. . .
The spring of 2014 turned out to be one of the worst times of my life. On the last weekend of February, a series of torrential downpours that were seemingly centered over our house caused the back of the house to leak so much that it was basically misty by our back door. The final straw was when water started pouring through our ceiling fan onto our bed.
So for over three months, Rox and I lived a weird existence: sleeping in a Burbank hotel while supervising the teardown, mold removal and eventual reconstruction of the house we’d lived in for nearly five years, all the while fighting with our recalcitrant insurance company and a smooth-talking contractor who promised things it didn’t seem like his people were going to fulfill.