Enough

So much for "April is the cruellest month."

April saw our house grow like a tulip, found me working next to a wild, wonderful man. Not cruel at all.

But October . . . .

We lost our builder, and then heaven save me the dog. Yes, it's Key West, and Kirkwood lived here, and P.S., Your Cat is Dead. Still.

It's painful to see walls grow skin and cover up Ref's work -- though the structure is always there. "Structure." He said it often, and with reverence: Something built to stand.

His work is done. Ours is not. And it's a relief to tear a page off the calendar, crumple it, sharpen a pencil for the fresh sheet.

Shantih.

Wallbanger

This is Franklin, who I suspect has been doing drywall since shortly after gypsum deposits formed in the Permian Age.

He's working on the bathroom wall in the master bedroom, and to give you an idea of scale, the drywall sheets are 8 feet tall.

Scale started shifting radically this morning, as the walls started closing up. The upper photo -- from the living room -- won't be possible tomorrow. My see-through-walls superpower is waning, as is the light through walls that suddenly become solid.

So now I have to see more clearly through time, which is why I was happy to get Marc's quote on granite, and then high-tail it out Flagler to see Stacey at Southernmost Kitchen & Bath. We'll need sinks and faucets on hand for the granite man, and I ordered them today.

Dusky magic

Busy, busy, busy

This pile of sheet rock was in the yard bright and early Monday, soon to be followed by a few stacks of 16-foot pine planks -- all emblematic of the home stretch on the house.

Which brought me to my prime errand: finding an alternate source for the kitchen and bathroom counters.

Last week, when I ordered cabinets and learned that the granite would take an extra four or six weeks beyond the cabinet installation, I consulted my mental calendar and sank into my chair. We'd really like to get a certificate of occupancy before New Year's -- and besides, our building permits expire Jan 7.

So today my second stop was Island City Tile, where Marc said his turnaround on granite is . . . about a week. He gave me a map to the stone yard in Miami and promised a quote by tomorrow.

Then it was off to Marathon. Nathaniel had an appointment beyond the Seven-Mile Bridge, and hitched a ride while I went up to scope out the Keys' only patio furniture dealer. (There was one here on the rock early in the year, but his storefront is padlocked, and he appears to have skipped town with our deposit. C'est la vie criminale.)

Actually, it was a nice drive on a lovely day. Nate and I got back late in the afternoon -- just in time for Bob, a tile installer, to take a quick look at the house and promise to return Thursday so he can work up a full bid on the bathrooms.

Things are getting a little hectic.

Monday morning traffic

Hangin' loose

These beads along middle Duval were among tens of thousands of the hung over Sunday.

Astonishingly, though, the curbs were almost spotless, and there was none of the typical morning-after beer reek. The city's sweepers and washers had done yeoman work.

Barbara, who owns Mermaid House on our street and braved the parade from a stool at the 801, said she'd never seen so many naked people. She liked it.

Joe, the checker at Fausto's, also approved: "At least you know they aren't carrying knives, guns or bombs."

Rain / Shine

It stopped raining in time for Saturday's parade, so
I headed out, got halfway down Eaton, took
one good look at the crowd and headed back home.

It's crazy out there

The paper said people were calling Friday's Madness March the biggest in years.

The throng starts at the cemetary gates, stops for drinks at guesthouses along the path downtown, then adds its own kind of marinated spice to the Duval scene.

I walked down to the house, just to make sure it was still buttoned up, and the 801 queens were showering beads and confetti on a heck of a street dance. Back at Fleming and Simonton, I watched the parade with our neighbor Bill, who was bemoaning the undressing habits of unattractive people.

I joined the crowd. On Duval again, I ran into Arnold, landlord Steve and his houseguests and several tens of thousands of very happy zombies.

(Saturday's tea dance -- indeed much of anything outdoors -- got some serious afternoon rain. I stayed in with a good book.)

Ready to rock

If you look carefully at the picture (or click it to enlarge it), you'll see insulation above, ahead -- just about anywhere you glance.

Our building inspector, Ron, saw the same thing Friday morning when he signed off on the insulation.

After he left, Arnold and I high-fived and planned for paneling and sheet rock next week.

But the island was ready to rock, too. Since Fantasy Fest was starting to kick into high gear, with Duval Street closed and other streets at gridlock, the guys (like the rest of the island) started the weekend a little early.

