Figuring the cost of all this reconstruction has melted my otherwise logical brain synapses into a tangled mush. I should attempt a budget. I should. I’ve done them before.
But the mild weather along the Central Coast distracts me. It must also have distracted all the former owners, to the point that no one had insulated the bungalow. Who needs to insulate against a low of 50 degrees F?
Me, Marsha. In the process of spending a long day scrabbling on his belly like a lizard between the low roof and the high ceiling, Stanley made only one mistake. As he painstakingly lay out the 4-inch deep sheets of insulation, one of his elbows slipped. A hole in the ceiling ensued.
So the insulation didn’t cost all that much. But shouldn’t we have to figure in the cost to repair the ceiling? You tell me. My brain cells are tired. But no longer quite so cold at night.