Let me start by saying, OK, yes, these are truly first-world problems. We have a roof over our heads, water to drink, heat, food and a relatively healthy family. But still – I’ve gotten to the point where I really can’t remember how long my squatting, kneeling, scraping and chiseling in our newly remodeled shower has been going on.
It’s not finished – one more day, tomorrow, I hope, of applying sealer, and it should be done. Not the bathroom, but the reparation of the horrible mess left by a crew who didn’t have a clue.
We should have just hired out the demolition and rebuilding and done the tiling ourselves – John and I are both experienced and perfectionistic tile-layers. I actually like doing it, but we thought we’d save time by hiring it done. Hah.
John lost days of work staying home to correct and supervise. I’ve spent the last week cleaning up their mistakes. John says I shouldn’t write this and people will think I’m an insane woman, but I’ve got to share what we were left with.
Oh, and let me add that we bought very dark gray grout – but what we’re left with is a strange concrete color and consistency. We suspect the grout was mixed – for whatever reason – with cement or thinset. What the hell, dudes? I found one little place with dark gray grout. Crazy.
It didn’t occur to me to take photos until I was almost finished, but I took a few yesterday and today. Granted, we had to leave for Washington and the grout and haze left all over the tile had time to really cure. And we were in such a haze over Doris’s fall and death that we didn’t pay as close attention as we should have.
After we got back, John ran the guys off – they’d done enough damage – and we proceeded to clean up after them. And, ultimately, we’ll have a fine-looking new shower, just with the wrong color grout.
Deep breath – I’m moving on.
One thing I’m moving on to is our precious youngest grandchild, Silas, who, at the moment, is in the throes of an asthma attack and can’t get a deep breath. So sad. He’s doing much better in general with his health problems, but I’m so sorry he inherited that – it runs deep on both sides of the family, but out of the five, he’s the only grandchild with it so far.
Yesterday afternoon we took a break from the damned tile to keep him for a few hours and had a great time. I played him several early Beatles albums on my little retro record player that John got me for Christmas. (That’s actually an Allman Brothers album in the photo, but you can see how cute the repro vintage record player is.)
When we listened to Magical Mystery Tour, Si especially liked “The Fool on the Hill,” and when I showed him the booklet in the album cover, he was very, very interested – kept saying, “Paul” every time we turned a page.
He also really dug the Chuck Berry and Carl Perkins covers and George’s rockabilly guitar-playing. Cutie. And I danced until my legs were tired.
Last night we and a choice between getting back to work in the shower or watching a movie and resting. Since my hamstring scar (from an old tear) was making its presence very known after the weeklong squat and scape workout – and the dancing – we decided to watch Magnolia, Paul Tomas Anderson’s 1999 masterpiece. I hadn’t seen it since it came out and John couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen it.
If you haven’t, you must. I can’t say too much – no spoilers here – except that the cast is huge and great. And, coincidentally, we ate pie while watching it; coincidentally since the length of the movie is pi, 3.14 hours.
I didn’t just know that – I found it when I looked up a verse from Exodus to make sure I was telling John something correctly, something I can’t say without ruining the movie for anyone who hasn’t seen it.
I’d intended to move on to more about recently watched movies and recently read books, but that will have to wait. I’m starting to wonder how long this post has been going on. Don’t want you to do the same.
So, until next time, count your blessings and take nothing for granted. The unexpected does happen.
Peace and love, y’all.