Tumult on a Friday

 So early this am, our affable painter Errico arrived. He is tasked with repainting our dining room ceiling to make it shiny, and a few walls to make rooms more dramatic, as well as touch ups all around the house. I really like him -- we've referred him to several people -- and when he arrived the other day I said he looked great.

"What do you mean? I'm gray and fat!" I told him I was as well, but he countered "Yeah -- but you're rich! That makes a big difference!"

So he and his helper are here, along with a crew demolishing the bathroom formerly known as "Grandma Sunny's" since that's the one she used when she stayed at our house. They're also going to demolish and refurbish the jack and jill bath the Ds used to share -- but neither has lived here full time since 2010. 

I think they're redoing a powder room, too, which I actually like, since the toilet in that one runs unless you return the flush handle to the horizontal -- a problem unsolvable since 90s era toilets were low slung -- one of the stupidest design ideas, especially for those of us aging and find them tough to get up from.

But my newfangled power toilets, in the jack and jill and Grandma Sunny baths, will remain -- each flush for me the "sound of freedom" from my job of plunging and sometimes snaking away clogs caused by, well, not me.

Apparently the serious stuff starts Tuesday, and our contractor friend told me maybe I ought to leave -- the loud chipping machine will be in use. She laughed when I noted things would get chippy. My brain remains very literal.

So after all of this is done, I'm guessing by my birthday in July at the latest, I should again have peace in my beloved house until Wifey figures out something else that needs upgrading. Whatever.

Also, next week, May 29th, is my Dad's birthday. He would have been 105 this year, but only made it to 63 and 46 days, I calculated that life span for me falls on September 3, after Labor Day, and I plan to throw myself a little party if the Big Man lets me meet and dare I hope surpass Dad's lifespan.

My sisters, 79 and nearly 76, long ago reached that milestone, but our Mom made it to 93 plus 14 days -- so they have a ways to go to ourlive her.

If by some strange fiat I make it to my 90s, well, no one will be more shocked than I. I would sign a contract TODAY for another 20 more decent years.

Time will tell. 

But for now, I hopefully get to live in a house with some spiffy new bathrooms. If not, Wifey and the Ds will hopefully make more money selling the place.

At least the toilet won't keep running...