I’m seriously considering finding my own rock. Or, perhaps John Denver’s Rocky Mountain high would provide a nice respite.
In other news from my own little corner of the “world is going to hell in a hand basket”, I’ve fallen behind in my “Beginning Writer’s Workshop”. I have no excuse, but laziness.
Today, I woke up so darn early. 5:00 this morning. I tried to force myself to stay in bed, close my eyes and go back to sleep. Couldn’t do it. It’s a Tuesday thing. I have bowling in the morning and bereavement group in the afternoon. Maybe I should go Under a Rock house hunting instead.
A few months ago our refrigerator leaked and puddled onto our beautiful Brazilian cherry hardwood kitchen floor. We had the floor installed throughout the house about six years ago. At the time of the install, the floor people suggested that we buy an extra box of wood, just in case we needed a repair.
The leak has caused the boards around the fridge to buckle and blacken.
Last week, we called Dennis. He owns the store that we bought the floor from. He sent Louie over to assess the damage. I thought they would be able to rip out the problem and replace the bad boards with the spares we have in the garage.
Louie came in, looked and shook his head. Not the smiley “everything is going to be all right” up and down shake. Rather, it was the foreboding “tsk, tsk, we’ve done all we can, there is no cure” side to side shake.
Our house has that open floor plan. So the living room flows into the kitchen which flows into the dining room which flows back into the living room, which flows into the foyer and down the hallway.
“The best we can do,” said Louie,“is take out the kitchen floor, replace it with new boards.”
“Then we install molding at the living room and dining room entrances where the old floor meets the new floor,” he said.
“Of course, that is if we can even get that same wood,” he said.
“And even if they still manufacture that same exact floor, the dye lot probably won’t match, “ he added.
I shook my head up and down. Not the “I’m so glad you’re telling me this” shake. Rather, it was the “numb, I’m putting my fingers in my ears and saying la, la, la, I can’t hear you” shake.
An Under a Rock house probably doesn’t have Brazilian cherry hardwood floors or leaky refrigerators, for that matter.
By the way, instead of working on assignment #4 of my Beginning Writer’s Workshop, “Try Out Different Points of View”, I was doing this:
|Feather and Fan Scarf|
Valley Yarns Northampton Raspberry Heather