- ■ -

The food festival was in full swing, and compared to past years there were lots of women wearing paint and little else in daylight. Across from the AIDS Help booth, a guy clutching a Bible was talking about sin and damnation, and a conservatively dressed Cuban woman walking by near me called to him, good-naturedly, "You need to have a drink and calm down."

"Oh, I don't drink!," he called back, horrified.

The woman laughed and kept walking. "Poor guy," she said to me.

What he really needs is to get laid, I said to her.

She laughed again. "I'm sure he doesn't do that either, but just like the drink it would do him a world of good."

- ■ -

As I came even with St. Paul's, I heard some organ music over the din -- the lunchtime concert. So I wandered in and took a seat along with a few dozen others.

The organist was finishing up something gentle -- I think by Durufle -- and the congregation sighed and rustled between pieces. Then he launched into the grand Toccata and Fugue in D minor, played with excruciatingly strict cadence. I closed my eyes and saw the mathematical march of notes across the page.

Method amid the madness.

Getting it done

Here's Arnold taking care of the upstairs guest room ceiling.

Just as he was TCB, Brentley was finishing up downstairs, and Nathaniel was hitting spots he could reach on the stepstool.

There were interruptions -- like Franklin coming by to talk about drywall, greenboard and the like -- but Arnold had called for an inspection Friday, and he kept the whip cracking to get it all done.

Good night, girl

Mitch's suspicion was correct, and Lena never woke up from the anesthetic.

- ■ -

I'm indebted to Kathy Rohsenberger for these pictures, which she sent me in early spring.

She'd taken some wonderful photos of our farm, including spectacular aerials, when she and Carl visited awhile ago, and was kind enough to send them along with many kind words.

In these, you see Lena in her full come-pet-me kowtow. It's obvious Kathy took them with deep affection -- something Lena returned as naturally as an echo.

Quite a reach

When I was watching the guys insulating the walls yesterday, I glanced up at the ceilings, over at the ladders, and thought, I'll bet they're going to need the scaffolds.

Of course, when I got there this morning, there were the scaffolds, and Mr. B was up on one of them, stapling the batts into the den ceiling. He's got a new electric stapler -- the old mechanical ones swing like a hammer, but you just squeeze a trigger on the new one -- and he loves it.

If you look closely, by the way, you'll see that the ceiling insulation is rated R-30; it's about eight inches thick. The stuff on the walls is R-19 -- six inches or so.

Loving Lena

Those of you who don't have dogs or love them should move on.

Robert called tonight to let me know that he took our Lena to the vet today. Mitch, who also cared for our Cookie and Duchess, said she had a large tumor, did some scans and bloodwork and held out little hope.

She's scheduled for surgery tomorrow -- and if Mitch is wrong, and it's not a bad tumor, he'll remove it. If he's right, we're not going to wake her up. In either case, she couldn't be in better hands.

Lena wandered onto our farm as a starved, beaten stray in '97, and stayed to give us more love than we could ever deserve. If she's as sick as she seems to be, loving her best may be letting her go.

Push comes to shove on insulation

Arnold was waay up there Tuesday, wrangling insulation between studs on the front wall. With luck, we can get it all done in a few days, get our inspection and then start on drywall and paneling beyond the kitchen.

Brantley was at the lumberyard picking up more supplies, or at least trying to. Ref's old truck has had an obviously too-tight brake on the left rear wheel for a while -- and this time, it was far too tight. It locked up and wouldn't let go in the middle of the loading lane inside the warehouse. It was going nowhere fast.

Arnold went for the big truck, perhaps to give a tow, and I hightailed it up there with Nate to see what we could do.

A resourceful forklift guy at the lumberyard had a productive suggestion: He wedged a fork into the truck's rear hitch and gave a mighty push out, around the corner, down the alley and out into a parking place on the street.

Sure enough three wheels were rolling, and rear left was just skidding along.

We loaded some insulation into my car, and some into the big truck, and went back to the house to pick up where we'd left off.

Meanwhile, Tawny called: The kitchen cabinet remeasure was now official, and I could finally place the order.

There was more paperwork than you could imagine, and I expected lights and sirens to go off when I ran the tab through my Amex card -- but nope; the computer just printed out the chit, I signed it and went off to dream of cherrywood for a month.

