I wonder if Azerbaijan has any military jets. I sure hope so because a half dozen or so flew over the house the other day in formation, did a big loop out over downtown then came back over the house again. If there aren't any military jets in the heavy artillery bag, then I'm curious who was dropping by for a look see. I'd bet, whoever it was has heard about this.
It isn't a base or a barracks, despite its size. It's just a gazebo....well, not JUST a gazebo. It's more like the granddaddy of all covered outdoor spaces. I might have to rename it a band shell. Ali tells me that you can cruise along the boulevard in the evening and hire musicians to play at your parties right on the spot. They'll climb into your car, and go right on home with you for a pre-negotiated price. If Ali is smart he'll take John and cruise the boulevard on my birthday. I think a little quartet action in honor of turning...um....yeah....that old......would complement those roses very nicely. Did I ever mention that the number of flowers in bouquets have to be odd for happy occasions and an even number is for sad ones? John learned that little tidbit when he bought Aynur some roses on the Azeri equivalent of Secretary's Day. Ali gave him a heads up and so he had to go in and slip one out of the bouquet on her desk while she went to search the office for a vase.
So, about the gazebo.....a perfect example of be careful what you wish for. The neighbors in the twin house have one, the twin house being the identical but mirror image house that faces us....we have the same landlord. I saw their gazebo when we looked at this place back in October, and asked if we could have one, too. The landlord agreed but when John moved in here in December, only the stone foundation was in place. The landlord explained that it was too cold at the time to send master to build our gazebo. He would do it in the spring. Fair enough, no need for a gazebo in January or February anyway. Gazebo master turned up in early April and so began the framing of my summer palace, the place I would barbecue week-long wine marinated, mallet-pounded, flat slabs of cow before it got too hot to be outside without air conditioning. The place where we could wile away summer evenings before my next trip back to Nova Scotia where the black flies make it impossible to sit outside after sundown.
Well, now it's almost June and the promised completion date of April 30th has come and gone. It's a good thing I didn't start any cow slabs soaking in anticipation. Master's been building this thing alone and by hand. He has notched each piece of lumber with his little hatchet. He's got his table saw set up in the vacant lot next door. He doesn't have a plug on the end of his table saw cord, so he's stripped the insulation off its end to expose the bare wires which he sticks into a socket in my little mechanical house.....which is close to the main electrical panel and the main gas line. He's afraid of my dog....way more than he is of the building inspector. Oh...wait....I don't think there is a building inspector. Duh!
This isn't the dog he's that he worries about. This is the poor mangy cur from a few blogs back. Her pups are gone...somewhere.....and she's now living alone in the vacant lot among the building materials and construction debris. I call this picture "Her Master's Voice."
I'm getting pretty weary of living in a construction zone. Master's been showing up here and there, doing a little work, then disappearing for a few days. He leaves his tools and debris all over the side yard of the house. John hammers the big spiky nails out of the boards he leaves laying around on the grass. This whole gazebo thing is getting old and I wish I had never asked for it in the first place. Maybe gazebo master is just like our contractor for the basement renovation in Newfoundland and has three other jobs on the go in addition to ours. John's theory is that he isn't getting paid. When he gets paid, he shows up. When he doesn't, he stays home. I know I have seen him padding about the neighborhood in his construction slippers every now and again, and wondered why he wasn't over at my place pounding some boards. I'm beginning to think John is right and it's time to go after the landlord to get this thing finished. I think he is expecting the next six months rent at the end of the week. I'd call that decent leverage. Whatever the reason he hasn't finished this thing yet, it just goes to show you that getting a construction job done even close to on time is universal...one of the commonalities of all mankind. There should be some basis for world peace there. Someone just has to think up the right angle.
And speaking of universal, while I was sitting here yesterday contemplating the fact that I grew up believing mig jets flying overhead were a very bad "duck & cover" kind of thing, I heard chanting coming from outside my window. Lots of chanting that began to get louder and closer. I got up and looked out the window in time to see a funeral procession making its way down my dusty little road on foot. At the beginning were the pall bearers carrying a pallet on their shoulders. A body on the pallet was wrapped in a gold colored tapestry shroud. I called Carolyn to come see and we stood back from the window, out of sight, and watched....about two hundred men, but not one woman, make their way past our house. Carolyn asked me does who shows up if a woman dies? I didn't have the answer to that one.
