Awning . . .
What I didn't, really, notice? Awnings. Yep. Quaint on Parisian cafes, important in Florida subdivisions, and not all that common in the heartland in recent decades. But we have them. Many of them. I didn't have any actual "impression" of them. They were just sorta there. We talked, at move in, about what to do with them (here's what you need to know about how I live my life - my strong advocacy was that we do exactly, literally nothing).
So we did, well, nothing. And then we sped through the first year of life in the warm, friendly, happy confines of Sleepy Challah. And then there was a windstorm and stuff got nutty and this huge, second story awning - closest to the curb - ripped and tore and the frame bent and snapped and it separated from the house and the pieces and fragments just sort of hung from the mountings.
So we talked about what to do with it. And here's what you need to know about how I live my life - my strong advocacy was that we do exactly, literally nothing.
And there it hangs. Sad and clumped - actually knotted around itself - and morose and weak. And I don't notice it nearly often enough. But for some reason, last evening, as I pushed the trash mini-dumpster to the curb, I looked up and saw it. And today - in the 9 AM hour - I'll call about getting it repaired. My days of doing literally, exactly nothing are behind me.