Story One
Our water damage ordeal is finally DONE. The leaking water softener was replaced immediately, the subsequent flood waters were dried quickly and efficiently, but the repairs took forever. Not really “forever” but seventy-seven days.
During that time we hosted BZ, Sutton, Jonesy, had visitors from Nebraska, took a five-day trip to California, several short trips to northern Michigan and when we remained home, we had to go upstairs to use the bathroom. Our hosting experiences and various trips were wonderful , but waiting to time our dashes upstairs – not so much. I developed a new appreciation for those who successfully survived the “outhouse” days.
I’m not sure if you realize it or not but here are a few stats that may give you a truer perspective of seventy-seven days. The mice in our garage could have reproduced at least three times. Over achieving mice would have reproduced four. We could have had a litter of dogs, cats, fox and wolves. We could have doubled our squirrel, rabbit, and groundhog population – twice. And here’s the shocker for me, if we had the correct breed of kangaroo living with us, they could have had reproduced twice in that time frame. I can only imagine the yard waste that would have developed from such a menagerie. You would have to step lightly everywhere.
And the mind blower. There were 76 days leading up to the final day and there are 76
more days until the end of the year. BOOM!!!
Our repairs look great. Ruth, as always, did a wonderful job of selecting just the right colors, textures, fixtures, and took the opportunity to rearrange our downstairs living space. We expanded our remodeling adventure to address a few areas that could use some sprucing up. We have an entirely new look in our bathroom, family room, utility room and two bedrooms.
We get to enjoy everything for a week before we head south. I’m just happy that it’s DONE.
Story Two
My dad would have been ninety-nine today. He passed nineteen years ago and I think about him every time I write this blog. Here’s a quick tale about him being DONE.
When my cousin, Gene, was about eleven he came to our house to spend a few summer days. He needed a haircut so Aunt Ruth gave him a dollar so he could get one from Henry or Pete, our local go to guys. Her directions were clear, “get a short cut that will last the summer”.
It was decided that he would get his “cut” on Saturday. While he had the cash to get the cut, Gene really didn’t want to spend his money that way. That’s when my dad stepped up. “I can cut your hair.”
Keep in mind that my dad had never cut anyone’s hair. He had a pair of scissors, a comb, and a desire to give it a shot. Gene was a willing participant looking to literally “save a buck”. The stars aligned. It was a perfect match.
The two settled on a cutting location. They went to our basement with a stool placed near the laundry tub. Gene took a seat and the hair started flying. I sat on the basement steps and looked on with wonder. I “wondered” why Gene wanted my dad to cut his hair, and I “wondered” why dad offered to take on the task.
Dad did his best to make sure that the cut was even from left to right and from his forehead to the nape of his neck. The goal was to have a common short length over his entire head. Each time Dad assessed his work, he determined that I little more needed to come off one side or the other. He cut back and forth, side to side, front to back. He finally reached perfection.
Gene had the shortest haircut that I had ever seen on anyone. He was peach fuss short of
being bald. But it was uniform, inexpensive (you get what you pay for), and he was DONE.