Speaking of shoddy work . . .

Another of those half-steps back I mentioned is this section of torn-up floor in the living room, thanks to an early work crew I increasingly think of as Pop and the Weasels.

Pop was a hard-bitten guy who boasted he could build anything -- he even offered to custom-make our kitchen cabinets -- but whose primary activity whenever Robert and I stopped by the job site seemed to be parking his bony carcass on a stack of plywood and shooting the breeze with the weasels, his two sons.

While I was away, Ref was getting the door opening ready so Monroe Glass could install the big sliders and noticed that something was amiss. One thing led to another, and the plywood came up for a little joist surgery.

The problem could have been corrected with a few cheats when the flooring goes in, but that's not the way Ref works.

And how does Pop work? When last seen, he and the boys had their bony carcasses parked at the laundromat on the corner, shooting little heckles at me as I went by to pick up Gatorades for people actually drawing paychecks at the house. (I distinctly recall the term "errand boy," but no matter). I tried to be pleasant anyway and they told me things were rough, they were outta work and they'd lost their Jag, their only visible asset. Aww.

Car or karma, easy come, easy go.