Riveter Posts

I knew it was going to be bad, but in reality it’s so much worse than I thought it would be.  I could live with the painters, who only broke a glass table, scratched up a solid wooden cabinet, dropped and broke some porcelain statues and made a mess when they sanded the walls and ceilings.  I survived all of that.  But then arrived a very nice gentleman who would repair and fix my parquet floor.  At the same time some carpenters would fix the stairway and several doors to the bathrooms.  They took the doors with them so they could fix them in their own workshop.  So there I was:  radiators taken outside as the floors beneath them needed fixing (and it was freezing at night), not a toilet or bathroom in the house with a door, and my whole house, including everything stored inside the closets, covered with a thick layer of dust because of the abrasing of the parquet floors.  That’s when I started to cry.   And what a coincidence! It was Tasua when all of Iran cries for the death of Imam Hossein.  This was the first time ever that I cried with them.