Christmas is safely packed into its loft. So we went shopping the after-Christmas sales, and guess what we found? A little build-it-yourself pyramid! 10 rolls of R-19 23" fiberglass insulation at Menard's! Almost 20% cheaper than the Home Depot, and about 60% cheaper than Lowe's. So, now we've got all this nice insulation, what ever shall we do with it? Joyce had a brilliant idea. "Let's take our new store apart, and put insulation over the ceiling, so the furnace isn't running all the time!"
So, I cleared out all the stuff, and set down some drop cloths, and set up a ladder, popped up one of the ceiling tiles, and set up a cutting board to measure out the pieces we'd need. I found that Joyce's participation in this project had at this point somewhat diminished, and so, alone I ascended into the darkness. The sound of "hate & run" AM radio receded in the distance. That's all I could get on my little GE transistor radio, and up in the ceiling I could hardly hear it anyway. And of course with all the fibers flying around, I couldn't run the furnaces, so it was increasingly cold up there.
Up here in the Cellulose Plains, there are no stars. It is very quiet, and the only sound is the gas meter from the Chinese restaurant, chirping away in the far corner. And I won't be writing the story of how the drain lines of the furnace froze and overflowed, bringing the sodden insulation crashing through to the floor in a dripping mass of despair. Because, you see, I saw that one coming. Hm - insulation here, warm down there, hence cold up here, cold water freezes. I installed pipe heater tape on the drain line and the drain trap box of the furnace. Each day brings its own bit of wisdom. Think how smart I'll be when I'm dead.
So began the tedious journeys one 4 x2 at a time, one end of the room to the other, like a relentless 6" tsunami of yellow kraft-faced sheet cake. Sorry I didn't get a picture of that - I was "on a roll".
That's me on Timer Flash. By late Saturday afternoon, I reached the other end, and looking at it from down below in the store, you can't even tell that anything had happened. The Perfect Crime. It's what you call a thankless job. I hope the heating bills bring a little good news.
Next week - Dancing with Mr. Rotary Floor Scrubber in the old Dance School.
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