I woke up to the melodious tones of construction equipment in front of my house. As we live on a dead-end street, the noise brought me to my feet to peek out the slats of the blind and sure enough, there was a wheel loader, a skid steer, a dump truck and about a half dozen men with picks and shovels. They had come to replace the concrete sidewalk–or at least to dig it up.
My first thought was, oh great! Here I am in my jammies, and I need to get my car out of garage and park it on the street. Needless to say, I raced down to my bedroom, stripped off my nightgown and donned a pair of shorts and a top to be presentable enough to move the car. What a way to start the day!
When we first moved in to this little house of horrors twelve years ago, we had to replace all the major things a person has to do to live in a home comfortably, including having the cement sidewalk in front as well as up to the house replaced. I thought we’d done our part to help make the city safe as people walked by our house. But there’s a troublesome tree on the easement between the cement and the street and the darn roots raise havoc when it comes to keeping the cement even. So here we go again. Sometimes I think I would rather live in a tent. (No, not really.)
The only thing I don’t understand is this: If the sidewalk belongs to the city, why do I have to pay to replace it? It’s one of many mysteries of life.
Hope your Monday starts off a bit quieter than mine did.