In other news about married life, it has been 3 weeks of our legal adventure together, and we’re preparing to settle into my cozy (a word here meaning tiny and inadequate) duplex apartment. I’m actually very settled here. My husband still has to move his stuff in.
We keep looking at the catastrophe of the tornado I fondly named “Wedding Whirlwind” and wonder how and when we’re going to get it resembling anything of a home again. My sister is officially moved out, save for a few items she was unable to grab during the WW tornado, and so we’re making her a box of affects to come pick up at her leisure. As for the rest, “One room at a time,” I keep repeating for the sake of our sanity.
The kitchen seemed the best place to start, as so much activity transpires there. We’ve cleaned out cupboards and hid the alcohol from judgemental eyes – or under-aged children. There is a piece of furniture we purchased maybe two years ago which Brett started cleaning out. It’s a simple wood cupboard sort, square at the base and as tall as a china cabinet, but whoever decided to refinish it gave it a ghastly white paint job, single coat, without removing any shelves or even bothering to paint the back board, and left it at that. I’m not sure how someone can look at a half-assed paint job and nod their head in approval. Then again, I was the someone who bought and paid for it and then proceeded to display it without fixing the job.
No matter, Hubby has it out in the garage as we speak putting the finishing touches to it. All this in light of his recent proclamation, “I am NEVER building or painting anything for a GOOD LONG WHILE!” Apparently 3 days is long enough for him.
Leave no stone unturned and never stop until you’ve arrived.
This has been,
Fan T. C.