Author: Paul Armstrong

This morning in my email inbox (besides the usual 45 or so emails from China) I had one “How one can become a terrorist?”. In it is a link to a forum that has information on hiring people, making explosives, rockets, bombs, missiles, where to buy the explosive supplies, getting social security IDs, driver’s licenses,…

DAY 5: Yesterday all the plumbing was adjusted and installed. The new tub looks great. A drain that will work. Right now the subfloor and dry wall is going up.

DAY 4: No one showed up yesterday. A day behind now. Nothing to report. I’m scurrying about, roasting coffee, putting on my clothes, washing my scruffy face before I have to take Elliott to school, then I have to get a new keyboard for my computer upstairs. The clumsy oaf that I am, spilled coffee…

DAY 3: The plumbers are to be here sometime today. It’s 11:30am, nothing yet. The water lines are supposed to be put into the wall (rather than coming up from the floor, as they were before) and the tub installed. Here’s hoping they can do that today and remain on schedule. Mom comes into town…

DAY 2: The bathroom is fully deconstructed. It’s lovely. I prefer the bare studs and exposed pipes and wires to the old walls and moldy linoleum. Yesterday was messy, loud. Lots of sawing, smashing, dust. Elliott was a bit freaked out and couldn’t take a nap. It was joyous for me. The start of something…

It’s hard to enjoy coffee when ones throat feels like crackling fall leaves. Everyone in the house is hacking up a lung. Lovely sound. Not sure what we have going on today, seeing Madcap Puppet at Hyde Park Library. Hopefully Sonya and I will get to go out tonight, it’s been awhile since we’ve gotten out for fun…

Thursdays will be interesting. Sonya spends the morning at Abbie’s school helping out. I take Elliott to school, although today he doesn’t start till 10:30am. His first day. Ever. It will be quiet, but I realize this is the start and end of a constant eye on our children. It is after-all our role, to…

It’s late. Where has my sadness gone? What do I feel? What is in me? Why only anger? Why only laughter? What will a tear, a sob, do to me? Why do I bury everything and try for perfection, steadfastness, to be a glue that holds things together, some pillar of lifeless predictability? Of course…

Repetition all over again. It’s not really Monday already, is it? Ought to be an interesting week, as we try and juggle getting 2 kids to school in complete opposite directions in the city … thank God for Norwood Lateral (which connects the 2 parallel highways in Cincinnati, I-71 and I-75). Our days are full…