The kitchen remodel is almost completed. Thankfully, we do not have to jackhammer up the floor, as the plumbers thought we might have to do last Friday. I called another company, the same one who rushed to our rescue with the gas leak dilemma last week.
On Monday the camera peers down underneath our house, indicating there is no collapsed drainage pipe. My husband told the plumbers they should do colonoscopies; they’d make more money. And that’s what the whole procedure looked like. "Okay, we’re in a two inch pipe now," the plumber Todd said as the camera wiggled its way underneath my house. "We’re moving into an area now that appears to be three inches…"
The stone backsplash is installed and is beautiful in its simplicity. They will come to add something to enhance the stone today or tomorrow. The paint on the cabinet doors and drawers are drying at Andy’s shop and will probably be installed tomorrow. We have purchased $300 worth of pulls and knobs to match the bronze Venetian faucet. (Who would think they’d cost so much?) I am debating whether I want to add a table and chairs to the kitchen area. I have tables in various other areas of the house, but don’t know if I want to take up room in the now elongated kitchen. I usually end up eating my meals standing at the kitchen counter anyway, as there always seems a reason I must hurry.
I have what I call my coffee bar, a red sideboard that now sits against yellow walls, with all my coffee fixings on it. We have had that for about a year now, and truly love it. I have the Cuisinart coffee maker at one end. Two kinds of sweeteners in separate glass containers. And alongside that a larger glass container with sealed lid for Starbucks coffee.
I must tell you that while I write this, I have probably jumped up a dozen times in the space of just a few paragraphs. Abigail the Yorkie, the one year old who has both heart and respiratory problems, has been given her medication, as I give her each morning. The heart medication makes her urinate many times. So she comes to me, cries, and we go running out the front door to the yard where she can ease her bladder. In the last paragraph she threw up close to my desk. I head for the Kaopectate, per instructions of my vet, and squirt it into her mouth as she tries to squirm away. The medicine or perhaps the dog food? So I write in a somewhat disjointed manner, in fits and starts. The washer has become unbalanced and beeped at me, meaning I must jump up and rearrange the items inside it. Many things summon my immediate attention during my waking hours. Such is the life of a homemaker and pet mother.
Okay, so back to the remodel. They began working the day after the notorious furnace disaster, which ended with me being on the local news that night.
Abigail cries. We’re off at a dead-run once again. False alarm this time. Apparently the medication irritates… (Sorry, we’re off again.) Oh, so apparently the other medication does something to her system that upsets her, makes her edgy and irritable. She runs down the many garden pathways, concrete, wooden and brick, to the back of the side yard. Sits for a moment, runs back to the warmth of the indoors. We do this all morning, each and every day. Every morning as I feed her the two pills, I groan inwardly.
I’m going to try and get this blog entry sewn up before something else distracts me. The plumber tells me that the pipes and drainage systems have not caught up with the technology of the new washing machines. They had to cut a hole in the wall at the back of the washer. Yes, the same one Pablo just drywalled and painted yellow last week. They then put in a vent. I did not know a washing machine had to have a vent. News to me. I am learning so much. Pablo and Andy will fashion a door there instead of a wall so the plumber can have ready access to this area for future problems.
Now I have two dogs in my lap. Charlie is resting his head on my left arm. So I make many typos and have to correct them. The washer is gurgling its way to its destination of another clean load. The cats wander around me as I write, wanting kitty treats. My life is full of adventure, even on a quiet Thursday morning.
Abigail cries again. Out the door we go. Charlie, her brother, runs alongside us on the chance he might get to frighten some birds away from the birdfeeders. He loves to watch them as they flap away in irritation. Such simple joys.