The beat goes on.
The beat (it's a drip actually) can be mistaken for the sound of a clock, it's that steady. It signals days and weeks of cleanup to come. As our favorite contractor said last night, "there will be at least one day of hell before this start to get better". Forewarned is forearmed, so they say.
I'm living in a world of cliche's that inevitably turn out to be true.
I remember having ice dams many, many years ago when we first bought this house. But since then, we've put on a new roof, new gutters, new ceilings. Now I think of the coming DOH as I do the winter solstice: Bring it on. At least we'll know that things can't get any worse.
I hear you all out there whispering, "be careful what you wish for"... don't I know it.
After doing yet another round of roof shoveling (alas, some of our roof is inaccessible), I left John filling pantyhose with calcium chloride. I'm not sure what was harder to find, the pantyhose or the filling. It made me realize again how much I miss my mother; she'd have had a dresser drawer full of them. All of which would be organized in unopened packages, sorted by color. in her world preparation for a snowstorm meant you went out to buy milk.
Having done my pantyhose part, I retreated to the studio where my music barely drowned out the sound of the You-Know-What in the corner. Clearly my grocery store tulips needed to be painted. For a little while, at least, there was some color to be seen and appreciated dearly. A wee bit of a painting, it's only 4 x 4, but powerful.
Because there's more snow in the forecast.