Around 2:00 this afternoon I began reading a book in bed. Five minutes later, it was clear that I was too tired to read so I took a nap instead. I woke up at 4:30. Aside from my wife having left for work, I didn't think I had missed anything. Then I looked out the sun room window.
During the relatively short time I was asleep, the crew that had been preparing to demolish a house across the street had completed their work. Nine out of ten American males rate demolition among the five coolest things to watch, so I was disappointed that I missed it (my fondest corporate work memory was one summer when I had a window office where I could watch a 10-story building being dismantled). It is a testament to my sound sleeping that I didn't awaken as a building crashed to the ground less than 200 feet away.
Normally I would be upset that another vintage neighborhood home has been razed, likely to be replaced with an oversized, architecturally inappropriate semi-mansion (the lot adjacent to the teardown features what I describe as "an English cottage on steroids"). This teardown, however, has sat vacant, stripped of its face brick, for at least 18 months. So I guess I'm happier to see a new residence being built there instead of the old eyesore becoming the neighborhood crack den. And although construction isn't as cool to watch as demolition, it lasts longer so I won't sleep through it.
I really didn't think a single tractor was capable of tearing down a two-story brick structure in just a couple of hours. It's enough to make me question the point of the Three Little Pigs story.