where wildly different is perfectly normal
Where the hell are my earplugs?
Where the hell are my earplugs?

Where the hell are my earplugs?

It is a beeyuuutiful day here on the Front Range. The sun is shining, the clouds are big and puffy, and it is deliciously warm. Instead of puttering around outside, getting my backyard and planters ready for spring planting, I am holed up inside, all windows tightly shut, blinds drawn to keep the hot sun out. Why, do you ask? It’s not allergies, I’ve been feeling (knockwoodmylipstoGod’searturnaroundthreetimesandspit) fine this year.

They started work on the new elementary school this week. On Monday I laughed about the portapotty out in the field. Yesterday I chuckled about the 6 foot high chain-link fence just past my back fence, that it made me feel like I was in a bad prison movie. (No kidding, a little barbed wire on the top and the “don’t drop the soap” jokes will begin). I’m not laughing today. The trucks have arrived. They are big, and they are loud.

We knew when we began building our house four years ago that this day would come, and having a school behind our house was actually a selling point for us. Our kids could walk to school, there wouldn’t be houses directly behind us, and oh yeah, the mountain views were jaw-dropping. We have front-row seats for July 4th fireworks up and down the front range, all spring and summer we watch hot air balloons float above (and sometimes over) us, I have hundreds of photos of sunsets. We love our house.

Since we were one of the first houses occupied in this part of the development, we’ve pretty much lived in a construction zone from day one. Except for the couple of popped car tires, we’ve been fine with it.

I think I’m hitting my limit, and it’s Day One of large trucks.

The graders are here, the very large, very loud, and very fast trucks that move dirt quickly. They have many uses, but today the pair of them are moving dirt from waaaay over there to here. As in, here behind my house. So this means every sixty seconds or so there is a very large, very loud, and very fast truck behind my house dumping dirt and going back for the next load. (Ooh, I think the driver may be in the crapper. His truck is parked over there and it’s been quiet for a couple of minutes).

From experience I know these guys work every day, all day, unless it is pure mud out there. My garden needs weeding before I plant. I usually send the boys outside alone because I can hear them. I can’t hear them with the door closed, and it has to stay closed because of the dust and allergens and noise. I’ve gotten so spoiled. I love to sit out there by myself for a few minutes in the afternoon and just enjoy the view and the relative silence. Sigh…

We need this school, desperately. The local school is terribly crowded and this elementary is long overdue. I love that it’ll be behind my house (especially the part about the playground behind my house). I just hate construction. Yes, I see the irony in living in a new house and hating development. The only way I can justify it is that we could only afford to build a house, not buy one. Strange, yes, but the housing market was different four years ago.

And apparently everything came out alright, for the grader is back on his loop. Aw, cuss. Pass the earplugs and the stiff drink. It’s going to be a long summer.

Whaddya think?

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.