I'm so happy that summer is over. That doesn't mean that I don't expect fall catastrophies (spelling?), but that at least the summer ones are almost over. I knew I needed the roof to be patched since Krissy had discovered the problem in one corner of the attic. I didn't know that it was leaking in around the chimney and that the plaster was beginning to crumble in what I laughing call my darkroom (no longer used in this age of digital printing.) The small dog almost noticeable in the photograph is probably another catastrophy, a rescue dog that I saw on line. But at least she's endearing.
Then there was the yard. It's been years since I've really been able to work in it, though I have memories of all the perennials (mostly shade growing since there were trees.)
Krissy and Chris decided to make me a present of having everything trimmed by the man next door. He has taken down every tree, every shrub in his yard and was not the right choice. But, frankly, I no longer care. I had to laugh when I saw the after, which I consider to be a graveyard for overgrown bushes. But I honestly feel fine about it, though it would have been better had I been allowed to supervise. At least the large rhododendron would have remained in tact. But, what the hell, I hated the color of the blooms. And it was a very nice gesture on their part.
And then there was a long, mysterious time of getting bitten when I slept. My hands, arms, face. That went on for months because I couldn't face that an errant bedbug must have hitched a ride in a friend's luggage. My doctor had never seen this type of bite and they didn't match anything I'd found in my middle-of-the-night web searches. But I learned much later that, in some people, the bites can leave large, red welts or surprising swelling. It took months to figure that out and get an exterminator. I don't know when I'll get everything back in order.
It was all expensive. But the roof doesn't leak. The plants will grow back. And there are no more bites. That's to the good.