Most of that weekend was eaten up by a flooring project in the house.  Even if we didn’t actually do the work, it still interrupted the flow of our weekend to some degree.  Most home-improvement projects will do that, which is why we never embark on any.  When we bought the house we just had them put the builder-grade grade carpeting in downstairs, on the thought that it would last a while and by then we would either have moved on or decided what we really wanted.  (The flooring upgrades from the builder were crazy-expensive.)  As it turned out the cheap-o carpet was complete crap, it didn’t even last two years.  So, we decided to have tile put in to match the existing kitchen floor.  Along the way we ran into a few logistical issues, like matching the pattern of the tile to the entry-way tile, and ended up deciding to put the wood-look stuff in the dining room.  The project kicked off Friday night.  As part of our somewhat cut-rate installation fee, it was on us to move all the furniture out and have it ready for them to start early Saturday.  No problem, I figured I’d just bribe a few friends to come over and help me carry things around.  At the very last moment, I remembered “wait a minute, I don’t have any friends,” which put us in a rather dire situation.  It was rather a contentious evening involving lots of mechanical engineering and arguments, but between the two of us we actually managed to move the entire first floor into the garage.  Step one accomplished.

Saturday morning three guys showed up at 7:30 ready to hit the tile.  They had the carpet ripped out and the floor prepped by 8:00, leaving me with the inevitable feeling of “Geez, I coulda done that myself.”  Whatever.  That doesn’t mean I wanted to do it.  They put the tile in at a rather impressive rate.  Unlike the carpet tear-out, I had no illusions that I could have done that part.  It would’ve take me weeks, and the end result would have been much less aesthetically pleasing.  While all that mess was going on, Donette took off on a long walk.  She went on a seven mile hike, and Teagan and I met her at the end of it.  (In the car, of course.)  We went out to lunch, kicked around the town aimlessly for a while, and when we got back to the house around 4:00 they were pretty much wrapping things up.  Although it was all down, we still couldn’t walk on it, so we were effectively relegated to the back yard for the evening.  As it happens, I spend most evenings out there anyway, so not a big inconvenience on that part.

Sunday morning got off to a quite early start.  Teagan was also banished from the first floor, and we’d had her shut up in our bedroom all night.  About 4:30 in the morning she decided she’d been cooped up long enough and it was time to go out for a while.  As it happened, I was planning to cook a brisket for my Sunday entertainment, and the sun starts coming up shortly after 5:00 anyway, so I decided to just go ahead and get the smoker rolling.  Unlike the vast majority of my decisions, this one worked out nicely.  I spent a pleasant morning on the patio tending the cooker and drinking coffee.  The tile team showed up at 7:30 again and started on the grout, and we headed down to nearby Milestone for brunch.  Although conveniently located, I really do not care for that place.  The good news is, I didn’t have any sort of even mediocre expectations going in.  On the contrary, I’d say I almost look forward to seeing what egregious culinary faux pas they will subject me to each time I go there.  I ended up ordering the biscuits and gravy.  Although I fully expected bitter disappointment, my curiosity got the better of me and I just had to find out 1) what $10 biscuits and gravy tasted like, and 2) how they would manage to screw up a national staple. As it turned out, they weren’t bad at all, easily the least bad thing I’ve ever eaten there.  (Worth ten bucks?  Not on their best day, but I’ll leave that aspect out of it.)  If I just had to make a comment about them, which of course I did, I would question the addition of onions to the gravy.  Matter of fact, I would strongly question it.  Anybody ever had onions in their country gravy?  I can’t recall the occasion if I have.  After that, our friends Michael & Alaina joined us back at the house to monitor the cooker.  Poor Michael, I think he is just too young and energetic to appreciate the sport of smoking.  He seemed a bit thrown off that the entire day consists of sitting on the patio, with an hourly trip across the yard to throw a few lumps of charcoal on the cooker.  Doni finally took the kids to the pool, and I finished up the cook with Teagan.  It came out quite well considering I don’t get much practice out here.  When everybody got back from the pool they ended up moving all the furniture back in place while I finished putting together dinner, I think out of sheer boredom.  Bonus, project completed!