The big seep
What a strange week I’ve had.
The toxic oil spill next door turned nasty, with Landlordy losing it. The painters, Mario and Luigi and their various spawn, were up all hours, playing Katy Perry with the lights a blazin’, and our worst fears may be realized and we might have to move. That’s because the insurance folks are still finding oil in the basement next door and think it might have seeping into our side.
And that means the toxic oil spill crew might have to break up our basement floor to see if our side has been contaminated.
Another week on Smyth Road, with a simulated war zone outside my window: backhoes, Caterpillars, paving trucks, no side walks, orange cones blocking our ability to get the car out. Inside, there is the fallout from the furnace inspection that went wrong, with hundreds of gallons of oil flooding the floor of the semi-detached next door. The neighbors have moved out; we thought we had dodged the bullet. Maybe not.
We may have to move into a hotel, which is complicated when you have tropical fish, a retriever and two pugs, in addition to the hobo children who are squatting here. We’re thinking just bite the bullet and get the hell off this ridiculous street, with the cops arresting perps in our backyard, trees felling our Hydro wires and the endless construction that has the fire trucks and the ambulances being re-routed off their path to the hospital.
It would be too bad; I like living here. For seven years, it’s been my oasis from the nasty world outside, a place where I can hide from all the allergens that made my life miserable when I was a worker bee. I spent years being sick, suffering from respiratory ailments and colds when I worked inside the sealed buildings downtown, and since I took up permanent working residence here on Smyth, my allergies have disappeared and I haven’t had a cold in at least five years. I also managed to escape the dreaded H1N1 last year, even though several members of my family came down with it.
Everything changed this summer, with the construction and the toxic oil mess, and the stress of listening to jackhammers all day long. Our relatively calm relationship with Lordy has been frayed in recent days and after he verbally abused me last week, I’m not sure it can be repaired.
Scott and I have been talking about moving for a couple of years, maybe even moving to another town, in search of adventure. But as older folk, we are pretty settled in our ways, and I still think the kids need us — at least for a few more years. Besides, we have three dogs — not like we can move to a condo.
But if a move is imminent, maybe it’s for the best. If people stay too long in one place, they lose something of themselves; they actually begin blending in with the furniture.
I guess we’ll just wait and see. And buy earplugs.