Everybody Snores

Our little border collie beagle mix snores louder than any other dog I have met, and some people.  It is amazing how much sound can come out of that little face.  Sometimes she even wakes herself up.   Many nights she will be stretched out across the bed snoring to her heart’s content all the while keeping us up.

The other night, I apparently was having some issues and was snoring up a storm.  I guess this disturbed Maggie’s beauty sleep, as my husband relayed the following to me the next day.

When I started snoring (I must have been pretty loud), Maggie got up from where she was laying at the end of the bed and walked up beside me, hovering over me and staring.  She looked at my husband, looked back at me, and sighed.  She then promptly jumped off the bed and curled up on one of the pillows on the floor.  I, however, continued to snore.  Her place on the floor was not far enough away from me.  She then proceeded to crawl underneath the bed to get farther away from the sound.

I can just imagine her furry face perched above mine, staring, wondering how to make that noise stop.  I laugh thinking about what she will do with crying babies.  I also wonder what she does the other nights that my husband or I are snoring.  Is this a usual routine for her and we are typically asleep when it happens?  Or was I just really that loud?  I’m not sure which answer I prefer.  On the one hand, no one wants to admit they snore, let alone at such volume.  On the other hand, I find it disturbing that our dog gets exasperated, stares at me, and sighs, all while I am obliviously sound asleep.  Perhaps she is also part human.

Head vs. Heart

Some decisions involve your head, some involve your heart, some involve both.  For me, the decisions that involve both are usually the hardest.  Typically, these types of choices are those where the head should win out, but the heart makes it very difficult to make the right choice (or at least the choice that the head thinks is right).  I recently had to go through this process, and I knew that there would be vastly different results depending on which organ won out.

If you recall, a few weeks ago we took our dog to meet another dog, Pete.  Pete’s owners, who are friends of a friend, were no longer able to keep him.  I saw the picture of him and felt a tug (well, really, a yank) on my heartstrings.  What a sweet face.  How could anyone get rid of him?  I immediately forwarded the email to my husband, fully expecting an immediate and resounding no.  Imagine my surprise when, after pointing out  all of the potential issues with getting a second dog, he said we could still meet him and see how things went.  Pete and Maggie got along swimmingly.  They ran around the yard together.  They barked at other dogs.  We decided we would take Pete the next weekend for a test run.

He arrived at our house and things did not go as expected.  Maggie began barking at him and bullying him around.  She just would not leave him alone.  He explored the house for a while, and then all of a sudden he would no long walk on the hardwood floors.  This presented a problem because about 90% of our house has hardwood flooring.  We put some blankets down for him and he would timidly walk only on those covered areas.  I immediately started feeling sad because I thought there was no way this was going to work out.

Pete also struggled with learning how to use the dog door.  He figured out how to go out, but he refused to come back in through the door.  Despite these things, Pete was a very well-behaved dog.  Much better than Maggie.  His owners told us that he has a lot of anxiety when people leave.  We had no idea what we were in for.  We left that Sunday morning to go get some brunch, and as soon as we put our jackets on he began howling.  He’s a hound, so this pitiful, mournful bay came out of his mouth.  I’d never heard anything so sad.  It was as if he were saying “NOOOOOOOOooooo!”  We decided that a weekend wasn’t enough to truly assess whether or not he was going to fit in with our family, so we decided to keep him for the next week.

During that week, Pete learned how to come in the dog door.  He also learned (by watching Maggie) how to stand on the railing of the deck to look out over the yard.  He got over his fear of the hardwoods, and was soon running across them with Maggie.  We learned that Pete likes to bring you toys when you get home.  But not just one toy.  As many toys as he can fit into his mouth.  Sometimes he brings two, sometimes three.  It’s hilarious.  After a couple of rough incidents related to meal time, he and Maggie started respecting each other’s space and feedings went smoothly.

One week turned into two.  We kept discussing whether we were going to keep Pete.  Every time the discussion went something like this: Pete is a good dog.  We like him, but I don’t think Maggie is really warming up to him.  Do we really want two dogs when we are thinking about having kids soon?  Yet no decision was ever made because the heart wouldn’t let the head say what it really thought: We could not keep Pete.  At the end of two weeks, I said that we had to make a decision.  By this time, Maggie was spending a lot of her time trying to herd Pete, which involved nipping at his face, ears, and legs.  She was incessant.  Was she playing? Maybe.  Is that the kind of play we wanted in the house?  Probably not.  I was finally the first one to say it aloud, through small sniffs: I did not think we could keep Pete.  My husband agreed.

