It was about a year ago. We were eating dinner at the dining table in our living room. Behind us, a tarp blocked off the real dining room, which had no ceiling. Sawdust and particles of whatever used to insulate our hundred-year-old attic covered the heavy cardboard that covered our wood floors. It was hot, and our summer renovation projects had reached the point where the glamour and excitement was wearing thin, replaced by impatience and the struggle to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

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