7:44 pm. Just back from a walk around the neighborhood. House smells of glue and sealing agents thanks to the hardwood floor men who put in a good half day’s work before packing up and driving off to the corner tavern.
It would probably be right to feel sorrow for the oak trees who gave their lives to become the kitchen floor, but seven weeks into the renovation, there is no quarter asked or given. It’s every tree-hugging son of an acorn to himself!