My small sniffs turned into body-wracking sobs.  I buried my face in Pete’s fur.  Seeing how upset I was, my husband offered to have us hire an in-home trainer before we made any decisions.  No, I said, worried that doing that would only prolong the inevitable, and it would be even harder to say good-bye.  I called Pete’s owner and managed to keep it together on the phone.  I could tell he was disappointed.  He said he would make some calls and get back to me.

Another week went by.  Maggie seemed to warm up to Pete.  Maybe we should keep him, we thought.  More of the same discussion.  No, I said.  We’d already made our decision.  We needed to stick with it.  I would steel my heart and get through it.  That Friday we heard from Pete’s owner.  The rescue had not yet found a foster home for him.  Maybe we should keep him until a foster family could be found.  I called Pete’s owner back, ready to offer this.  Before I could even do that, he said we had been generous enough, and he would come and get Pete on Sunday.  That would probably be for the best, I thought, though crying once again.

I was gone for part of that Sunday.  When I came home, my husband said Pete and Maggie had been outside in the yard, sleeping in the sun together.   Then they came in and both laid on my husband on the couch, and all three took a nap.  “What are you doing to me?”, I asked. That makes it even worse.  The time approached for Pete to leave.  I told my husband he would have to do all the talking because I would not be able to speak without crying.  Pete’s dad arrived, and oh, was Pete happy to see him.  That made it easier to say good-bye, but I knew Pete would not be able to stay with the family he had always known.  Through more tears, I watched Pete pull away.  Head had won out.

Or had it?  That night, Maggie was just lying around.  She looked sad.  Monday arrived, and we all felt sad.  Maggie was not doing her normal Maggie things.  Did we make a mistake?  I would not be the one to say that I thought the answer was yes, because I would be letting my heart speak.  The head had to be right in this situation.  Didn’t it?

By Wednesday, my husband said what I was too scared to say, “I think we just need to get Pete back.”  So, what did we do?  We got Pete back!  He arrived back at our house yesterday, and while he was not as ecstatic when he saw us as he was when he saw his owner the week before, he was happy.  And he was immediately feeling at home.  He and Maggie were soon tearing through the house.  They both slept on the bed with us last night (originally, I had no intentions of letting Pete on our bed.  Even though it is a king, Maggie takes up enough room.  My husband decided to invite him onto the bed one night.  I should have known then Pete was going to be a part of our family).  He and Maggie got along so well today.

My head knows that all of those concerns we originally had are still there.  But sometimes, every so often, the heart needs to win out.  The happiness and love that I feel when I look at Pete is all the evidence I need to know that we made the right decision, regardless of the fact that we followed our hearts.  I mean, look at that face.  Who can resist that sweet Pete?

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

No, this post is not about drinking green beer or eating Irish food.  It is, however, about the St. Patrick’s Day Parade and my run-in with it six years ago (geesh…six years ago…where does the time go?).  I had practically forgotten about this experience until this afternoon when I was again denied access to the downtown area due to street closings along the parade route.  Now I can look back and chuckle, but at the time it was not so funny.

It was 2005, and the weather was similar to today’s weather.  Sunny, a bit windy, but warm.  One of the first warm days of the year.  The firm that I was working for at the time had recently moved to an area north of downtown.  I had only been working in the city for about a year and a half.  Not nearly long enough to know which holidays warrant a parade.

I had scheduled a deposition for 1:00 at a downtown court reporter’s office.  This wasn’t any deposition.  This was my first “real” deposition.  I wasn’t just asking someone to tell me their version of what happened.  No, I had to try to get this witness to say things that would actually help me prove my case and survive a summary judgment motion.  This was real lawyering!  And, in my opinion, something I was not yet ready for!

One of the partners in the firm went with me, but that didn’t make me feel any better because he really didn’t know anything about the case.  He also informed me that he would have to leave at a certain time and I knew we wouldn’t be done by then.  That just added to my panic.  As a result of his other committment, we ended up driving down separately.  We left around 12:30, plenty of time to get downtown and get settled before I had to start.

