fifi’s grafitti

I don’t much like living in a construction zone. I hear the carpenters’ trucks pull up to the curb outside my bedroom window about 7:45 a.m. and I know it’s no use to try to catch a few more minutes of sleep. Within just a few minutes the two brothers in the white pickup are wielding their pneumatic nail guns, tacking builder’s felt to the new framework around the perimeter of the house that will be the skirt. Meanwhile, the other two guys are setting up their saws and R brings his stuff into the house to work on the new closet for the hot-water tank. We have no privacy while this is going on. The bathroom door doesn’t close all the way now that the house is level. The noise will be over soon enough, but not TOO soon for me. At least I can take myself off to work at noon. Phoebe & my mom have to stick it out for the whole day. Phoebe has taken to growling at R when he comes in — a strange sound from such a gentle puppy. She doesn’t like living in a construction zone either.