The Handwriting On The Wall

Susan’s been pretty good about it, but I haven’t done much  in terms of reportage or documentage since the pre-renovation demolition  commenced last week — in part because I was somewhat deflated when the house’s equivalent of the famed Al Capone’s vault (ours being a crawlspace section of the bedroom that’s been walled off and inaccessible for gawd knows how long) was opened up to reveal nothing inside accept some old wasp nests and some craptastic wood paneling.

Given the treasures and trash our backyard has given up, I’d not so secretly been hoping for a stash of old newspapers or magazines. Maybe a beer bottle or an empty pack o’ smokes.

Nopes.

But a couple nights ago Susan told me the destruction of old plaster and lathe in what had been the apartment’s hallway had revealed a datestamp of sorts, most likely indicative of when the work was done breaking the single home into the four separate apartments. So at first light this morning up I went to take a look and a snap:

November 26 25th, 1950

Susan thinks at some point 58 years later and before the framing is covered back up we should inscribe this beam with the date we began making the house whole again. I totally agree.