The builder (hereafter known as Brit) came by last night with J, the chatty plumber. They stayed for about an hour, thumped around the house, threw around lots of technical terms - most of which went way over my head - and settled on some dates. We signed our contract just before Brit left.
"Roger that, Houston. We are GO for ignition."
This morning, I have no fewer than three union guys clomping around my house and yard as they disconnect, move, and reconnect the gas line that services the house (because, of course, both the water and gas lines come in JUST where we plan to build). They've dug a big, ugly hole at the corner of the house killing, I am certain, the rose that was trying to establish herself in that spot. I need to learn to resign myself to big, ugly holes for the foreseeable future, I suppose. All the cats are jumpy, and I can't really blame them as there are some pretty alarming banging and crashing sounds coming from the vicinity of the work site. The noise they just made sounded very much like a scene from a SiFi flick, where a spaceship is fired upon and then begins a slow descent, complete with metallic screeching and moaning, to its final demise. They are so enthuisiastic in whatever they're doing in the basement, in fact, that I can feel the floor shaking underneath me. I'm certain I don't want to know the process by which they're playing with one of the main ingredients of fire.
Once the water and gas are relocated, the real work begins. Watch this space for updates.
