Today we lost one of the good ones. I knew our time was short, so I woke early to care for and spend some quality time with my fated friend. He lived a very full life. In fact, I don’t’ think he could have fit another cubic foot. His world was filled with special fragments and memories of my own. Infused with napkins from my wedding, trinkets from far reaches of the globe, and snapshots of debauchery in my 20’s, I said goodbye to our beloved dumpster.
It’s as if my life before the Internet never existed. Mixed tapes, beer steins, and fax machines were pitched into the void and carted off. By Mumford and Sons. It’s not like I’m going to miss any of it. Most of what ended up in the dumpster is fantastic trash or all together obsolete. A few nostalgic pieces were difficult to part with, but for the most part, I found our mass disposal experience to be extraordinarily cathartic. Junk is junk.
We passed the day sweating buckets while painting super awkward corners of hallways, screwing excessively repetitive fastener patterns for decking balusters, and steering clear of Dave Gilbert – our hardwood floor aficionado. The countertop folks came by to produce a template for our kitchen, and I destroyed what was left of our kitchen sink. This is not a good development.
Scotty bought us a brand new copper sink. It’s stunning. It would have looked amazing above our refinished original wood floors and under our new granite countertops. It’s a work of art. But it won’t fit in our 1887-engineered kitchen. Too big and too deep. Just another daily setback in the life of 91 Why Street. I needlessly brutalized a 14 foot 2 x 6, Diana poured joint compound over our stone retaining wall, and we continued to pound out another 10-hour day. I just wish it didn’t feel like treading water.
By 6 pm, Dave needed to apply a coat of deadly wood floor poly. It was our cue to bug out. We hit the beach to afford Kéa her 45 minutes of happiness, and continued east across Narragansett Bay to the posh sailing burgh of Newport. Home to raised polo collars, pink pants, and top-siders; Newport is our brief port in a seemingly endless storm. For now I’ll happily take refuge.