Drumming on the rooftop
Go back to sleep, child. It’s not Christmas. That’s not the sound of tiny hooves drumming on the roof; more likely to be size 10 s, and the drumming is actually hammering. The roofers called, and they want to do the job a month early. No child, not a dream.
I’m actually content, if poorer after today. The quarter century of lackadaisical maintenance meant that some plywood had to be replaced along with the anticipated shingles. No big deal (when I’m not responsible for dragging stuff up a ladder and trying to keep things in place against the breeze). The team of professionals hardly interrupted my allergies (except for the sound of drumming, for hours on end).
They’re gone, and I soon will be. The car is loaded (almost), and by dawn tomorrow we’ll be going through gas like proper 21st century citizens. Peak oil – not on my watch. Having a bigger car makes packing go faster (and leaves that temptation to take even more stuff dangling like a tasty worm on the end of the proverbial hook.)
Another iPhone came into the house this afternoon, with one small glitch. Although you can hear your conversation, the ringtones don’t. Even with a full reset and software update, no joy. The phone will have to go to the Apple Store for exchange, even though it was supplied by an agent at the Bell Store. Corporate marriage, with the kids left to flounder. Again, not on my to do list. I’m aiming at a renewal of the soul with a brisk ocean breeze. No time for tinkle-free telephones.
