Last week was pretty grim; we started losing our back steps.
They were ugly, but functional, something we hoped to replace when we put up a deck. Everyone went up and down them all day in perfect safety, though, and then the Great Snow of 2010 came along. 38 inches of frozen wet later, they started crumbling. Really, seriously, in earnest crumbling. Turning into sand. Going away. Not waiting for spring/ summer, when we had plans to put in a deck. Nope, not waiting for our plans at all.
You see that? That bit of the middle of the shot where you can see the ground underneath the stairs? Yeah, if I think about that too much it makes it hard for me to breathe. YOU CAN SEE THE GROUND. THROUGH. MY. BACK. STAIRS. OH MY GOD. OHMYGOD.
Yeah. I'm not dealing spectacularly well, but hey, at least we didn't lose any gutters from all that ice, right?
Oh. Yeah. WRONG.
Gutterfail. We have it. Sam's there for scale, but really, his face says it all.
You see that face? That face is exactly how I feel about the house this week, plus 40% more crying and at least two panic attacks. Oh, and when I'm crying or freaking out you can see my lips, but otherwise, my boy has got it down. It isn't pretty out here, people. Sweaty, twitchy, nervous and at times abstractly considering arson, but definitely not pretty.
We've filed claims with our home insurance, and their Mr. Brenner is both attentive and has a thick Massachusetts accent: I find that last the most reassuring. He sounds a bit like home, which makes me feel safe. I even let my accent out a little when I call him, hoping beyond hope that he'll think, "She's one of us," and not, "Damn, I hate people from Connecticut."
Shit. Maybe I should have had Sam call. No one in New England hates people from Maine; they're at the top of the Up North Hate Pyramid. They get to hate everyone, wholesale, while we all marvel at what lovely open spaces they have, and such a lovely summers.