But I'm OK with that.
I've got the kitchen deconstructed, the china cabinet moved out and a big stretch cleared for the fridge and some cabinets from Craig's List. There is stuff everywhere. So it must be time to bake cookies, right? Yup. Hey, I needed chocolate. I suppose it would have been smarter to buzz up to the One-Stop and buy some. Hadn't thought of that till now. Anyway, the house smells great, and I'm sitting here with a plate of cookies and a glass of fresh cow's milk.
C. is outside sawing wood up into stove lengths. Soon I'll suit up and trudge out there and haul it in.
Then I'll get her to help me push the giant black fridge over to the north wall. I haven't moved the water line for the ice maker yet, in case we decide the new spot is a bad idea. It looks good on the graph paper, but you can't be sure until you see it for real. For me, anyway. I like to move furniture, and figure out the most comfortable, efficient layout for a room. It makes C. nervous, though. She fears change. I keep telling her that change is how things get better. "Or worse," she replies darkly.
I spent the whole afternoon yesterday getting supplies in Deer Park. A gallon of milk from Rose, who keeps cows, six dozen eggs from Charlotte, whose chickens actually lay through the winter. A depth gauge for the chain saw, gas for the Subie ($25 for a full tank!), air for tires, groceries, cracked corn for the birds, yada, yada. The fridge is full again. Pay day is a wonderful thing.
I'm heading out to get the wood in before dark. It's 18 degrees out. Have to find my Sponge Bob toque.
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