It was deceptively sunny today, but still cool with a brisk breeze, a perfect metaphor for my mood. I'm thrilled that we've started doing something to this place, but today the process wore me down.
We're partially wired and there is new insulation, and sheetrocking begins tomorrow. There is also a three foot wide path of mud and dust and plaster bits that runs the length of the hall, through the entry and living room, swings around through the corner of the dining room and completely across the kitchen to the garage.
Every surface here is covered with a fine, gritty dust, including the bathroom we're using, which is now completely devoid of any counter space. Our toothbrushes are in their holder... on the closet shelf in the bedroom. There is nowhere to hang a towel since I'd always used the door, which must now be closed so that the neighbors can't see my ass when I exit the shower.
The electrician had things come up, and while I know things happen, he had planned to be done today, but must now come back tomorrow. And beat the sheetrocker. The carpenter, in an effort to be helpful, had his Pella guy come bid the three bedroom windows. Two grand for three windows is not in the budget.
So I'd been battling a mild crankiness when I headed off to the bowling alley. Just as we started, Brett called. Mrs. Blandings had stopped by and brought this:
When Patricia posted that she'd been invited to sit on the Elle Decor panel at West Week I was thrilled for her. If you read Mrs. Blandings you know that Style and Substance, the title of Margaret Russell's new book, is an apt discription of Patricia as well. Because I'm often prone to making a joke, after offering my congratulations I also offered twenty bucks if she could boost Margaret's lipstick. Even better than pilfered cosmetics, is an inscription: