There’s a large hole in my wall downstairs. It has officially begun. The remodel. Single woman with small brown dog is remodeling her entire house. It’s a project that I’ve been working on, well, since I was a small girl and dreamed of my house by the sea, where I would write and play and have a small brown dog.
But first, I had to rent apartments for a long time. I had to fall in love, and then fall in love again, and again, and again. I had to first own a condo by the sea, a block away from where I live now. The last love lived with me here; at one time loved to build; he took down the walls, took off the banister, and we found many excuses to scramble away on inspired trips in the Westfalia with Lita, the brown dog, leaving the work behind. We found the second brown dog, Cholla, our little imp, in Mexico. We would plan for the house, discussing the possibilities, how to move the stairs to get more view space. Then he got sick. Never mind the insulation dangling off the exposed framing, and the wires laying about; the disease worked away, and Russ died downstairs with the comfort of home, of love, around him.
Four more years had to go by. I had to cry a lot. I had to cuddle with a table saw like it was a warm pillow. The pipes had to leak into the room downstairs, the sewer had to be worked on every couple of months, Lita too had to die; I had to try love again, be crushed, then befriend a wonderful man who was old and dying of Parkinson’s to be my first architect.
This project is full of spirit.
Entry filed under: Remodel Project.