Barnstorming on an Invisible Segway

It's kind of sad talking to the competent contractors we decided not to go with on this basement bathroom thing, because they're all fairly clearly hungry for work. I didn't mind telling the incompetent one that I appreciated the other contractors sending out people who could do an actual estimate for me, but all the others seemed like they would produce reasonable bathrooms in our basement. In some ways I guess I could be reassuring that they were on the right track. Still, saying no to people is part of life, and I'm glad we've got this settled and are moving forward with it.

In other house news, there seems to be a recurring and deeply unpleasant noise coming from somewhere in the backyard or immediate vicinity. markgritter heard it first and thought that it was timprov up being sick in the night, so we were greatly pleased to hear he'd done no such thing, then baffled as to what it could have been. Heard it again this morning and immediately knew why markgritter had thought that's what it was: I had to verify that it was not that, because it sure sounded like it. Any theories about this? I looked out in the backyard, and there did not seem to be anybody vomiting back there, which is really just as well but still confusing. (I'm really hoping that pameladean will read this and say something like, "Oh yes, that's the autumn pre-migration cry of the timproval pukeybird, very common, slightly early this year, little brown thing, difficult to spot but unmistakable to hear." And then I will feel better.) (Note to pameladean: I will only feel better if I have some indication that you are not yanking my chain.)

And in more pleasant house musings, aliseadae was asking about space that's ours, and I realized once again how much I like my office. It is in most ways a very ordinary room, the whole bit with walls and a ceiling and a floor and like that. Two windows look out on the backyard, which is mostly filled with things that don't make alarming noises, like birches and oaks and poplars, and the quality of light changes greatly from season to season and I like them all. In winter it's the warmest room in the house. The closet is full of manuscripts and presents--right now there are presents for seagrit and Grandma and jffgrnfld and Mother and Dad in there, but there's almost always some present for somebody there. And the walls are a very rich concentrating color called Cobalt Stone, and I have my grandpa's desk and bunches of books in here and it's all very nice.

In an ideal world, I would already have the smaller computer desk in addition to Grandpa's, and Grandpa's would already be fixed on the panel that's broken, and instead of the gauzey blinds I would have thick white Roman shades with silver dragonflies embroidered on them, and there would not be a built-in ironing board I never use for ironing even when I'm steady enough to be safe with the iron because I set up the ironing board we already have in the living room, so the one in here is just wasted wall space. But there's a map of Iceland and a photo timprov took and one of my grandpa and on the whole I think it would be silly of me not to love this room.