Trust me, I
understand I am not the only one who has ever been almost all consumed by a
renovation project. In fact, this is our
second “big” renovation of this house, but this one seems so much different,
and longer than the other.
With the end in
sight, and it really is, I am amazed at how my reaction has changed over the
last few months. At first, when the
inside of the house was upside down and I couldn’t do much but come in to the
office and work or read, I thought I might go “stir crazy”. Of course, a lot of that was over the cold
and dreary months of winter, too, so that didn’t help in trying to deal with the massive amount of
clutter that was at my every step.
The only parts
of this house that have not been touched in some way are the laundry room and the two
bathrooms…every other room has either been either “remodeled” in some way or
has been converted, temporarily it says here, into some other type of room…my respite, the
guest bedroom/office, has become storage for all things to be kept “safe”. My wedding china in a plastic tote, knick-knacks, new décor in bags, 3 glass lamp shades on the bed... It has always been
the storage for Christmas, housed in a nice closet, which came and went during this project and I can't get to the closet. It is also where I sort and fold laundry, since that area is just outside
the door. And, it’s my office…my escape space, which has become smaller and smaller as more and more has come in here
to be kept out of harm’s and hammer’s way. It is no longer the office/bedroom with maybe a bit of laundry to fold. It's a battleground.
Four months
ago, I thought I would snap. Stepping
over this, trying not to knock over that …where did it go? Where did I put it?
Where did he put it? Did I throw it out? I am sure I saw it. I stopped cooking, I stopped cleaning,
I stopped organizing anything, I stopped shopping ~ which, you know, since I
wasn’t cooking was not a huge deal ~ I wore the same clothes over and over as it was easier than finding something else to wear. I just washed it and put it back on. Didn't matter anyway as I rarely left this
construction site I call home.
I lost touch
with people, I know. This became bigger
than friendships, bigger than fun, bigger than…GASP…extended family. Big. I dreaded hearing someone say “I want to stop
by and see what you are doing”. Oh no,
please don’t. My house was a literal
wreck, still is. I knew coming in it would be
months and months…but it’s really hard to realize what that means until you are
in the middle and you see no end, and you don’t remember the start. You don’t remember what the house looked
like, or where things were. People see
the changes and say “Hey, wasn’t your such and such right there?” “Um, yeah, I
think that’s where it was…sure, yeah, that’s right”
This all came
to a blinding flash the other night as an old friend stopped in…hadn’t seen him in
years, and he had not seen the house in a long time, has traveled many roads
since the last time he was here and well, he didn’t remember a lot about
it. But, what really struck me, as hubs
and I sat talking with him as he squeezed into a corner to a temporarily placed
chair, removing the pillows and throws that had been placed there, noticing, but not quite registering he had his hands full of my comfort items, wondering where he should put them...and we sat opposite on the couch, plates in hand, shoveling our quickly
prepared, late evening spaghetti into our faces (the first meal I have cooked
in a very, very long time), was how very
few casual conversations we have had over the last few months. So much of it revolves around this project
for us, only with him, it was different…we wanted to know what HE had been
doing, who he had seen, where he has been.
No “Well, yes, the kitchen did
have this or that and now it will have such and such.” We were hungry for what he had to share. Did we just turn a corner?
Much later, although we tried to bombard him with spaghetti when he first walked in, we realized we failed to offer him even a sip of water during his
visit. Have we forgotten how to be
welcoming? Hospitable? I was aware of him glancing over to our dining room table, shoved in to the living room space and piled high with items off the walls and tools, screws, nails, paint brushes, did he just wince? I have become almost oblivious to the mess by this point. I don't see it. I step over it, I walk around it. I shrug. I see the white blob on the new wood floor that is either drywall mud or ceiling paint and think "We'll get that later". Will we?
But, there is
that light at the end of the tunnel. It
is happening…not quite to the “punch list” phase, but, it is finishing up; the
butcher block counter for the island is here and waits to be attached to the
cabinets, my new stools await it, so they can be slid underneath the
overhang and we will enjoy a meal there. The fridge is a thing of
beauty, the dishwasher is glorious. The
other counter tops and the sink will be installed in about a week and the walls
are almost all freshly painted their new Proper Grey. I've emptied and sold the antique china cabinet we have had since we moved in to our home in 1978. The new, smaller cabinet will be here in about a week, along with the new media cabinet to go under the new television. We even had a moment of “ahhhh” as we sat among tools and sawdust on the new, but not
quite finished, screen porch a week or so ago and enjoyed a quiet moment with a
neighbor. There is less of a feeling of panic and fear and more of excitement, blessing and gratitude.
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