Saturday was bleak and wet. Trapped indoors, my husband began the transformation of our living room.
When we first turned on the heat in our house, water escaped from the pipes and gushed onto the floors upstairs and through the ceiling. The wood and plaster did not appreciate the deluge and showed their contempt by cracking and flaking.
My husband and his father have repaired most of the heating system. Cold reigns only in two rooms over the living room and downstairs hallway. In order to replace the chill with warmth, we* needed to access the piping in the ceiling.
Cracked plaster, chipping paint and leaky pipes condemned the living room ceiling. It needed to go, and go it did.
The living room at 10:30 a.m. (or thereabouts)
In the early afternoon — Check out the exposed lath!
At the end of the day. The flecks of light show that the dust had not yet settled.
If only removing the piles would be as easy and fun as creating them.
*The word “we” should be understood as “my husband with my support and consent”. I am usually entertaining the Squiggle, pulling weeds in the garden or cleaning something. This time, I was in the basement sweeping 100-year-old dirt.