There's a lot going on here. A lot. Really a lot. Home improvement-wise. The mens are having a field day. There has been gradual progress on the garage, nothing hugely visible, just a lot of preparation. This weekend the guys will "power-wash" the outside in preparation for painting. Guys. Tools. Power-Wash. Are you getting the message yet?
Next door, the blue-tarped garage has become this:
History, baby. (They will rebuild)
A new one-inch copper connection to the water main.
When I came home yesterday, the plumber was still out there in the waning daylight finishing up. It has been screamingly busy at work and I am not dealing with it very well. But yesterday was not so bad. I actually finished something, left at a reasonable time, and was looking forward to a quiet evening. Supper. Knitting. TV. Boy was I wrong. There were seven men in my house. Seven. Men. Mr. Celia had invited some of them for a steak barbeque. The rest of them were part of the legion of young men who are attracted by the Boyo magnet, when he is in residence. Seven men, all in a celebratory mood (The Boyo's here! The plumbing's done!). And me. So much for a quiet evening.
Hubub, is more like it. Boisterous dinner. Lots of beer and wine. And joking, and stories. Kind-of like a party. On a work night.
And once dinner was over, they had to lay out the drip line to the parking strip. I'm not complaining, mind you, I requested the drip line, so the parking strip stays watered in the dry summer months. It's just that dinner took a l-o-n-g time and they didn't even start doing that drip-system plumbing until 10 p.m. and all that hubub was out there in the front yard disturbing the neighbors. On a work night. Riding herd on seven boisterous men without getting cranky - I just wasn't prepared for it. But I didn't get cranky. Well, not very cranky.
Tomorrow, the plumbers are coming to replace the sewer line. And tomorrow evening I'm taking the second Mitts with Moxie class at knit-one-one. Serendipity. I will miss most of the hubub, have a fun evening, and maybe I'll come home to find Mr. Celia all tucked up in bed. At least a girl can hope.