Our turn to ramble will come, another day. As I had mentioned to the contractor (who is preparing to sell his business and retire), when every day is Saturday, special means something “special”.
