Workers installed windows to the new room. Kitties sat meat-loafed by the vinyl door, then ran and hid when the noise got too loud. Frito hid under the rocker, then Tortilla attacked his tail.
My interest in learning Spanish blossomed from this project, because many of the workers speak Spanish. But every time I try to think of Spanish phrases, out comes the French I learned in high school.
A neighbor boy and his friend pitched a big tent in their backyard. My daughter pitched our four-person tent in the living room and invited some friends over amidst the dust and box towers. The fly strip the workers put up in the new room did not work; my husband said swatting works more effectively.
To hubby dearest:
I can’t rest; I must have pounding and hammering and dust settling. I don’t know what to do with the quiet. Scared, of the quiet? No, just unsettled. Distracted chaos is now my comfort zone. I resist this change. I remember, fondly, when chaos didn’t equal comfort.
“Just breathe,” he replied.
Tent up, girls tucked in, sleepy chatter. Dreamin’ dreams, and in mine, I’ve arranged all the furniture in our unfinished house.