I’m driving along and come up to a road barrier.  “What the hell?”, I think.  What is this?  It took me awhile to realize it was St. Patrick’s Day and there was a parade.  I turned in a direction I thought would get me through to a street near the building I was going to.  I drove a few blocks.  Great.  Another barrier.  How far is this parade route?  I wound back and forth, up and down the streets of downtown, trying to find an open path, all the while the minutes clicking faster and faster towards 1:00.  I was starting to panic.  Maybe I could just cancel?  Where was the partner?  Wasn’t he wondering where I was?

I finally made it near the block I was looking for, all the while cursing the parade-goers.  I parked in the first open parking space I found.  Surely the two-hour time limit on the meter wouldn’t actually be enforced.  I grabbed my briefcase walked briskly towards the office building, trying not to break into a full-blown sprint.  I got into the elevator, walked off onto the floor I needed and looked at the directory.  Umm, where was the court reporter’s office?  There was no court reporter listed.

I opened my briefcase and pulled out my deposition notice.  Maybe I’d gotten the suite number wrong.  No, that was correct.  I read over it again.  Oh. My. God.  I was in the wrong building!  How could this be happening?!  Why today?  Why on the day of my first real deposition?  I think it was about this time that the partner called me, asking where I was.  I blamed the parade, and then sheepishly told him I was at the wrong building and would be there as soon as possible.

Of course the buildings were not near each other.  Ok, in the grand scheme of things, they are near each other, but those three blocks felt like three miles that day.  This time, I did run.  I made it to the office, sweaty and out of breath.  I apologized profusely to the witness, opposing counsel, the court reporter, expressing my embarrassment.  Opposing counsel told me never to be embarrassed.

After all that, it was actually only about 1:15.  Isn’t it funny how a stressful situation impacts how you perceive the passage of time?  I took a couple of deep breaths and started in on my questions.  Forget the fifteen minute prep period.  The partner left early, as expected, and we finished sometime in the early evening.  I packed up my briefcase and slowly walked back to my car.  Remember, I’d parked close to the building I originally thought I was going to.  I neared my car, trying to enjoy the weather.  Wait…what is that?  Are you freaking kidding me?  What do I find on my windshield but a bright pink envelope holding my $20 parking ticket for the expired meter.  I shook my head and sighed.

Ahh, St. Patrick’s Day Parade.  The case, well, it settled, like the majority of them do.  A few years later I had another case with that opposing counsel and we were on the same side.  We had a good laugh about that deposition.  This year when I saw the barriers, I just turned around and went home for lunch.  We are finally at the close of the work day, and it’s time to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.  Green beer, here I come!

Making Chores Bearable

You know you have truly entered the world of adulthood when you get excited about buying household appliances.  Our most recent purchase – a new washer and dryer.  The last time I purchased a washer and dryer was in 1999, about a year after I moved into my first apartment without a roommate.  I moved that washer and dryer four times.  When I sold my house, the washer and dryer stayed.  I almost felt guilty.  The poor  new owners probably thought they were getting a great deal.  Little did they know the heating element had gone out twice on the dryer.  The first time my dad fixed it.  The second…well, that happened the week before closing so I paid for someone to fix it since there wasn’t enough time for my dad to come down and do it for me.

The owners we bought our house from left their washer and dryer.  See above for condition of their machines.  We decided to keep theirs rather than move my husband’s set, even though his was only a couple of years old.  We were not at all interested in hauling the old ones out of the basement and moving his down.  We just knew that our first appliance purchase would be the washer/dryer set.

Once we moved in and I started doing the laundry, I realized they were in even worse shape than I thought.  Our house is old and our basement floor slopes toward the floor drains.  Inevitably the washer is always off-balance because of this.  You would think the machine had a life of its own if you saw how far it has moved during a really big load.  You could hear it shaking all the way upstairs and through a closed door.  The dryer required two cycles in order to dry any load regardless of size or fabric type.

So, how did we come to buy a new washer and dryer when we have lived here for over a year?  When I was at the conference last weekend, my husband did the laundry.  He had done loads or parts of loads before, but this was the first time he had done the entire process from beginning to end.  When I got home on Sunday he asked if I wanted to go look at washers and dryers.  If I had known it was going to be that easy I would have asked him to do the laundry when I was at the conference last year!

