I’m a woman without a kitchen.
This is Day Twenty-six of the most modest of kitchen renovations, and between now and Day Twenty-nine, we’re losing all access to the kitchen, the largest room in our house and the space through which all people and pets must pass.
As I’ve told you several times already, my husband and I painted this large room ourselves, a significant feat for several reasons. It took almost a week.
Now the contractors are here to refinish the floors, a process I’m told will generate significant amounts of dust. Instead of writing my blog, I spent the morning hours removing the remaining items from the counters and sealing up all of the cabinets because, if gobs of pine dust fill my drawers, I will surely melt. I’m already teetering on the edge of sanity.
My husband is away and the plan was for the pets and me to move out for the week. I’m still not sure how that is going to work out. Ricky and Lucy are already completely confused. Every day is a scavenger hunt for their litter boxes and food dishes. I notice them consulting with each other as they approach the search.
This morning they are locked in a bedroom until I can map the next step. A ride in the car will most certainly do them in. Trust me. When this is over they’re going to need some therapy.
Meanwhile, I have newfound respect for do-it-yourself-ers and even for those who live with large home renovations executed by others. I’ve heard stories of people washing dishes in bathtubs and eating out of their microwaves in the basement for weeks and months on end. We’re not even touching cabinets or counter tops or more than one appliance, and it’s rattling.
You know that feeling when the electricity goes out and you walk in a room and try to switch on the light? And then do it again five minutes later? Any bets on how many times in the next three days I bump into plastic sheeting as I try to enter my kitchen?
I wonder what the special is at Nick’s Diner.