New electric team—happy, happy—got a working, plugged-in dryer today. Locked my keys in the car trunk shopping—rescued by a patient husband. Tortilla escaped from the back rooms: we were praying in the guest room and heard a tiny meow—opened my eyes and there she was—on the hunt for food. Daughter discovered a delightful kitty toy—chopsticks.
“I’ll tell the world,” she proclaimed.
House building maintaining an insanely slow pace—no concrete, no brick, no undermount sink, but we have a porch! Only new room and entry piled with boxes, so we have living area, kitchen, dining, guest, master and laundry as usable space.
Dying to free kitties from their back room palace. We took them all to the “new” guestroom last night—“new” as in mostly empty of boxes! Yesterday, I struggled to rearrange furniture, yet still leave space for the painter to paint the baseboard. Then the painter didn’t show up today. I asked the crew boss about painting and he left in ten minutes—two and a half hours later and he still hasn’t returned—oops, doorbell just rang.
From the kitchen French door, I saw tree colors dance in fall’s filtered light. From the new room, my vista stretched to the front entry window. But the view from this chair made it real—I saw my daughter in the kitchen while watching television in the living room.
Gabinete estancia aqui: “This cabinet stays here” . . . took this sign down today that I put up months ago. I looked at March on the calendar and feel I’ve lived a day as a thousand years. I understand that just because I share, people don’t have to respond. I don’t dare claim God’s perspective. I’m still not the teacher. I sow.
Came home today and workers had ripped up the old carpet in the entry. Now we have bare concrete in the entry and I keep tripping on the loose carpet edge in the living room.
I look out the window
and see leaves floating,
in the wind,
Frustrated by a slow-ink pen,
and suddenly I’m crying
for lost time and energy,
and moments of this year