The delivery truck finally arrived twenty-five minutes after the end of my two-hour delivery window, but I’m not going to complain too much because they hauled the old out and set up the new without hurting themselves or my stairwell ceiling (our steps are very narrow and there is very little headroom…some prior owner remodeled and it’s not up to code…).  And look how pretty they are!  The washing machine is balanced.  They are both so quiet.  They are high-efficiency and have power buttons so they save a little more electricity when they aren’t running.  They have these lovely chimes that sound when you turn them on.

So far, they are working perfectly.  They are so fast.  Sometimes the dryer dries a load of clothes before the washer is done.  I’ve never had a dryer finish a cycle in 36 minutes!  The front load washing machine is a bit different, and I haven’t yet tried the hand wash/wool cycle, which is really what sold me on this set.  However, I am definitely finding it much more bearable to go down into the cold, damp basement to do laundry.  Now if I could find something to make folding, ironing and putting away the laundry easier.  Magic, perhaps?

Spring Forward, Crash Early

Today marks the start of Daylight Savings Time.  Up until a few years back, the parts of the state that I had lived in never observed DST.  People outside of the state thought that was weird, but it was all I had ever known so I was used to it.  It was a pain when I was younger trying to remember what time it was at my grandparents’ house.  Once I started working and occasionally had to call people in other states, it could get confusing trying to figure out what time I was supposed to call.  You wouldn’t think it would be that difficult, but when calling across time zones and trying to figure out if DST was being observed or not, and there was no world time zone website, you can see where it could get difficult.  Add to that the fact that some parts of my state were in different time zones, and you’ve got a real mess.

It was a big to-do when it was finally decided that the state would observe DST.  I was fairly indifferent.  But guess what the biggest complaint was?  Yep, having to change the time on your clocks twice a year.  I mean, you might have five clocks and it takes like, what, 30 seconds to move the time forward or back one hour?  Imagine the time wasted!  Ridiculous.

I now love DST.  While I don’t like it when I have to get up and it is dark out, I am not a morning person so this does not impact me all that much (I have been told this will change once I have children).  This means that I do most of my personal activities after work.  Daylight extending well into the evening hours means I have more time to run, more time to do work in the yard, more time to enjoy the sun.

However, I do not love, and have not found a way to get used to, losing an hour of sleep.  Even when I go to bed an hour earlier, I am still so tired by late afternoon that first day.  I know it’s all mental – just knowing I’ve “lost” an hour makes me think I should feel tired.  I woke up with no problem, even though my body thought it was 6:10 instead of 7:10.  I was wide awake on my run.  I even ran the vacuum cleaner.  But about 45 minutes ago I started feeling really sleepy.  Too bad we still have to run to the store, to the laundry, and do some work.  Maybe by next weekend my body will have adjusted.

Sand Through The Hourglass

I have no idea where the last 24 hours have gone.  Really, the last week.  Time is flying by as if I have no control over anything.  I find it strange that during the week I can find the time every night to write two blog posts, complete a daily photograph assignment, run, knit some, read some, and still manage to go to bed at a reasonable hour.  No, I’m not doing any of this during work hours!  But once the weekend rolls around, I get nothing done.  I struggle to find time to do one blog post, let alone two.

I would love to say I’m living a jet set life and that’s why I can’t (don’t) find the time.  But that’s simply not true.  We pretty much just stay around the house.  I can’t even say there are any home improvement projects in the works taking up weekend time.

I love to schedule my weekdays, but I try not to schedule weekend time.  I have things to accomplish on the weekends, but it’s not so rigid as to say “get up at 7:30, gather laundry, make coffee”, etc.  I’m thinking I might have to start doing that.  When the weekend rushes by, I don’t feel prepared for the week ahead.  I need that weekend time to decompress and regroup.

It is only a little after 9 on Saturday night, so I suppose I shouldn’t assume that the remainder of the weekend will be a complete waste.  I will at least run 9 miles.  But tonight marks the shift in daylight savings time, so I will lose an hour of sleep when we “spring forward” in the wee hours of the morning.  Which means that I most certainly will need a nap tomorrow afternoon, even with plans to turn in a bit early tonight.

I’m hoping to slow down the sands of time in the next couple of weeks in order to complete some projects and cross things off my to-do list.  We’ll see how that goes.

