Our house was built by a fella we call the “Deadbeat Idiot” (DI). He built much of our house with what he could bring home in his lunch box. It was cobbled together and half-finished in so many ways. We have had to have the plumbing redone; the wiring cleaned up. Ten years later you would think we had found most of his handiwork, and nothing would surprise us. Yet when we tore out the kitchen, we discovered rather than properly fasten the countertop corners, he started the job and when it became too difficult to get right he got out the duct tape. It made the counter top work until about last year. Maybe I shouldn’t call him DI after all.