Monday, August 31, 2009
So last night we learned that Don is from Pennsylvania by way of Illinois. Hey, I know that road! For more about Don and the gang, check out Lauren Goodlad’s essay in today’s Chronicle of Higher Ed.
I’d do some Monday-morning Mad Men-blogging myself, but I’m tired. What’s worse than housepainting? Cleaning the garage, of course! (It’s basically a big storage shed—you can’t get a car in there, or, if you did, you wouldn’t be able to get anything else in there.) And what’s worse than cleaning the garage? Why, cleaning the garage after workmen have torn up your rotten parking bay that was full of pits and undulations that filled with water after every rainfall and turned into treacherous ice patches in the winter, replacing it with a gently sloping surface that drains water into the backyard, in a process that left every single thing in the adjacent garage/shed—rakes, brooms, bicycles, lawn mower, gardening implements, containers of motor oil and Armor All, stray golf clubs, assorted boxes and plastic tubs—covered with a layer or two of fine concrete dust. So every last item had to be taken out and wiped down before I could get to the fun part, namely, sweeping a garage/shed floor covered with the detritus of many rains (because everything used to drain into the garage after a rain, see “rotten parking bay,” above). Removing the two bags of concrete and the shattered remnants of the soapstone basement sink—approximately one trillion tons, give or take a pound—was a bit of a strain on ye olde neck bones, but it had to be done. Though I admit I did, once or twice, think back to the conversation I had about eight years ago with the elusive Janet Lyon, in which I said “um, the house doesn’t have a functional garage, and that parking bay is a mess, and it’s really going to suck when it snows,” and Janet said, “oh, don’t worry, it won’t snow.” This being central Pennsylvania and all. Oh, and the three steps leading down from the rotten parking bay to the backyard consisted of rotting railroad ties with large metal spikes sticking up through them. I do wonder who thought that was a good idea. But it’s all fixed and safe and sane now, and I will get some rest.