Monday, October 06, 2003
Oh good lord I wouldn't be surprised if you were to soon read in the paper about a mother and daughter both found dead in the B&B apartment they are sharing for another week together -- hands wrapped around each other's throats in a tight stranglehold. Yes the novelty of our mother and daughter 'bonding time' at the B&B has most definitely worn off. The dog is getting edgy too. She is none too happy about the cat she claims is terrorizing her every day that we leave her downstairs while we are gone.
In between the cat fights this weekend, I spent most of my time wiping down the fine powder-like film of sawdust that has settled over every nook and cranny in my house -- the house we still can't move back into until our bathroom is functional again, which looks to be another week. The problem with wiping down everything is that it is like spring pollen on your car; you wash but it is futile. A few hours later the film is back again.
In my attempt to reign in home improvement costs that seem to have taken on a life of their own, I am taking back projects I had assigned to the contractor. Like the painting. I do a better job anyway. I've got red-brick in the dining room; white coffee in the kitchen and my office; I'm thinking of a tobacco or brown-paper-bag color for the living room.
My Austrian mother-in-law would be proud. No one can clean a house like the Austrian and Swiss and during my five-year sojourn in Austria, I picked up a trick or two. After finishing up the kitchen wall with a fresh coat of Benjamin Moore Eggshell Coffee White yesterday afternoon, my eye went to the light switch -- a piece of plastic that for many years has been switched on and off by many hands (some cleaner than others). Next thing you know I have an old toothbrush in hand and am cleaning away the fine black grime on the light switch and in the crevices of the screws holding on the plate.... I know. I know. But when my house finally is pulled back together -- most of the walls painted, floors re-finished, glass polished, wood furniture re-oiled, light switches brushed clean, I am sure that there will be a cumulative "WOW" effect that should we sell the house will be worth my ravaged hands.
Hubby is in the U.K. giving a 60-slide presentation to the sales force -- he is enviably oblivious to all of these endless logistical and tactical strings to be considered and dealt with here at home let alone the mess. If daughter and I survive each other over the next week, you might instead read in the paper of a deranged mother and daughter (and dog for that matter) attacking clueless hubby/dad/master who called out "Hello?" as he walked into his gleaming house from his 11-day business trip abroad.
My new subway read is the Piano Tuner by Daniel Mason. I finally finished Franzen's The Corrections. For about a week thereafter, I was feeling positively FUNCTIONAL sans the DYS.
In between the cat fights this weekend, I spent most of my time wiping down the fine powder-like film of sawdust that has settled over every nook and cranny in my house -- the house we still can't move back into until our bathroom is functional again, which looks to be another week. The problem with wiping down everything is that it is like spring pollen on your car; you wash but it is futile. A few hours later the film is back again.
In my attempt to reign in home improvement costs that seem to have taken on a life of their own, I am taking back projects I had assigned to the contractor. Like the painting. I do a better job anyway. I've got red-brick in the dining room; white coffee in the kitchen and my office; I'm thinking of a tobacco or brown-paper-bag color for the living room.
My Austrian mother-in-law would be proud. No one can clean a house like the Austrian and Swiss and during my five-year sojourn in Austria, I picked up a trick or two. After finishing up the kitchen wall with a fresh coat of Benjamin Moore Eggshell Coffee White yesterday afternoon, my eye went to the light switch -- a piece of plastic that for many years has been switched on and off by many hands (some cleaner than others). Next thing you know I have an old toothbrush in hand and am cleaning away the fine black grime on the light switch and in the crevices of the screws holding on the plate.... I know. I know. But when my house finally is pulled back together -- most of the walls painted, floors re-finished, glass polished, wood furniture re-oiled, light switches brushed clean, I am sure that there will be a cumulative "WOW" effect that should we sell the house will be worth my ravaged hands.
Hubby is in the U.K. giving a 60-slide presentation to the sales force -- he is enviably oblivious to all of these endless logistical and tactical strings to be considered and dealt with here at home let alone the mess. If daughter and I survive each other over the next week, you might instead read in the paper of a deranged mother and daughter (and dog for that matter) attacking clueless hubby/dad/master who called out "Hello?" as he walked into his gleaming house from his 11-day business trip abroad.
My new subway read is the Piano Tuner by Daniel Mason. I finally finished Franzen's The Corrections. For about a week thereafter, I was feeling positively FUNCTIONAL sans the DYS.
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