Kids are with their dad now, so smelling kid-free time like night-blooming jasmine wafting through the usual mac & cheese and Ovaltine-tainted miasma, I prettied up and let Magnar drag me to a party last night. A real party, with fascinating grownups drinking and dancing and generally carrying on to the tune of interesting conversation backed by the beat of shared and diverse experiences.
Home around 4am, we didn’t get up until 2:30 this afternoon, when, in typical island fashion shit started happening …
A JCB showed up to level my road, a job that’s been waiting for months now. Apparently, Magnar’s plan to show up with an excavator tomorrow (a photo op with hysterical undertones I’ll share when it’s happened) prompted a pissing contest between men with big machines, and our very own Irish builder (Not O’Reilly, but a Rogan) deciding that he’d better get here first … said something about me chewing up his balls … and getting the job under way. Goodie!
Some fiasco broke out at the top of my road between men, a water pipe was broken, the earth moved (or at least a good amount of dirt), and Magnar was called in to smooth things over … road, feelings, whatever needed smoothing … while I stayed well out of it and let it be a guy thing.
During the course of all, I found out why I can’t get a gardener. Seems there’s a ghost living on my road, so no one will come down here. Hmmmmm.
Island life! Gotta luv it