So, a little over a year ago, our house—a big, old Arts and Crafts beast—went from very nice (in a slightly shabby but dignified way) to full of water to a festering, toxic hell-hole to an empty shell in relatively short order. Then it sat around for a long time as we competed with some of the other two-hundred thousand flooded houses for the attention of our contractor. It wasn't a complete standstill—a roof, some plumbing, some wiring, a bit of carpentry, a little mold-remediation—but it was slow.... We would drive by, hoping maybe possibly to see a worker's truck, perhaps the front door open, a little activity. We were often disappointed.
But now the forces of light gallop forth. It's blazing: interior paint, exterior paint, trim, AC, floors, kitchen, sinks, lights, gutters… The front is a pickup truck parking lot. The doors are open from early in the morning until well after the sun goes down, and there's always a swarm of busy, industrious people coming and going. It's a sight to behold.
And our house will be more beautiful than it ever was. All the things we always wanted to do but never would have done, we now simply have to do. And you know what? Screw it.* We deserve it.
* Excuse my French, everybody in America.