On Saturday morning, I lay in bed second-guessing my decision not to carve my initials in the new floor before it cured hard and fast. I came downstairs to find that the cats had not been so reluctant to mark their territory.
JT and I were horrified, like parents of a couple of very difficult teenagers. While the guilty parties retreated to the attic playroom for a stern lecture from JT, T assured me that we could work around this snafu. And work was her strong suit that day. As I struggled to fully awaken, she set up the wet saw for tile cutting on the back deck.
The day's task was laying the tile. With precision and speed, that's exactly what T did.
Not to appear indolent, JT and I hauled the Christmas tree indoors and started to decorate. That was the theme of Saturday: holidays and heavy equipment. By the evening, there was a lovely Christmas tree in the living room.
In the bathroom, the new tiles lay affixed to the floor, awaiting Sunday's festival of grouting. Things were starting to come together.