As July closes. The ship sails.

There was the shed debacle and it is … in the process of being overcome. Most of the piles mostly make sense and few of them are in the way, and there is new hope that a much cheaper path to the same blank-space end will come to be.

There was the curse of the broken pipe, which in fifteen minutes, turning on a dime and turning again, was revealed so far as anybody knows, to not be broken at all; blessing.

Just as much effort or more was expended, but less money.

Now I am home.

Tub. Doors. Sure. But I am here and the basic platform of that old sophomore Maslow pyramid is laid down properly, until such time as the cash should run low, and I am reasonably sanguine about even that.

Soon comes the August
And Everything After.