Battening down one's hatches. I live in a pleasantly shabby 120 year old building. I also live in a city that gives names to houses. Mine is dedicated to an obscure tho' mostly harmless American head of state. Would we could have more of these.
As to my digs. The walls, and ceilings are all finely veined with spider web cracks. As with paintings a century, and more will do that. In winter as my windows rattle. Arctic chill wisps through every etched line. In summer steam.
Comes COVID, and Lockdown.
These gave me motive opportunity, but mostly time. I spent the entirety of our Human Catastrophe sealing up my digs like a submarine. I gathered my arsenal of supplies. Then hunted gaps cracks, and loose ends with passion.
I scraped sanded spackled cleaned, and painted everything in sight. Then did it again to make sure! Heck I'm still at it. As spaces corners whole walls I did a year ago have reverted.
The building continues to settle. Mostly toward the northwest. Left unattended it will slide into the driveway, and yard in say 150,...200 years. So there's no time to lose!
My digs are like the Brooklyn Bridge. Upkeep will never end. Seems I've found my life's work at last.
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