Living in a (de)construction zone

I have never EVER been so happy.





Yesterday I attended a birthday party for a good friend. I knew only a few other guests, and it was the first time I had a chance to talk with strangers about being a homeowner. I always knew that homeowners belonged to their own very dintinguished little club, but never realized how nice it is to belong myself! Somehow, people are acting like I'm a regular person rather than some slacker. I still ACT like a slacker. I'm still a slacker. But people don't treat me like I am. When I was asked, "So are you all moved in?" Of course I responded that it had only been a month and I didn't foresee being settled for at least six more. I received reassuring gestures like smiles accompanied wiht knowing nods. Unlike when I moved into my last apartment. But then again, I never did really get moved in at that place.





Also hindering the House's metamorphisis into the picture of Donna Reed Bliss is the fact that I took on a few messy projects all at the same time. That's just more evidence of my many nagging character defects, one of which is procrastination and another happens to be not finishing what I start.

So I have a floor which has been layed (by my good brother), but without trim since it is something I'm supposed to do. I have a kitchen counter which has been regrouted but not sealed. A fly on the wall of any one of the bedrooms would assume that the dozens of stacked boxes of books are merely the human's odd taste in furniture. It would be correct, because this human hasn't any bookcases. I haven't had any since I got rid of my cinder-block and old board thing 10 years ago. Mostly I have just stacked my hundreds and hundreds of books as high as possible along the walls of closets.





A friend brought over the nicest gift a few days ago. Some beautiful planters and shoots from a tree in her yard! How exciting! The first pretty, finished thing around here! I had to take a picture. I included in the clump of perfection is a little cast-iron frog that I found buried in a corner of the workshop. Mr Frog likes to be where he can be seen and admired, doesn't he?





Kitty has been allowing herself a marvelous time. She struts around the yard like it's been her turf for years. She doesn't bother to listen to me anymore. Ah, Kitty. Too cool for her own good.