“You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.” – Mark Twain
Since we moved into our new place we haven’t had internet. I’m borrowing to write this post. I’m stubborn and refuse to pay the exorbitant fee the monopolizing Emery TelCom requires to have it. I’ve already complained enough about this issue verbally so I’ll refrain here, but I got a tip on a new competitor in town. Maybe we’ll have internet next week! Living without the internet seems like a tragedy, but it really isn’t so terrible when I realize how spoiled we’ve been. A lot of people have to go to internet cafes on a regular basis. I’ll survive.
Lack of internet and TV is not the only adjustment in moving into The Cottage. It’s an adventure living in a house under construction, as our friends Elesa and Richard know all too well. They’re my remodeling heroes simply because they lived without a bathroom for two moths, let alone all the work they’ve done on their house that is at least twice as old as The Cottage!
Since my introduction of the house here, a few walls have been torn out, floorboards have been removed, ceilings have been de-textured, a bathroom has been torn apart, wall paper has been torn down, the electrician has fixed some things (don’t know what), the plumber has put in a bid, an up-to-code basement window well was dug and the foundation has been cut for the window, and (my favorite) kitchen appliances have been replaced.
Living joyfully with the inconveniences of this new phase of life takes some imagination. I could get annoyed with the holes in the floor and dust everywhere, but really it reminds me of the time I begged my mom to let me turn the little storage room in the basement into my bedroom. I think I must have been 10 or so. I always liked to change things up a bit when it came to my bedroom and this room was uncharted territory. The plumbing pipes were exposed, the floor was not carpeted, the door didn’t have a knob, and (best of all) there was access to the passage under the stairs.
My mom consented. I cleaned it up, used an old folded trundle for my bed, threw on an unzipped army green sleeping bag for my bedspread, put a carpet scrap on the floor, and added my own things. I remember the rustic, adventurous feelings of the change, dancing all over the bed (it was bigger than I was used to), hiding my treasures under the stairs including valentines candy from the boy who had a crush on me, and banging on the wall adjoining my brother’s to be a neusance.
I was surprised to learn recently that I was only in that room for a few months. My mom told me I got fed up with the noisy pipes and the unfinished-basement-room that is a haven for spiders. I had forgotten those things.
Like my rustic room, The Cottage has all kinds of quirks such as exposed pipes. It has also acquired two new residents. They are not spiders (yet), but two adorable kittens. Despite my protest of house cats, I caved. But ONLY because the house is prime for pet training. We’ll reevaluate after the new carpet and the rest of our furniture is put in. They got the hang of the litter box after a few mishaps and I feel proud of them. Right now I don’t care if these critters grow up to be adult pains-in-the-hiny, they bring me joy. And they’ve made the time Alan has been to Texas less lonely.
Here are Frank and Dean curled up at my feet while I do my hair. They’ve done this for three days in a row now. Frank is the first to lay at my feet. He’s the tan one and has blue eyes triggering thoughts of Frank Sinatra (I’m a fan). This one’s #1 priority is being playful and the leader. Dean has purred like crazy since he was 4 weeks old, nuzzles his nose into my hand so I will pet his head, prefers to sleep in the crook of my neck when I’m lying down, and climbs in my lap at any chance and rolls on his back to beg for belly tickling. Being our lover boy and having black hair, he reminded me of Dean Martin (fan, yes).
Frankie and Dino. These guys help keep my imagination of life and this house in focus.