Saturday was a long, dusty day. It started at 6 a.m. when I ran a few miles. Then we did our weekend Panera-Home Depot-grocery store routine and were home by 10 a.m. and tearing out the walls. Until about 7 p.m., when we packed it all into not one but two Bagsters.
Wait hang on. That makes it sound easy. What I mean is, we put tons (ok maybe hundreds of pounds) of old, dusty plaster with horse hair and lath in 20-some odd bags and hauled them downstairs, carried all the boards from the walls downstairs, and packed everything in neatly (because a good pack job means we won’t need a THIRD Bagster), flat stuff first, then bulkier items on top. And threw in a pile of junk from the basement for good measure. Today, those two Bagsters were taken away – quite possibly the last Bagst – oh, what? We have a third floor? Oh. Right. Nevermind.
Seriously though. We don’t have a lot of stuff. But this house? This house has a lot of stuff. If we could compost that plaster, we would.
After living here through the winter we learned that Boston drivers respect the cone (or the chair or whatever you put in the street to reserve a spot). So we proactively blocked off of the curb with a cone and a sign, which makes the entire Bagster experience about 100x less stressful.
Welp. That’s it. Down to the studs in (almost) all the right places. No more motivation until who knows when. Stay tuned.