Stairway to Heaven

I grew up listening to John Boy and Billy in Charlotte, back before they were all national and shit. They are still ruling the cheesy classic rock radio scene, and spinning two-fer Tuesday tunes like never before (or like always before, as it were...) Imagine my delight when I was able to spend the spring-like day up at my house that is rising from the hillside, jamming to two-fers from Aerosmith, Led Zeppelin, Jon Bon Jovi, Jimmi Hendrix, Queen, the Eagles, you name it. I danced on the the second floor, which is sturdy and prepared to receive walls later this week, and I grooved out on the new stairs, which rock harder than John Boy and Billy ever will (sorry, JB and B...) Todd, Marc and Greg were like studs from the Galaxy of Stud, building and figuring and such. I wore a tiger doo-rag, backward and Tupac style, in honor of the lovely day. This special doo-rag was a valentine's gift from the one and only Meg (Flemming) Renwick of the ATX.


Marc and his "whacker"




The "commanding view of the garden" (-M.A.) from the front wall of the bedroom