Another Termite Post

My master carpenter friend is going to fix my house. Again. Under one condition- he doesn't have to do any of the demolition. The ridiculous basement ceiling must be brought down by someone else. Enter me.

The naked eye from afar, with the ceiling down, can't tell how bad the damage is.

Up close, however, is a different story. This beam is supposed to be holding my living room floor up. Considering I can stick an entire screwdriver through the beam, I'd say it isn't holding anything up. I could easily have removed this piece of wood entirely, but I'm gonna let the carpenter take care of that.

These joists are important. Also, they are floating in midair.

Ever since I married into the Goodridge family, I have become incapable of wearing the proper footwear for the occasion. I climbed a mountain while wearing my slip-on dress shoes. I think I moved a piano while wearing sandals. I routinely spend time on top of ladders while wearing sandals. And, of course, tonight, I wore my old falling-apart sandals while tearing apart hundreds and hundreds of pounds of concrete and steel above my head. I'm brilliant.

When I came upstairs, emerging victorious from the termite pit, Robyn muttered an "oh my goodness, have you SEEN yourself?" No. I hadn't, actually. Just be thankful I did not take any pictures of the black crap I will be blowing out of my nose and chest for the next 3 weeks. Note to self: wear a mask next time. And close-toed shoes.