“The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of sixty minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is.”
– C.S. Lewis

We've successfully torn up the back of the house. The animals are surviving and things went well until they didn't. I'm sure we'll be back on track soon. The hiccup is self-inflicted because I'm not doing the work, so I get to be picky. Particular even.
As the walls come down and the floor is removed the contractor shakes his head. I see this because I stop in to check progress. I can't resist looking into what the latest big noise is all about. He asks me what the previous owners were thinking because blah, blah, blah, something technical, something important, and I have to shrug my shoulders and make tsk-tsk noises.
When we first moved in I went around and changed light fixtures. It's one of the things I can do without much drama, but in one room there was a lot of drama. We were hanging an adorable chandelier in my daughter's room and, well, something was sub-standard, or not uniform, or something. I was livid, but did what it took to get the light up and move on to the next project. I distinctly remember thinking, and may have even said out loud, "I feel sorry for the idiot who has to replace this," or something like that.
It certainly wasn't going to be me because this house was our starter house. We didn't plan on staying.
We stayed. The idiot turned out to be me. During lockdown everything had to be changed out, including the chandelier. It's now in the garage awaiting its new home in the garden.
I feel sorry for the idiot who has to figure out how to hang it next to the bird feeder. Though I'm sure it will be adorable.
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