I’m told I’ll be without a kitchen for another week. Can I tell you how “happy” that makes me? Sure, I don’t have to cook. But even if we get carry-out, we still have glasses and utensils to wash. Not to mention dog bowls. In the bathroom sink. Which was not exactly made for such.
Saturday, Tom and I went on a marathon shopping spree so everyone could stop listening to my whining and bitching about how behind I am with all the things I need to do. Sunday night, we went to one of Mark’s favorite places–sight unseen–in Houston: the airport post office. Monday is predicted to be the busiest post office day of the year, and we had around a dozen packages to mail, so the 24/7 post office in the dead of night seemed like a better plan. And truly, we didn’t have to wait in line. The clerk who helped us was pleasant. And there was a bonus. Someone was shipping LIVE CHICKENS in boxes. How often does a person get to fill out her tracking and insurance labels with clucking going on all around her? I felt like I was part of an NPR segment. Furthermore, it was Tom, not I, who said, “Now you have a reason to go home and post to your LiveJournal, because CHICKENS IN THE POST OFFICE ARE BLOGWORTHY.” I agree.
I only have about four more packages to mail, and I’ll be done with that part of the holiday. Just a few last-minute things for local friends and some Christmas card stragglers to respond to. Meanwhile, my office–including my desktop computer with my vast photo archives–is inaccessible to me, which means I’ll be VERY late posting a Photo Friday photo. Here’s what my kitchen looks like now:
Looking toward the kitchen from the dining room. The painters keep taping that plastic to the doorframe, and we keep pushing through it. I will NOT BE DENIED entry to my kitchen. We do shift those boxes around to keep the dogs out, though.
My beautiful tile floor, now covered by brown paper.
Cabinet interiors have been scraped and primed.
Appliances are all nicely covered. Which is fine, but remember that we feed our dogs raw food which has to be kept refrigerated? And we’re not going to wake up Tim and Rex when Margot and Guinness want to eat at 6:30 a.m., so we have to use our refrigerator instead of Tim’s. We’ve figured it all out, but the dogs are still convinced every meal time that the end is near and all hope is lost. At least while my floors are covered in brown paper, I won’t see an oddly-shod dog doing this on my new tile:
Tim’s cute shoes to the left, Rex’s cute shoes front and center. For the curious, that would be raw turkey neck, raw beef heart, raw chicken gizzards, and a veggie cube consisting of raw beets, carrots, celery, zucchini, yellow squash, pumpkin, parsley, and asparagus stalks. Hungry?
This sink, counter, wall, and fixtures will all be ripped out on Monday (I’ve heard), so why they are so carefully wrapped in plastic, I have no clue.
Beyond this plastic is my office. My computer. The only phone with a battery that doesn’t go dead after a few minutes of conversation. My reference books. The things I need around me when I write. MY SPACE!
It’ll be over soon and life will be sane again. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. In the meantime, thanks for all the nice e-mails. And more important than any inconvenience I’m enduring, I hope Gary and Ron continue to heal and get better every day.
Hope it’s all over for you soon. I can’t wait for the big unwrapping.
(In Rex’s picture, it looks like he coughed up a lung or something, instead of just eating lunch.)
It’s his stance, I think. That’s totally a “I-smoke-three-packs-a-day-hack-hack-oops!” stance.
While you’re in limbo all week, I’ll be imagining you giving NYC an eyefull, instead of your current disruption. : )
The answer is paper (or plastic) plates, and cups and knives and forks. Even for the dogs. They’d probably chew them up afterwards so you wouldn’t even need to throw them out. And I love that there were chickens in the post office. That’s definitely blog-worthy! 🙂
You can make it, hon. Really.
Or, if you’d like, I’ll go live there, you can live here. There’s lots to do here. Mostly with a shovel.
Tempting, but…no. Winter is so beautiful from a distance.
I’ve been a-waitin’ on my chickens…..they was suppose to be here last week.
Ha!
They’re on the way, then. I don’t think they’re going to like your weather, though.
“It’ll be over soon and life will be sane again.”
Yes, just keep repeating that . . .
You are not making me want to rush out and redo my kitchen. As a matter of fact, you’re making me fear my kitchen. A lot.
Sigh… I’m never gonna get to knock that wall down, am I? 😉
All of that plastic everywhere makes me think of that time I covered our dining room in plastic so that I could throw lots of chocolate pudding inside the house. — You should be throwing chocolate pudding while you can! 😉
This city boy would agree that live chickens are blog-worthy just about anywhere, but definitely in a post office.
You mean life was sane once? Who knew?
You mean life was sane once?
Allegedly.