Your Delivery Will Occur During This 2-Hour Window

How many times have we heard that?  I am sitting here waiting for my new washer and dryer to be delivered.  After doing our Consumer Reports research and a little price shopping, we went to the appliance store Monday evening to purchase the set we had decided on.  The first delivery available was today, Thursday.  Perfect.  I had nothing on my calendar.  The salesman told us we would receive a call Wednesday evening letting us know our 2-hour delivery window.  He assured us it was NOT like the cable or phone company that provide you with a huge window of time for them to arrive within.  No, their delivery people would be there within this window.

I got home from my running group last night to find an automated message from the store.  Our delivery will occur between 8:45 am and 10:45 am.  Perfect.  Surely we would be within the first delivery group of the day.  I couldn’t imagine that they did a 6:45 am delivery slot.  I got up at my normal time and figured I should take a quick look at the brochure we received at the store to make sure I have everything ready for delivery.  Great, we were supposed to drain all the water out of the washer.  How do you even do that?

I went down, pulled the hose out, and laid it as flat as possible on the basement floor.  Some pretty foul-smelling water drained out.  I tipped the machine backwards to see if anything else would come out.  Nope.  I jiggled it around.  It didn’t sound like there was any water sloshing around.  Surely they would be satisfied with that.  I looked up and one of the dogs was lapping the stagnant water out of the drain.  Dogs can be gross sometimes.  I made sure the path to the basement was clear, then went up to get in the shower.

8:45 rolled around and I had to dry my hair.  If I waited much longer, there is no way I would be able to make my hair presentable.  But what if the delivery truck arrived and I didn’t hear it?  I decided to risk it and turned on the hair dryer.  I was concerned for no reason.  My husband left for a hearing at a little after 9.  Still no word from the delivery people.  I decided to do a little straightening up, balance the checkbook, buy some concert tickets.  (What I have yet to do is “work” from home, which is what I really should be doing).  While performing these activities, the dogs periodically go nuts.  Every fifteen minutes or so they start barking and tearing through the house.  Every time I think, yes, they are here!  I get up only to find someone walking their dog, or a big cement truck driving down the street.  Why there is a cement truck driving down our tiny 8-block street is beyond me.

It is now 10:42. Yes, they have three minutes.  No, I am not optimistic.  I think I’m going to miss having lunch with my husband.  Who knows how long they will actually be here once they arrive.  I am a bit apprehensive about them getting the old machines up and the new machines down.  The previous owners remodeled the stairs to the basement and they are very steep with very little overhead clearance.  Let’s hope everything moves through the stairwell smoothly.  It’s now 10:45.  No delivery men.  No phone call.  Could that be a truck I hear rumbling down the street?!  Nope, just an airplane.

I’m just curious, who actually gets items delivered towards the beginning of the delivery window?  I’ve never had it happen.  Have you?

Streams in the Basement

I know that rain is necessary to bring life back to flowers, grass, and trees, but the past few weeks we have been getting slammed with heavy showers.  Our house was built in 1924, and our basement is quasi-finished – awesome wood paneling and linoleum throughout most of it (the basement stairway and a half-bath have nice finishes).  During our inspection, our inspector told us to expect water in the basement during heavy rains.  The prior homeowners were adamant that no water had come into the basement since they had some work done on the downspouts, and even before that, very rarely was there water in the basement.  The house is old, there is no sump pump, and we were not too worried about water.  It would be a while before we could afford to waterproof and finish it anyway.  In addition, during the time that we were looking at the house and going through the inspection process, we were getting quite a bit of rain and saw no evidence of water.

It was quite some time before we ever saw water in the basement, and it was just a little trickle from one corner directly to the drain.  Good old 1920s’ engineering.  One day after it had been raining for quite a few days, there was water coming from the same corner, but also from the center front of the house.  The water seemed also seemed to be coming up from the foundation (or so I thought).  I pulled back one of the panels from the center support wall and realized it was just water flowing from the other room into the drain.  I tend to overreact sometimes.  That, however, was the most significant event that occurred over last summer and fall.

We had quite a bit of snow fall this year, and it all melted fairly rapidly about a month ago, completely saturating the ground.  We had a few light rains here and there, but last week we got a torrential down-pour.  It was even thundering.  I don’t recall too many thunderstorms in February.  The rain was coming down so hard, I went to bed fearing what I would find in the basement the next morning.  The sound of the rain woke me up often during the night, and I contemplated going down to see what was happening.  I’m glad I didn’t because I probably wouldn’t have been able to get back to sleep.

