Tree Time

With a lot of help from FUF -- Friends of the Urban Forest -- and Farmer John, of course, Page Street is sprouting new greens: two Olives and two Primrose, planted last week (in the midst of a Pacific Gas & Electric sidewalk mess).

Dog Day Afternoon

The Dig

When I was 18, I spent the summer on an archeological dig in Israel. Now, this here ain't no Promised Land, I realize, but as I stomp through the sandy floor of the school-to-be, and John presents an old blue Bromo Seltzer bottle that the guys uncovered, the Tel d'Or dig comes to mind.

If the foundation issues weren't enough, we also discovered that the main sewer drain pipe was completely corroded. I don't have to describe what was flowing out of the cracks and into the dirt.

I got into it with Michael's Pit Stop this morning, a patient, sweet older man who calls me yalla,an endearing arabic term, I hope. Anyone? We inappropriately invaded his toilet, which is sitting on rotten wood and has pipes we needed to relocate. oops! He, like we, is less than happy.

But today is a good day, after all, as we finally let go of the contractor -- YIPPEEEEE!! and have an honest, hard-working guy to finish this endless and relentlessly painful job.

Construction Distraction

Hubba Bubba

Meet Bubba-ji Lender, the newest addition to Page Street. Although we are big on big dogs, we opted for this pint-size pet for city-pooping purposes. He's a shichon pup (shitzu-bichon). Yup, a designer dog, of course.

Plastic Fantastic

On a recent trip to the East Bay, the big blue-and-yellow building beamed down on us as we neared the Emeryville exit, beckoning us into the land of cheap, chic and cheap furnishings. Our last and only visit to Ikea was with Guruji and family over a year ago. The guru stayed in the car while we shopped - smart man. The monolithic Disneyland of Swedish style was teeming this mid-week day with eager consumers, and it was only 11 a.m. Never again, we said to each other as we blindly shuffled through the bottom floor in deer-in-headlights bewilderment. Still, armed with our trusty colossal cart, we persevered, hunting down a pair of smart sawhorses for our new makeshift desk, white blinds at a bargain basement price and this plastic lotus-like lamp, that might pass for a fashionable fixture when it's hanging 18ft overhead. Salivating thoughts of an O Chame lunch in Berkeley helped us through the 45 minute wait at check out, as we chanted "never again" over and over. PS. We returned a week later for more blinds. Never again.

F***ing Foundation

Finally, a workman or two punch in. They knock down the last walls, and inadvertently break a pipe. Water gushes into the Pit Stop's basement and no one knows how to turn off the water main. Clark, our 260-pound contractor, supermans it shut in the end. Minor blip, compared to the following day. One by one, one guy snaps off the floorboards. He pops a hole through the Pit Stop's wall, accidentally. Another blip, unparalleled with the end-of-the-day ridiculous discovery: The foundation -- rotten, rotted, and in some places, the brick collapsed and disintegrated into the sand. Progress, at the very least.