All That Remains

“They took everything but the kitchen sink.” No. That’s gone too. All that remains of my old kitchen stands here in this spot. The hot and cold water pipes.

Everything we own that was in our kitchen is boxed up, shelved, and otherwise scattered throughout the house. I feel like I am living in a pile of stuff. The milk is in the frig in the basement, down a flight of steps and sixty feet from where it is supposed to be. The cereal is on a shelf in the hallway next to the disposable bowls and spoons. The toaster is on a cart in the living room. It’s a challenge to eat breakfast. Or any meal, for that matter.

The picture of my new kitchen is engrained in my brain – and I call upon it frequently to keep my sanity.

Like last night when I was scraping the dried joint compound off the old floor to prep for the new floor. My back and feet were aching. My husband helped me carry a few things out of the room. Then he looked at me and said, “I think I’ll go hunting for awhile.”

Thank goodness I didn’t have a hammer in my hand or I would have killed him. Well, not literally …

He paced around the room for a minute. I whined for some more help. Then he made the mistake of opening his mouth one more time.

“Well, this was all your idea,” he said sort-of-under-his-breath as he walked into the living room.

Again, I have no hammer.

Deep breath …

I finished sweeping up the joint compound crumbs.

For those of you who are dying to know, did my husband go hunting?

No.

Twenty minutes later the electrician showed up and he helped him fish a couple wires up through the wall.

Then I handed him a hammer …

So he could take a couple staples out of the old floor that he missed the other night - when the light was too dim, and the old set of eyes he has had already checked out for the night.