Holding my nose

I tuned in tonight to the debate between Bill Nelson, the incumbent Democrat, and Katherine Harris, the sometimes infamous Republican, who are vying for the U.S. Senate from Florida. Harris, running a feckless campaign, is trailing in the far distance.

I try not to be political on this blog, but. . . good lord, given her record (saying, for example, that only Christians are entitled to public office) and her imploding campaign, I had to watch just to see if she did a Linda Blair, with her head doing a full 360.

She didn't, though she ought to fire whichever consultant told her to wander out from the lectern and show the nurse stockings she apparently stripped from Alice in Wonderland. I've seen really bad Victorian furniture with better legs -- though you've got to give her credit: She didn't wear any of her signature spandex tops, the better to highlight her two, um, major talking points.

Nelson was as much a crypto-Republican as ever, and still creeps me out on so many levels; but I'll vote for him. I just can't let Harris' pledge to spend her entire personal fortune (she's from a big orange-juice family) go unanswered:

A wet one

It poured Monday morning -- several inches, and the stretch of Simonton that's already been torn up twice to fix flooding in front of the firehouse was, yet again, up to hubcaps.

Our little guest room was far luckier, though out of an abundance of caution I put those two paper bags of black grout out of harm's way, up on 2-by-4's.

Mr. B and Nate were waiting for the rain to end so they could pick up insulation -- a pickup bed isn't exactly waterproof, and the stuff really smells when it's wet.

While I was waiting at the house, up pulled a black Vette, and out popped Javier, the roof guy. He traced the leak back to the flashing the two Aces had spotted a week or so back, and said he'd come back when the roof was dry (and less slippery) to fix it all up.

He wants to get it done relatively early. Late in the week, he said, he's going to be Fantasy Festing, and he doesn't like going out on roofs after getting in at 4 a.m.

Too much junk, not enough noo

This is our quiet little stretch of Petronia west of Duval. OK, not so quiet Saturday, but still little, and it feels more so because of Goombay.

It's the Caribbean launch of Fantasy Fest, centered in Bahama Village. It started Friday, when the rain kept me away, and this is the view Saturday (Blogger was out all Saturday evening, so this is posted Sunday).

The arepas (corn kernels and cheese) and other street food -- lots of kebabs of everything from goat to chicken to gator -- smelled quite wonderful, but I noticed that the flies were dining ahead of me, so I settled for sesame chicken strips from Fausto's and called that street eatin'. OK, so I'm white bread.

At the music stage, they'd banned the drag guy, and the mics kept shorting out, so that was unpleasant.

The big junkanoo parade was scheduled for 6. I waited till 7:30 before I wandered home. Even whiter bread, I guess. I'd seen a few people I knew, but it's pretty boring if you're standing on a curb by yourself.

On a scale of 1 to 10, find a very low integer. Then you can halve it to yourself.

Sending flowers

So near, and yet so far . . .

. . . So good with the inspections, up to a point.

That checkmark and intials in the "Framing Approved" space on our building permit are what we've been waiting for for weeks -- almost.

Todd had done our original framing inspection a few weeks back, and Shawn tried to make sure we got the loose ends secured as soon as possible. His rationale -- he's been around the block -- was that we didn't want to risk having a new inspector raise issues Todd had resolved, for whatever reasons.

Sure enough, Todd is history, for whatever other reasons. And when the "new" guy (who wasn't really new -- he'd done our piers, and knew the job) came by today, he was sympathetic about Ref, trod gently but thoroughly and told us something we hadn't realized: We need to get insulation inspected before any more paneling or drywall goes up.

I let Shawn know we'd passed -- he and the family are in Jacksonville for Ref's burial -- and he instantly reshuffled our schedule. Insulation starts Monday, and Mr. B and Nate assured me it could be finished in a day and a half.

One step closer.

- ■ -

I feel terrible that I can't remember the inspector's name, but: there was the police chase, then him, with some confusion about whether all our permits expired with Ref's death (they hadn't, not for 90 days), and while he was there, a freight driver telling me I owed him hundreds of bucks on the spot for a COD on some chairs, then wrangling the chairs into the storage locker, then picking up payroll checks at the airport, then a huge rainstorm. . . . So until I see him again, he's just the nice guy in the tropical shirt.

Blue-light special

"Who the heck was that?," Nate asked.

Who the heck was who, I answered.

