Miles and miles and miles away, in a far and distant land, where brown maple leaves aren’t carpeting frosty forest floors, someone is hammering away at my sweaty, crumbling walls … I think. I forgot to tell our property manager that the engineer would be starting initial work on the property, so when she called, asking me to immediately confirm that he wasn’t some devious intruder, I knew work had begun. Or at least people were starting to focus on Casa Nana.
One trick is to get the dollars in my U.S. bank account and make them become pesos in somebody else’s bank account. This is what is called an international wire transfer, and this is what costs $40 a pop. So to knockfive bucks off the fee, I went to my bank’s website and did it myself, filling in the forms per the architect’s and engineer’s instructions. Then crossed fingers, genuflected and said a silent prayer. Happily, I learned that the funds reached their intended destination, and now everyone’s at work. The $5 savings will go toward a down payment on a talavera tile.
The neighbors haven’t complained yet, although my property manager is also the property manager of the rental next door, and she wants a schedule of when noise will be made, so prospective tenants can be warned. I told her I’d try my best to ascertain just when noise will be made and let her know.
Much less of the property is worth salvaging, we have learned. At first, I had hope to save the large cement chimney that dominates the kitchen. I gave in when it was pointed out how low the chimney hung; I guess the kitchen was designed for someone considerably shorter than 5-10. Now, nothing of the kitchen will be saved. Everything behind the first two rooms must go, and it’s going starting now. I’m now waiting for photographic evidence of our progress.