It isn't a base or a barracks, despite its size. It's just a gazebo....well, not JUST a gazebo. It's more like the granddaddy of all covered outdoor spaces. I might have to rename it a band shell. Ali tells me that you can cruise along the boulevard in the evening and hire musicians to play at your parties right on the spot. They'll climb into your car, and go right on home with you for a pre-negotiated price. If Ali is smart he'll take John and cruise the boulevard on my birthday. I think a little quartet action in honor of turning...um....yeah....that old......would complement those roses very nicely. Did I ever mention that the number of flowers in bouquets have to be odd for happy occasions and an even number is for sad ones? John learned that little tidbit when he bought Aynur some roses on the Azeri equivalent of Secretary's Day. Ali gave him a heads up and so he had to go in and slip one out of the bouquet on her desk while she went to search the office for a vase.
So, about the gazebo.....a perfect example of be careful what you wish for. The neighbors in the twin house have one, the twin house being the identical but mirror image house that faces us....we have the same landlord. I saw their gazebo when we looked at this place back in October, and asked if we could have one, too. The landlord agreed but when John moved in here in December, only the stone foundation was in place. The landlord explained that it was too cold at the time to send master to build our gazebo. He would do it in the spring. Fair enough, no need for a gazebo in January or February anyway. Gazebo master turned up in early April and so began the framing of my summer palace, the place I would barbecue week-long wine marinated, mallet-pounded, flat slabs of cow before it got too hot to be outside without air conditioning. The place where we could wile away summer evenings before my next trip back to Nova Scotia where the black flies make it impossible to sit outside after sundown.
Well, now it's almost June and the promised completion date of April 30th has come and gone. It's a good thing I didn't start any cow slabs soaking in anticipation. Master's been building this thing alone and by hand. He has notched each piece of lumber with his little hatchet. He's got his table saw set up in the vacant lot next door. He doesn't have a plug on the end of his table saw cord, so he's stripped the insulation off its end to expose the bare wires which he sticks into a socket in my little mechanical house.....which is close to the main electrical panel and the main gas line. He's afraid of my dog....way more than he is of the building inspector. Oh...wait....I don't think there is a building inspector. Duh!
This isn't the dog he's that he worries about. This is the poor mangy cur from a few blogs back. Her pups are gone...somewhere.....and she's now living alone in the vacant lot among the building materials and construction debris. I call this picture "Her Master's Voice."
I'm getting pretty weary of living in a construction zone. Master's been showing up here and there, doing a little work, then disappearing for a few days. He leaves his tools and debris all over the side yard of the house. John hammers the big spiky nails out of the boards he leaves laying around on the grass. This whole gazebo thing is getting old and I wish I had never asked for it in the first place. Maybe gazebo master is just like our contractor for the basement renovation in Newfoundland and has three other jobs on the go in addition to ours. John's theory is that he isn't getting paid. When he gets paid, he shows up. When he doesn't, he stays home. I know I have seen him padding about the neighborhood in his construction slippers every now and again, and wondered why he wasn't over at my place pounding some boards. I'm beginning to think John is right and it's time to go after the landlord to get this thing finished. I think he is expecting the next six months rent at the end of the week. I'd call that decent leverage. Whatever the reason he hasn't finished this thing yet, it just goes to show you that getting a construction job done even close to on time is universal...one of the commonalities of all mankind. There should be some basis for world peace there. Someone just has to think up the right angle.
And speaking of universal, while I was sitting here yesterday contemplating the fact that I grew up believing mig jets flying overhead were a very bad "duck & cover" kind of thing, I heard chanting coming from outside my window. Lots of chanting that began to get louder and closer. I got up and looked out the window in time to see a funeral procession making its way down my dusty little road on foot. At the beginning were the pall bearers carrying a pallet on their shoulders. A body on the pallet was wrapped in a gold colored tapestry shroud. I called Carolyn to come see and we stood back from the window, out of sight, and watched....about two hundred men, but not one woman, make their way past our house. Carolyn asked me does who shows up if a woman dies? I didn't have the answer to that one.