"Short black guy, dreadlocks, came up the street, turned here and ran down the side of the house," Nate said.

Not 10 seconds later, Jimmy Lee came up on his bike, saying he'd followed the guy from Whitehead running flat-out along Olivia.

Not 10 seconds after that, the beefy bike cop who'd responded to our roof-crapper call pulled up, leaped off, said "Which way did he go?" and lit off down the side of the house.

Then it started looking like a meeting of the Police League. One, two, three cops down the side of the house or through the front door and then on to the deck. They told us to get to the front porch and stay there. I showed a K-9 cop with a big black German shepherd where the guy had moved through our property, and the dog sniffed and then charged east.

The street was blocked by seven or eight police cars from north, west and south, and cottage guests came out to gawk. Nate groused that the cops hadn't even asked permission to go through the house.

A few minutes later, there was a series of barks from around Petronia and Simonton, and soon the officers returned to their cars -- a whole lot slower than they left them.

If the Citizen has anything in the blotter tomorrow, I'll let you know. I'm kind of curious myself.

L'heure bleue

Tonight. It's not just for Paris.

Standing in for the fridge

The cabinet measuring people said they'd be at the house between 8 and 10 this morning, so I showed up at 7:59.

The cabinet guy showed up at 7:59:30.

It took him about 20 minutes to measure everything -- every wall, every outlet placement. He said he had no suprises -- the confirming figures would likely be finished tomorrow, with a clear path to getting the order placed.

Arnold, meanwhile, was figuring out what the guys could be doing later this week, while the family was in Jacksonville for Ref's burial: Ordering drywall so they could wrap the living room soffit, and a little extra lumber for this round of paneling.

He was also doing some amazing woodwork. I went over to that ascending angle at the center of the picture, ran my hand along the cut edges of the boards, and felt how smooth: so little transition from one piece to another, and all the cuts made freehand, with a little hand-held jigsaw.

Arnold saw the look in my eye. "Well," he said, "I don't quite approach it like a carpenter." Indeed, he approaches it like a cabinetmaker.

Clear sailing?

Today: A frigatebird slicing through the sky -- fregata magnificens -- on the "late peak" day of hurricane season. September 10 is the dead center of the season, but October 17 is the statistical latter peak. Odds are, it's all downhill from here. Yet . . .

One year ago today: Wilma formed in the Atlantic. And . . .

One hundred years ago today: A Category 2 hurricane crossed the Keys with the eye going over Long Key. At least 168 railroad workers were killed, most when their houseboats were swept to sea. The steamer St. Lucie, carrying railroad workers from Miami to Key Largo, was caught in the storm: 28 killed and 60 injured.

I'll take a frigatebird soaring on a 7-foot wingspan as a harbinger any day. And I'm going to start drawing down this year's hurricane supplies for snacks.

Perfect timing

My cell phone rang while Arnold was nailing up paneling on the flanks of the kitchen Tuesday.

Finally, it was the people who measure for kitchen cabinets, who only come on down through the Keys when they've amassed a number of projects.

They were wondering if it would be a problem if they stopped by Wednesday morning. Not at all!

Arnold had to cope with some tricky angles on the right flank, where the wall has to accommodate the stairway -- but he can do the geometry in his head, and pine seems like putty in his hands.

At one point, trying to get one board to butt up against another, he simply drove in a nail and -- actually I'm not sure what he did to bring the boards into instant alignment, but Mr. B turned to me and said, "Did you see that?"

I did, and it was one more goodie from Arnold's bag of tricks.

A time to weep, and a time to laugh

When the Watsons (John and Linda, on the left) and the McCoins (Ann and Mac, on the right) were in town two weeks ago, we came across this sign on Whitehead, on the way to dinner at Alice's, and couldn't resist the photo op.

Constant readers will know this is about the Halloween celebration surrounding the Otto Mansion's odd doll, but -- what a convenient slogan!

It was a fun picture, but not one to post the day after I took it. And now, in keeping with Ecclesiastes, I can show our friends having fun. That night we certainly thought of the Robert we know and love, and toasted him, and missed him dearly.

A thing of beauty

This may not look like much to you, but to me. . . .

