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May 26th 2011    Tim Candler

    Delivery of lumber is always excitement and telephone calls.  Then it arrives and a giant machine called a Moffett rumbles around, tearing up wet turf which encourages demon grasses that creep. 

    I have an idea though, that lumber fresh from the truck is the moment of perfection.  All that follows is noise and dust   and lost tools and the smell of paint and the possibility of physical harm. 

     As well, the better appraisal is tomorrow, because some of us had charge of the weather radio  last night and we are today torpid from jangled nerves and sleeplessness.

    Have to wish that alarm was a gentler sound.  Something that begins with "I am about to wake you up with a sound that will shatter any sense of importance you might once have had, but trust me it is not personal." 

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