So last night I was on the phone with a friend who bought a condo in New York and who had recently experienced the minor inconvenience of having all of the rainwater in the world run straight down the interior of her south wall, and then we cried together and reminisced about the glory days when we rented apartments.
Things are getting better, but in that way where the gangrenous limb needs to come off to save the body.
That’s our pool. Or it was, a week ago; the concrete and coping that was in such terrible shape has been ripped up and carried away.
The tiles have been removed (there will be a separate post on tiles… the same guy who installed the tiles on this pool in 1967 is installing the new batch today, which is neat!) and the unbroken ones stored for safekeeping.
I’m not sure the type of people the pool company is used to dealing with, but they keep promising us the place will look fine when it’s done. They keep assuring us, every chance they get, that demolition and construction is dirty and some mess is unavoidable.
I keep looking around and thinking, do you really not see the rest of our house?