On particularly good days in past months, I'd turn to Ref, point to the work done, and say with a big grin, "A thing of beauty." And this drywall -- here screwed tight by Nate, under Arnold's eagle eye -- is just that. It's in the kitchen, and tomorrow the side walls there go up, in pine paneling. Then I can get the kitchen remeasured, and the cabinets ordered. It's a giant step.

Among today's other steps ahead: We are now the proud renters of Space 401 in Old Town Self Storage, so we're ready to receive the three sofas arriving Thursday from North Carolina.

Also: I picked up the last of the bathroom tile today, the cobalt blue for the master bath. I showed a piece to Arnold, who whistled, pulled out the opalescent accent tiles and the slate floor stones, held them all together, and called the other guys over to look. "You should open a decorating business," he said.

I would, but I have nightmares about clients like Robert and me.

Good courage

In the post just below, you see Ref at the peak of our addition, and by his side, as always, is Mr. B.

Friday night at St. James, and again Saturday afternoon at Cornish Memorial, Mr. B was at his side as well, in the choir, resplendent in church clothes. The music both times was . . . heavenly. Brantley was singing with joy, his smile dazzling. After Saturday's service, as everyone was sharing a meal downstairs, he came up and said, "I've lost my friend," -- we embraced -- "but I've found my friend." I was humbled. He told me to hang on to the peace I was feeling.

I thought of the people I'd talked with at both services -- the close family, the cousins, Sterling, Nate, old Mr. Allen on one side of me in Friday's pew and Christine from our architect's office on the other, Ken, Franklin, the electricians Matt and Denny, our neighbor Frankie Mae, the people I didn't know who hugged anyway, smiling or weeping or both -- and then again I thought of Mr. B, and of Isaiah 41:6.

Every one helped his neighbor, and every one said to his brother:
Be of good courage.

Reffard Elijah Stafford Jr.

From today's Key West Citizen:

With sadness of heart, we celebrate the life of Reffard Elijah Stafford Jr., who departed this life on Saturday, Oct. 7, 2006.

A true warrior for Jesus Christ and champion of the people, Reffard was the firstborn son of the late Eloise Delores Sherman (Stafford-
Jones) and Reffard Elijah Stafford Sr. He attended primary and secondary school in Jacksonville, Fla., and went on to excel in the field of carpentry and construction, becoming for all who knew him, a master builder.

Best known for his work in the Key West community, Reff's pride came from helping to build this community through charity and service including, but not exclusively, remodeling homes, organizing the Boy Scouts, supporting his church and giving a helping hand where needed.

This man of God loved his family and friends, and has left to mourn his passing, his father, Reffard Elijah Stafford Sr.; a loving and faithful friend and companion, Michelle Aisbie; a loving daughter, Tiki Reffine Stafford; sons, Keith Stafford, Reffard Elijah "Cub" Stafford III, Reffard Elijah Stafford IV, Benjamin Wilson, Bruce Wilson, Antwan Stafford, Joseph Stafford, Dutch Stafford, Doyle Stafford, Michael Stafford, Randy Stafford and Richard Stafford. He will also be sadly missed by his devoted sister, Dollie Stafford (Al) Manns; and brothers, Aurelius Doyle Stafford and Shawn (Dorothy) Stafford; his 33 grandchildren; uncles, aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews.

Reffard was preceded in death by his mother, Eloise Stafford; his son, Michael "T" Stafford; and his grandparents.

Getting ready

. . . for a bit of everything.

Arnold was feeling distracted Thursday morning -- as were we all -- so Brantley and Nate took a load of debris to the dump, and Arnold and I waited for Shawn to check in at the house.

Shawn arrived, we discussed the fence (Arnold's Version 2.1 is a go), Shawn got ready for the next round of materials orders (insulation, paneling, flooring), and then we broke for lunch. Usually I'll head home, eat a bite and take a quick siesta. Sometimes I stop at St. Paul's for the lunch concert. Today I took a walk on the beach and talked with the breeze for a while.

Later, Ref's sister, her husband Al, Ref's daughter, Arnold, Shawn, Mr. B, Nate and Ref's friend Ken were on our porch, chatting and arranging plans, sitting on some old chairs or overturned buckets. It felt as if our house -- Ref's house -- had enjoyed its first family reunion.

- ■ -

Early in the week, before I knew there'd be visitation Friday night, I asked Shirley to pack up a good suit, shirt, cuff links, tie, shoes, socks and belt, and Robert to send it down by FedEx. The truck drove up Thursday while everyone was on the porch.

