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House burbling
Sasha Blaze
At long last--I've only been calling frantically around a three-county area for six weeks--I think I have a mason coming to repair the falling blocks of stone around my front door. He's going to stop by this evening as he and his wife return from the state fair; I'll wait to exhale until he says for sure that he can and will do the job, and gives me a firm date, but I do feel less panicky than I did. There's nothing like opening your front door and having a block of stone crash and break in two right in front of your feet . . .

tubbysnuggles asked what my house looks like, so here it is. The shrubs looked better before I trimmed them, but they'll grow back soon enough. Once the repairs are done, I'm going to treat myself to a nicer porch light; I've hated this dinky plastic one ever since I bought the house, but never quite got around to replacing it. The house was built in 1958 of local stone; I have a triple-width and double-depth lot, as do all the houses on this street. The extra elbow room is a great luxury, and believe me, I do know that--so when I whine about the impending retirement-complex construction, you should probably take it with several grains of your favorite seasoning.

For my own reference, more than anyone else's entertainment, here are "before" pictures of my back yard--looking across the open space where the retirement complex will go. The foreground and middle-ground oak trees are mine; you can see the doomed cedars beyond them. My property line runs straight across, about a foot in front of the cedars.

Looking northwest:

Looking north-northeast:

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Oh, man. Sigh. Losing such an expanse of greenery is going to be heartbreaking, I understand much better now (not that I didn't before, but seeing it brings it home.)

On the up side, now you have an excuse to build a big privacy wall/fence/hedge around your back yard for your very own secret garden, oui?

Your house is lovely! Eek for falling stones, though.

May I be paranoid on your behalf and suggest a friends-lock for this post? Otherwise someone'll know exactly where to go in order to spirit Mally Lee away.

Hee! Mally Lee has a sword, and isn't afraid to use it.

I am much comforted this morning, after talking to the stonemason; he's one of those utterly reliable, older rural men who make me feel that the world isn't such a bad place after all. Plus, men like that know other men who do necessary things (such as repairing the settling under my north and south doors). Now, if I had only been smart enough to call him six months ago . . .

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