I went down the next morning and was shocked to find standing water about three feet wide surrounding one of the drains.  I had looked out in the driveway on my way into the basement and it appeared to be flooded about the normal amount (there is something wrong with the drain out there, too).  Apparently something had happened during the night, though, to cause the drain to back up.  I made my way through the basement and not only was the floor damp, all the utility rugs were soaked, and there were streaks of mud everywhere.  That made me a little uncomfortable.  I’m not sure where the mud is coming from.  My first thought – the foundation is washing away!

By the time I got home in the afternoon, the water around the drain had subsided, but as I did more exploring I realized that one of the other rooms that typically never gets water had become pretty saturated.  My only guess is that the water from the drain backed up that far at some point during the night.  When I was out of town over the weekend, it rained Friday and Saturday.  More streams running through the basement, leaving mud in their wake.  I hope this doesn’t become a regular event.  Hopefully the ground will have a chance to dry out some between rains and be able to handle the water.  At least we still have streams, and not ponds or lakes.  I’ll be thankful for that for the time being.

A Weekend Away

I’m not sure if it’s the old Dell computer or what, but this is the second time I have tried to publish a post only to find out a day later that it didn’t actually post.  Again, I have no idea what happened because this time I am certain the “post published” banner came up and I clicked on view post.  I blame the stupid old laptop.  Anyway, this post was written yesterday morning about 9:30 and I see no point in not actually publishing it.

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I have been a bit lax in my posting this weekend because I am at my state bar association’s women’s bench/bar retreat.  The schedule has been packed full of seminars and activities, so I missed posting yesterday.  This conference has a very interesting dynamic (which I will discuss once I get back home) and every year I leave wondering if I’ll return the next year.  And I always do.

This year I was actually asked to present one of the seminars, so I am a bit nervous (it’s in two hours).  I don’t know why because public speaking does not really scare me.  I had one dream where attendees kept talking during the presentation, and another just Thursday night where people were leaving in the middle of it.  Weird, right?  I think it’s because this will be the first time I have ever presented in front of a group of lawyer peers.  A bit intimidating.

I’m sure it will be fine, but I’m ready for it to be here and over with!

Man-Eating Potholes

I love spring.  I love most everything about it – green things sprouting, snow melting, birds chirping.  However, spring also brings with it some ugly, nasty things – potholes.  I’m no engineer, but I really feel like there should be some product out there that stops the pot holes from coming.

There is one particular stretch of road around the corner from our house about 4 blocks long that is riddled with potholes.  But not your normal potholes.  It is as if these potholes have learned how to communicate and are working with each other to swallow up that particular section of the earth.  There is one hole that I could seriously lay down in and be completely below the surface of the street.  You can imagine what would happen if you drove your car over that not realizing it was there.  It could seriously break your axle.

The other night we were driving home from dinner and one snuck up on us on the passenger side.  My husband swerved to try to avoid it, but seconds too late.  We hit it, the car bounced, I let out an involuntary “oooh!”, then felt the jar of the impact up my spine.  I listened for the sound of a flapping flat tire because I was certain we had popped one.  We had escaped unscathed…this time.

Last week my running coach thought we should run along this treacherous stretch of road to get to the greenway trail.  It was Wednesday evening and we were running 6 miles.  Daylight is slowly sticking around longer every evening, but I knew it was still going to be dark on the way back.  This four-block stretch is in a residential area of town, so there are sparse streetlights.  Sure enough, I was running back, alone, in the pitch black.  I am clumsy enough when the sun is at high noon.  I had to run very slowly in order to not fall into one of these man-eating potholes. I surely would have broken something had I fallen.  Somehow I managed to maneuver through upright.  Why not run on the sidewalks, you ask?  Because they are uneven, crumbling, and narrow.  The greater of two evils in my mind.

This morning on my way to work, I saw the city workers out scooping the hot mix asphalt into some of the holes.  They will tamp down the mix with the back of the shovel, not really compacting it.  Cars will drive over it, making a depression into the “fixed” hole.  Over the course of the summer and fall, the repair will begin to weaken.  The repair will crumble, and by the time spring rolls around next year, the hole will be back again.  In the exact same place.  No, the workers did not make it over to the hole the size of a Smart car.  I suspect it will be around for a while.  Probably because there’s not enough hot mix to fill up that giant crater leading to the middle of the earth.