Context: We have a farm but we don’t live on it. The one house there is full of snakes and looks haunted. So instead, we live in an airplane hangar ten miles away with a small apartment on the second level.
Years ago ,when I was still a green grad student and my Alaskern airplane-flying crazy-father upbringing was weird and exotic enough to snag the attention of my high-falutin’ New Yorker colleagues, my friend sent me a link to this story with a note that read something along the lines of YOUR TRUE SOULMATE. (I had a different boyfriend at the time who was very nice but definitely not my soulmate.)
I glanced at the story and simply wrote back, Not to be a one-upper, but I know a man who’s got one better…
Hard to believe I live with him these days.
I ought to do a little post about our totally awesome little hangar apartment, but not today. All I wanted to do was post this picture of the door collapse:
Even better? The company that manufactures these kinds of hangar doors is out of business. Surprise! So Jon hired the same handy-dandy cowboy-hat sporting men who built his barn to tackle the door project. Which they’ve never done before. And which is taking weeks upon weeks to engineer.
Finally, here’s a cute picture of Pax, who I love.