Friday, January 17, 2014

My kingdom for an endtable

"Shall I send her birthday card to the shitbox?" was what my friend L's e-mail said this morning.
She wanted to send Freyja a card, in the mail.
She is old fashioned like that.
It made me laugh out loud, because the little rental house could be much worse, the supremely bizarre lack of furnishings does not endear it to anyone. 
L came over the other evening to bring me a lovely little gift and I offered her a glass of water, which she spent the balance of the evening balancing on her lap, or competing for space on the micro table with the kids as they ate in shifts.

The electric and plumbing inspections passed, which is fantastic, excellent, outstanding.
I was sure they wouldn't.
Nothing usually goes well for us.
It is our thing to suffer, to be complicated, to problem solve and wonder about the future. 
To be drained of all of our meager funds by unexpected expenses.

Since following my gut, and choosing Ben, the contractor I trust and like, despite his Minnesota accent and understated way, things have gone well.

We got a card in the mail.  It's time for Mark's check up with his cancer doctor.  It's been two years.  My fingers are crossed.  This is going to go well, I can just feel it. That is how things are going to go for us now.  We are on the Minnesota positive plan now.
We laugh about stuff now.
We don't give a shit about the lack of side tables, we are way beyond all that stuff.  We are beating cancer.  We are winning.  We are passing our inspections. We laugh at things that might kill us.  That is how we are going to be.

Today the drywall went up.

I am pleased to see walls again, rough as they are.

I hope there is taping and mud on the agenda for tomorrow.

I'm sleeping here, at home, for the cat, and because the shitbox is noisy and bright, makes it hard to sleep, because my cat needs me.  The cat is not hep to the Minnesota plan. 

One of our doorways, the one between the old kitchen and the dining room, has changed, widened a tiny bit and shifted over a foot or so.

I asked Ben to turn it into an archway, rather than putting the heavy, dark door back on.

The house is full of arches, some wide, some narrow.

I love them.

It is the second reason I bought the house.

The first thing that sold the house was the sunroom, the second was the arches. 

Right now this archway is "roughed in", and the opening is about 4'6"- Ben will cut out the curve soon, for the time being the drywall has created a low opening, just low enough for me to forget about and walk straight into, at a good clip.

"You are always in a hurry, always rushing and running around!" Mark chastises me often.

True to form, I was running through the kitchen into the dining-room to deal with the cat, and clotheslined myself soundly on that drywall, rang my bell, left myself wondering if my nose would bleed, and my neck all whacked out.
I am all alone with a smashed nose, a crinkled up neck and a ringing in my ears.
The cat is no comfort.
That cat is as selfish as they come.

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