Monday. That’s the day the long-awaited (and long-dreaded) foundation project commences.
The Wandering Monk and I had hoped to start in April, but it’s been far too cold and wet. It’s still cold, but we’re headed into a drier period, so here we go.
This weekend I’m schlepping the last movable stuff out of the back end of the house. We’re going to be tearing up sections of the floor, then replacing beams and jacking the house up from within, so it all has to go. (There is simply not enough ground clearance for anyone but a masochist or a devil-may-care 21-year-old to slither under the back end of the house to work on the foundation from beneath the floor.)
Where all the stuff from that half of the house will go, I’m still not sure. Wherever it ends up, it’ll surely disrupt life for the weeks (months?) this project takes.
Will foundation repair disrupt blogging? That I also don’t know. I’ll be the Monk’s sole minion. My jobs will entail hauling tearout rubble into the yard, keeping the work area clean, fetching tools, helping mix cement for the footers, leveling new posts, chemically treating exposed surfaces against bugs and rot, and eventually cranking the 20-ton bottle jacks to raise the house. And those are merely my minion jobs. As the client, I’m also on call for another set of duties. The Monk is very, very big on consulting on every decision, however minor. While that does produce a happier result when the job’s done, it means this poor client may not get much time to sit around and Think Deep Thoughts.
The more apprehensive the Monk is about a job, the more he calls for consultations. And he’s very apprehensive about this one.
So we shall see. But I’m sure there will be days off. If you don’t hear from me for a day or two, hang in there. I’ll be back. Probably with photos.
And if you happen to be at the NRA annual meeting …
I’m relaying a special request that you stop by a couple of booths and give unholy hell to those responsible for this sell-out. We’re talking about Springfield Armory and Rock River Arms, the two major forces behind the Illinois Firearms Manufacturers Association.
I’m not generally in the business of recommending that anybody punish firearms manufacturers for yet another of their many and typical sellouts. But this request comes from one of the lonely voices of hardcore gun-rights reason in Illinois who would like to feel less alone. So go get ’em. And you might just remind ’em:
No man escapes when freedom fails,
The best men rot in filthy jails.
And those who cried, “Appease, Appease,”
Are hanged by those they tried to please.