My kingdom for a drywall screw

Our story so far: After what seemed like an eternity of demolition, we were beginning to build inside the old Methodist church we were turning into a home instead of tear down.

# # #

A few day after the drywallers tore down the ceiling tiles in the sanctuary of the church, as I was making the bed back at the rental house after doing laundry, Tyler called, frantic.

“What are you doing right now?”

“Um, making the bed?”

“We’re out of drywall screws. You need to go get some. Three-inch drywall screws.”

OK, this was a task I could pull off. I now had visited the nearby Home Depot so many times, I knew exactly which door to enter to find the “screws and nails” aisle.

“How many?” I asked.

“Um,” he said, apparently eyeing the ceiling where the drywallers were working. “Five pounds.”

Okey, dokey. Five pounds of drywall screws, coming right up.

When I got there, screws in hand, the church sounded like a real construction zone.

Men’s voices and hammers echoed in the sanctuary. St. Johnny made noise with the Air Locker pulling nails out of boards in the basement. The HVAC guys moved a truckload of shiny ventilation ducting into the basement of the church. A boom box was tuned to a rock station playing “Superstition” by Stevie Wonder, which includes the line “very superstitious, ladders bout to fall.”

Fortunately, the drywallers were using scaffolding, not ladders.

Superstition ain’t the way.

The drywallers were making quick, satisfying progress on the ceiling of the sanctuary. The place was beginning to take on the sheen of new construction, a nice change from insulation dust.

Nothing like the smell of new construction in the morning.

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Tomorrow: Did you say foam? Or Faux? Read about it here.


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