This past week, the remodel was rolling right along. The cabinets were installed. The kitchen and office, painted. The tile set, the grout, smeared. But then… snags.
The office was painted the wrong color. The sink and cabinets didn’t line up. The couple buying our current house slid another financial contingency our way (an easy hurdle, but scary when it arrived).
All in a single day.
And now the painters have slowed their progress. Too many jobs for them, too little time.
Mike and I walked through last night. To think, in two weeks, we should be settling in. But then, there’s so much still to be done.
I’m doing my best to stay patient. All the things are scheduled – if the schedule sticks. We’re kind of at the mercy of subcontractors.
The ceilings are being painted this weekend. The flooring will be laid on Tuesday of this week. Lighting goes in on Monday. Countertops arrive on Thursday. Plumbing and fixtures hit Friday. Appliance install is at the end of the week, too, along with our new mantel. The rest of the painting, the following week.
It’s happening. But some weeks it feels like wading through sorghum.
And speaking of slow as molasses, I’ve got to make it through two more weeks of the hardest school year ever. The year that laid claim to my father and aunt will finally be over in another two weeks. The sadness won’t end, but hopefully a shift will occur. A pivot. A pointing toward positive.
In two weeks, a new chapter can begin. Two weeks.
My favorite, oh-so-British, unit of time. Such a mysterious, promising span. It’s appropriate that I first encountered it inside the pages of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
The term is an abbreviation of fourteen nights. And when I began penning this blog, that’s how many there were until our June 4, move-in-day: fourteen nights.
A promise that after all the nights, comes the day…
Thank you, God. I’m so tired of the nights. And so much mystery and promise typically does come with the two-week time slots of a fortnight.
Two week notices
Vacation and travel schedules.
The cycles of the moon, from new to full.
From the ping of ovulation to a pair of pale pink lines.
New life springs eternal in so many ways. Here’s to the mystery and promise of a fortnight.
Leave a Reply