Well… I believe that the domestic upheaval has finally come to an end: the dust has settled, and all the scratches on the floor have been touched up with orange oil.

The original plans I had for today got tossed out the back door when the plumber showed up this morning to remove the radiators from our 1940s-era building. It was a two-step process: the plumber and our concierge had to move furniture with me so that the radiators were accessible, in order to cut the old pipes and unscrew them from the floors. Then I had to wait two hours for the scrap guys to come in with their dolly to remove the cast iron behemoths from where they lay scattered over my nice clean floors, one by one.

When it was all over, I surveyed the damage. Gaping holes in the walls where heat and time have eaten away the plaster and tar paper. Huge holes in the floor. Scratches along our lovely hardwood from stones in the dolly wheels and where they dragged the radiators to the dolly. Filthy footprints everywhere, and handprints to match.

Things have finally been set back to rights. I’ve swept up the dirt of countless past tenants from where it had been wedged behind the radiators (including rocks, balls, and a dog toy), washed the floors, wiped the walls, rearranged what furniture I could on my own. I found the cats in their creative hiding spots. (Did you know that the kittens have found a way to get into our box spring?) Then I had a shower to clean the grime off my hands and bare feet. Unfortunately, that’s not the end of it: somewhere between now and October, electric baseboard heaters have to be installed.

The good news is that while I was caught at home, I wrote a short story. At least I used my time well.