And lo, it was progress, and it was good.
On the first of July they took away my grass, and then my sidewalk, leaving me with a 4 foot chasm, and no mail service for 2 weeks. The chasm got shallower with gravel, and then after another week, they gave me back a side walk, surrounded with weeds and gravel bits and clumps of concrete. Delta barked for weeks, angry that we did not bid her warning, allowing those pox-ridden city people to take her sidewalk. She was just getting over the shock when they stole her sidewalk on the other side of the street. Mayhap she will never be the same again.
But lo, it was progress.
In the middle of July, they gave me back my parking sign, but not on the street. Oh, ho, they put it right in front of my house, where I cannot but help to smack the passenger side door into it. And prithee, I found a gorbellied dismal-dreaming scullian in a white hat, and I demanded that he move it, and he said nay. (And on a side note, always find the guys in the white hats, the ones in the yellow hats are idiots, but will wolf-whistle at you, which is a nice pick up to a crummy day. They have no answers about time lines though)
But lo, it was. . .
On the first of August, which was also a Saturday, they took away my street. With loud and smelly equipment, and back-up alarms, beginning at 7 am on the rump, they started digging. And lo, my street was gone, and in it's place was a 5 foot hole, and the neighbour's dog from down the street really did get lost. And then they ripped up much of the rest of the neighbourhood, leaving me each night, bereft, as I tried to figure out where I might park my car, and frantic each morning, as I could not remember where I parked my car the night before.
And in the middle of August, verily, it did rain. Turning where the road once was into a crater of water and slime, and meaning that I could boat to work, but not walk my groceries into the house. And construction stopped entirely, and hasty consultation of entrails bid no answers to this watery mess.
But, lo . . . .
And in the last week of August, a machine of great munificence did come, and it was called a packer, and thee house did shake, and they did give me a gravel road and more cracks in my plaster. And it came to be that I ran into my city councillor at a community event, and I did tell him that if those sordid and vile machines woke me up one more time at 7 am on a Saturday morning, and if I had to wash the dad-blamed deck off once more, I was going to phone him up, and he'd better be out there with his sword and shield, protecting my precious sleep, or knock on another door for him during an election, I would not! And he was alarum'd, but could help me not.
But. . . .
And forsooth, it is, this day, the first of the month, and lo, there is equipment outside my house, and hark, a water truck sprays down my gravel road (making an unholy mess), and lo, I am left on my covered in dust, newly stained front porch, screeching like a fishmongers wife,
"Thou beslubbering rump-fed boar pigs, if you take another damn thing away from my infrastructure, without bloody well finishing what you've started, I'm going to smack you upside the head with your own shovel".
Ahem.
Ahem.
