Sweaty palms

When Jon pulled up with the four big palms Wednesday morning -- actually, two twin Christmas palms -- it was clear that their giant root balls weren't going behind the fence, where they belong, without some adjustment.

So we removed the two sections of fence on either side of the gate.

Sounds easy, if you leave out the giant rocks that kept getting in our way excavating the knee-deep holes.

Their jackhammer finally prevailed -- but I still felt as jittery as if I were running it. That's because Wednesday was also my court appeal date on the window issue.

Our lawyer, the sweet and brilliant Wayne, was in court on a separate matter, but stood at my side as I made my case to Judge J. Jefferson Overby. The city lawyer made his points, but without much vigor.

And despite my trembles and sweats, the judge was uncharacteristically kind: He agreed to consider the case afresh, weigh the facts and get back to me with a decision. He could veto the windows, approve them or kick the case back to the Historic Commission -- but at least he didn't rule against me outright.

"You can be cautiously optimistic," Wayne said after court.

Dum spiro, spero, I told him -- but his Latin wasn't great, so I had to translate:

While there's breath, there's hope.