I’ll blame it on the low thyroid, which has been corrected.
It’s freezing cold outside. It was 17 degrees F when I went outside to hang up our hummingbird feeders. One poor little Costa’s hummingbird started sipping from the feeder as I walked along in my pink plush bathrobe, so desperate for calories that he could not care less that he was inches from my bare hands.
I’m feeling guilty- are the horses warm enough? They are Arizona beasts, unused to conditions such as these. I’m stuck in the house, waiting for the men to come and finish the ceiling.
I’m wishing I didn’t know the meaning of the word “truss”. It’s been a long six weeks. First the hairline crack at Christmas, followed by phone calls, more phone calls, emails and visits to personally see What Was The Problem. The crack grew and spanned the entire ceiling. Appointments were made. Then rescheduled. It appeared we were put on the back burner, left to simmer for weeks until I boiled over, stomped down to the sales office for our community and said, Come look at this. Just look at it. And help. Please. We need it.
It’s falling apart at the seams! I said. Didn’t we choose to build a new home precisely to avoid such problems? The salesperson was appalled. Calls to corporate were made. The squeaky wheel got the grease.
It wasn’t so much as a crack as a fracture. The drywall broke under pressure. Or so I have been told.
How do you like what we have done with the place? Doesn’t the scaffolding add so much to the decor?