Well, that didn’t last long. On the heels of the below loving post comes a less than pleasant one.
I’ve mentioned before that we live in an old farmhouse. Charming, yes? No, dilapidated.
We’ve spent the last 8 months cleaning and purging and painting and fixing. I’m very proud of our accomplishments but we still have a long way to go. New furniture is nice, but doors that open correctly and gates that lock without possible amputation are better.
It started out pleasant enough. I awoke to my husband telling me he loves me and with two stinky hounds at my bedside. I showered, had breakfast and headed upstairs to get ready for work. It is roughly around 200 degrees in my dressing room*. “Just turn on the air conditioner, honey, it’ll cool ‘er right down!” my husband will chirp.
This is not true. This “air conditioner” merely just blows the warm air around. Also, it shorts out 2 or 3 times a night. So, even with this POS air conditioner blasting, it’s still a sauna. I can’t tell you how much I fun I had drying my hair while watching my make up literally slide down my face. By the time I finished, I looked like Courtney Love on the cover of “Live through This”. GOOD TIMES.
I patted my face dry and went downstairs, disgruntled and sweaty. Time to feed the dogs. Our pantry is bad news – there’s no room and the doors don’t open all the way due to some stupid crock that is supposed to hold umbrellas. The door only opens about 6 inches so I have to squeeze my arm and shoulder through the dark crack and fumble around for the cans of dog food. It’s partially my fault for storing the food in there, but there’s no other option. Our kitchen blows.
I finally wrestle out the cans of dog food and manage not to dislocate my shoulder. I’m still sweating. I open the food and pour the contents of each can into their separate dog dishes. I grab one in each hand and attempt to do one simple thing; open the damn door.
Johnny had new storm doors put on the house but the one that leads to the kitchen opens a little wonky. You have to turn the handle all the way to the right because something has happened and now it will stick if you don’t. It used to be you could just tap it and it would open. Johnny tried to explain it to me – something about expansion or something but I say it’s just wonky.
So. I go to the door and hit the handle with the bottom of the dog dish and proceed forward. NO SIR. The door sticks and the dog dish topples to the floor spilling foul-smelling Alpo dog food all over our kitchen floor, and ME. I’m going to be late for work. I fight back tears.
I clean up the kitchen the best I can and then return upstairs to the sauna to change my shirt. I come back downstairs and fill up the dog dish again and head up to their pen. The pen is behind the garage and it is uphill in pure mud. This is fun because of my bad knee. Upon finishing that I attempt to lock the pen. Again, the horseshoe lock is uneven so therefore is a bitch to close and secure the pen. It’s always been bad but as of late you almost have to slam your fist down on it to get it to close. That was the case this morning and my right palm still is throbbing. Serenity now!
As I grab my computer and head out to the driveway, I attempt to open our side gate. This gate opens forward but is also uneven and ‘sprags’ on the concrete. It opens about 4 inches and then hits the concrete and bounces back towards me. I try to force it forward but it has an exposed screw tip that scrapes across my arm. Now I am crying.
I love my new life, I do. A lot of patience is required in living in an old home, I know.
I just sometimes miss my little cottage 3 hours west of here where the doors open and shut without incident. I miss central heat and air. I miss a clean kitchen with functioning cabinets and storage space. A laundry room.
We’ll get there one day, I know. In the meantime, someone pass me a mint julep.
* by “dressing room” I mean an old neon green nursery filled with temporary plastic clothing racks, dirty clothes and plastic tubs of shoes. Very glamorous.