The wife's Cousin Don is arriving next week to install a new floor downstairs, necessitating removal of the scattered, tattered relics of the sewage flood.
Past the rarefied realm of friends who'll help you move, beyond the borders of friends who'll help you paint, there was an uncharted frontier.
Uncharted, that is, before the dauntless expedition Devra mounted yesterday.
An expedition that made her the founding member of Friends Who Will Help Rip The Floor Out of the Downstairs, a pantheon of one.
Thanks, Devra!
With the wretched carpet, the space belowdecks inspired a low level existential dread, like a doomed ship's boiler room as shot by David Lynch.
Now, stripped to bare plywood and absent its dismal shawl of ridiculously patterned polyester curtains, it's sort of nice. The afternoon light pours into the main room and aside from the unmitigated disaster of the kitchen/laundry room/furnace/entry hall, which reeks of zero-budget improvisation, it's a nice space for one person.
The multipurpose hallway is what it is, barring extensive (and expensive) reconstructive surgery, but the other three rooms are rife with potential. It'll be fun to see what our pal does with it.
No comments:
Post a Comment