The noisier, smellier, dirtier days of the Big Dig, as some of us have started calling it, occur when the big hauling truck arrives and sits idling in front of the house while the bobcat, piled high with mounds of dirt, clay, and broken chunks of concrete, travels back and forth incessantly from under the house, to the street, and back under the house again, like a determined soldier ant carrying it's heavy load high, like a gift to the queen.
On one of these days, I received two disconcerting messages. They were from a neighbor next door and a neighbor across the street. The first was addressed to me personally, the second was addressed to Black Thorn. I did not know the neighbor across the street knew about Black Thorn. Keeping our active dungeons discreet has always been high priority. Both messages were friendly, which was a relief. It was noted that all the neighbors were home and were being affected by the noise.
Feeling terrible about disturbing everyone while they worked from home, I immediately gushed apologies, explaining that I could not stop work because the house was compromised without its foundation intact. The poor neighbor across the street was forced to wear earplugs. In an effort to make amends, I sent off generous gift cards for dine in delivery and changed the operating schedule to start later in the day. With no need to go to work, people were sleeping in and we were starting too early. The result was a thank you and the continuation of a healthy, neighborly relationship. It is precisely those good, tolerant people, the curious faces I see when I check the mail, whose peace it is my utmost goal to protect. So far so good.