Here it is, already Monday again. That was one fast weekend.
I did laundry and housework and played with the birds and read on Saturday. On Sunday, GC and I made a good dent in fixing the front steps. He did the carpentry while I did the cement work. It has to be finished by the day after tomorrow. I’ve cemented all the easier holes and cracks. Now I just have to do the deeper ones. This could be a problem, since you’re supposed to let the cement cure for 24 hours after every half-inch layer. I have one crack that’s pretty deep. I think what I’m going to do is duct-tape that crack so I don’t have to worry about the depth. Then I’ll put a thin layer of cement over the duct tape.
Originally I was planning to buy bags of cement and a cement mixer, but then we went to Home Depot and discovered a bag of cement weighs a ton and a cement mixer costs $649. So GC and I checked out all the guys who work at Home Depot and picked the one we thought looked most knowledgeable, and asked him what we should do. He turned us on to the easy $37 solution. All we had to buy was a 5 kg bucket of stuff and two trowels. (The duct tape was my own idea.)
After we’d put in a couple hours work, I insisted we knock off and go to the Museum of War to see the Camouflage exhibit and the World Press Photo 10 exhibit. The Camouflage exhibit is only here til next weekend, so if you’ve been meaning to see it, it’s time. The photo exhibit is in the lobby, so you don’t even have to pay to see it. A lot of the photos are extraordinarily evocative. If you don’t feel like feeling some intense feelings, don’t go. (I’m glad I went.) (UPDATE: Oops, I just realized that yesterday was the final day of the exhibit, so you can’t go even if you do feel like feeling some intense feelings.)
Speaking of camouflage, did you read about that missing woman whose husband found her body four months after her disappearance? It was in the house they lived in, under a pile of hoarded junk. The police had even gone through the house with search dogs who hadn’t found her. Can you imagine the state that house must have been in for a decomposing body not to be found for four months, even by police dogs? This story made me feel virtuous about my own housekeeping standards.
I have to go cook some oatmeal for my birds now. I’ll leave you with cats trying to figure out a treadmill.