The roofing sign in my front yard advertises free estimates and from this end of the reality continuum the term estimate was spot on. Looking back we probably would have appreciated something closer to an actual. The roof is installed and it looks great; we just didn’t expect the added venting, dry-rot repair, etc., etc. The garage is now topped in plywood, installed after they trashed the original roof. “Can’t we pull the old vintage wood out of the dumpster and sell it as salvage?” I asked. Steve gave me a look.

“Why didn’t they just put the plywood over the old wood? Might have saved some of that $55 per man-hour labor cost.”

“It was bowed,” he replied.

The $55 guys moved my potted ferns from the kitchen porch into direct sun, starting a death march I’ve been unable to stop. The framing crew cut the garage skylight opening too low claiming the beams wouldn’t support it being higher. We’re both in funk at this point — nails in the grass, a Gatorade bottle stuck between branches of a front-yard tree — and I’ve hit my head more than once on the monolithic drop-box dominating the driveway.

Two nights ago I woke up and couldn’t breath so the dog and I wandered outside and roamed around the yard at 3 a.m. — the air was cool and it was too dark to see the missing cedar shingles on the back of the house, casualties of the tear off.

Our eastern neighbors are at the beach and we’re watering their park-like-setting. Their house was featured in the N.Y. Times last year and I imagine myself camping on their pristine little patio until our siding is replaced. The western neighbors left for Orcas Island this morning: my favorite place on planet Earth. [Does coveting include vacations and landscape?]

I expected the roof to cost us Paris and Italy, now we’ve said goodbye to Spain and the Balkans. Sometimes when I drive up to the house I expect to see a mid-size minivan perched under a dormer.

Last night my four-year-old friend, Luca, was relaying his lovely dream about low maintenance living structures. I looked into his bright blue eyes,”Do you dream in color, Luca?”

He thought for a moment, then told me the marshmallow castle was white.