When I found out I'd need an extra tie and shirt. . . . Providence smiled. The nice haberdasher just over from Fausto's carries Carrot & Gibbs, and the new line came in this week.

E pluribus unum

Good fences, Version 2.1

Arnold was concerned about fence materials -- and I could sure see why.

However far apart the two layers of vertical slats were on Versions 1.0 and 1.1, they were eating materials at a frightful rate.

So he thought about it overnight, and then started making smaller models of Version 2.0 and 2.1: horizontal slats, like venetian blinds. You can see the variety of spacers he was working with.

Good solution -- not too complicated to make, still great for privacy and ventilation, and far more economical with lumber.

Also economical: There's no reason to throw away three perfectly good sections of Version 1.0 and 1.1, so we're plugging them in along the "service" deck on the south side of the yard. It's the least trafficked path, invisible from the street behind a tall gate.

Here Mr. B and Nate are making one of the sections fit.

I've learned carpentry can be a lot like cooking: If you've got scraps, make soup.

Grace notes

Somebody, I don't know who, left the sweetest comment on the "In loving memory" entry.

Scroll down a bit and click on the comment link if you'd care to read it. Thanks to whoever sent it.

My friend Lou sent this, from a memorial service for one of her friends. Always, thanks to Lou:

Holy One,
this is another day.
I do not know what it will bring
but
make me ready
for whatever it may be.

If I am to stand,
help me to stand with strength;
If I am to sit,
help me to sit with reserve;
If I am to wait,
help me to do so patiently.

And if I am
to do nothing,
let me do it with grace.

The therapy of work

We all went to work Monday, despite an early morning cloudburst -- which let us ID a spot in the roof where the flashing wasn't up to par.

I put in a quick call to Dan Ace -- and both Dan and Dan Jr. showed up within minutes. They were truly shocked to hear about Ref, and quick to tell Arnold of their sympathy and their affection.

I told Arnold that their reaction spoke volumes about Ref's legacy: respect and love all over town.

By Tuesday morning, Arnold had finished a sample stretch of fence (you can see it at left); but there was too much gap and too little privacy for his taste or mine, so we went on a little fence-scouting walk around the neighborhood.

We found the solution -- a thinner space between the front and rear planes -- and that's what you see below.

Since Arnold builds modular sections (measure the space between posts, cut lumber to fit, build it flat and then plug it in), most of it could be done in a day or two.

Speaking of a day or two: Shawn is flying in Wednesday, has some contractor meetings Thursday. Ref's funeral will be Saturday, and burial will be next week in the family's Jacksonville plot.

In the meantime, errands and work, with a moment here and there to talk and remember, take a deep breath or two . . . and then back to the job at hand.

In loving memory

Ref died this morning.

Primed and ready

The guys primed the wood on the capitals Friday -- you can see the undone column at the far edge of the porch -- so the humidity wouldn't swell everything up.

They're suggesting our shutter color, very dark vibrant blue, for the decorative wood. I think they'll paint out beautifully with the rest of the trim in white.

I'll probably fool around with a coloring program and see what the results look like.

Capital idea

When I got to the house this morning, I saw the change as soon as I walked up.

Arnold had been eyeing the porch for the last few days, and we'd talked about it a bit. Months ago, Ref had mentioned someone wrapping the columns, and Robert had mentioned finding a bracket (or corbel, more properly) shaped like a conch shell.

But Arnold's solution was a classic molding. They're all over town, absolutely as often as the decorative stuff I'd checked out at the lumberyard. Arnold had said he was quite happy to cut a custom bracket, but he wanted to see my reaction to this.

My reaction was awe at the thought and effort he'd put into the example. He would have been more than willing to tear out his prototype, and go with something else. I would swallow hot coals before I let that happen.

So when I went out to the hospital to reassure Ref that the project was going really well -- inspections passed, walls ready to go up, Arnold chopping like a chef, Mr. B on the spot, Mike doing some details, Nate picking up the pieces, and Shawn in charge of the big picture -- Ref grinned.

He wouldn't settle for a soul handshake when I was leaving -- "Is that the best you can do?," he asked -- and I bent down and we hugged. I told him again he didn't need to worry about the house anymore, though he had a million questions he couldn't quite form.

All he has to do is to take care of himself.