The Saturday House

 

My chocolate stash
uncovered when I  cleaned the junk drawer

That’s my name for the guest house/cabana that is being built directly behind my cottage. It seems to me the workmen only appear at 7:00 a.m. on Saturday. By nine, they are gone for the day, and weekdays I really see any sign of activity. I know the owners are frustrated by the delay—they’ve explained it’s the supply chain—but I am frustrated by the timing. Fortunately, I can joke about it, because I am not sleep deprived, and by seven in the morning I’m just dozing and waiting for Sophie to come scratch at the side of my bed. Last week they installed the equipment necessary for a pool—large, complicated pipes, lots of them, and big objects that I have no idea how to identify—all smack outside my bathroom window. Jordan has a solution: we’re going to buy one of those panels of fake ivy you can clip to a fence. Real ivy won’t grow there—there is struggling honeysuckle right now, which tells you something. Honeysuckle rarely struggles unless it doesn’t get enough water, which is the case with this. But our water pressure is low, so I can’t see extending the sprinkler system, which would be expensive.

I keep referring people to the O. Henry story, “The Last Leaf” in which a young girl is dying a lingering death from pneumonia. She stares at the tree outside her window and declares she will die when the last leaf falls. An artist neighbor paints a leaf on the brick wall, The young woman recovers her will to live, but the artist, old and infirm, dies of pneumonia. Well, I don’t anticipate dying any time soon, but I wouldn’t mind a few leaves painted on that brick wall—above the pool equipment, of course.

I followed through and cleaned my junk drawer today and have now decided to open a candy-bar store. In all that junk I found an amazing number and variety of chocolate bars. Once when I said I wasn’t really addicted to chocolate, Colin went to that drawer, pulled out all the chocolate bars and fanned them to amuse whoever was with us. Remember “The Days of Wine and Roses”? I have always with trepidation remembered what Jack Lemmon said—he could have predicted that Lee Remick’s character would become an alcoholic, because if you can become addicted to one thing, you can become addicted to another. From chocolate to wine, a path too easy.

Enough of that. This was a satisfying day. I finished reading a good book today—Bitterroot Lake, by Alicia Beckman. It’s a braided story with deaths from the past woven into the mystery of today. Set in a Montana lake resort town, it involves family history, friendship, heritage, a new widow, estranged sisters—and so much more. It will draw you in. I gave it five stars.

This morning I experimented in the kitchen—nothing unusual about that. This time I made a batch of polenta with chicken broth, spinach, herbs, corn kernels, green onions, and cheese. It’s destined to be a one-dish supper and meant to have wells dug into it into which you break eggs. Then you bake until the eggs are the desired degree of done—like shakshuka but with polenta instead of tomato sauce. Jaimie Smith, a neighbor, is coming to eat with me and bringing a green salad. I’ll see how she feels about eggs. I’m okay with or without.

We decided on eggs, but it took forever for them to bake, and we finally turned on the broiler. I think that was a mistake. Jaimie said her egg was fine, but mine, runny underneath, had a hard crust on the top. What was fun about the whole thing was that Jaimie got as involved in the cooking as I did—we both watched those eggs all the time. This time it wasn’t the watched pot that never boils, it was the watched egg that never cooks. I loved the polenta but could do without the egg. And I don’t think I followed the recipe precisely. Maybe I’ll write about that later.

Jaimie brought a wonderful salad with strawberries and goat cheese and browned almonds (I passed on those) and a raspberry vinaigrette dressing. So good. I served mini-ice cream sandwiches for dessert. We were well fed and had a good visit.

Settling down with a good book for the evening. What book? I don’t know. I have an array to choose from.

Construction starts--big doings at my house

 It’s been months—early February, I think—since we applied for a building permit to remodel the garage apartment. Since then, people continually ask when we’re beginning construction. Today I can officially say construction has begun! Once again I wanted a celebration, but it wasn’t. When I woke up this morning, Jordan told me there were already workmen out back. And soon there was a swarm of them—carpenters, electricians, plumbers, and I don’t know who else.

Jordan inspected before she went to work and said they’d already made a mess. Tonight, she said, “Just don’t go out there.” The electrician had dug a trench across the yard to bury wires. She is really enjoying this process and has become sort of an assistant contractor. She informed me tonight that she and Lewis are on the same page—but they both consult with me, so all is well.

Jacob would like to be an assistant contractor—he went out to inspect when he got home from golf camp and came back to announce, “They’re all crazy out there.”

I doubt I can post pictures every day, but here are some demolition and exterior pictures.

 





Cottage as seen from my deck



Driveway first day, with trash

Jordan and Lewis celebrating

The other highlight of my day—maybe that’s the wrong word—was an MRI on my foot. I didn’t anticipate any unpleasantness, since I was sure this would be foot-first rather than a head-in procedure, and it was. But it wasn’t long before my foot began to ache, my butt hurt, and I was cold, even with the light blanket provided. The technician would come on my earphones and tell me how long the next series of sounds would last—seemed interminable, but I wasn’t about to cry “Uncle” once I was halfway into the procedure.

I’m truly hoping that this is the first step to recovery. I thought the foot was better today, but when I had to walk several feet from car to walker and then into the MRI room because the metal walker can’t go near the magnetic beast, I decided it may not be better. It sure hurts. My mind goes wild imagining the next course of action—orthopedic specialist? Who knows? Not surgery I hope. But I guess my best course is to continue trying to be patient. Glad to report that after a sleepless night, my disposition and spirits have improved.

 

 

With a whimper, not a bang

Here’s last night’s blog. I opted in favor of sleeping the clock around, when I should have had an all-caps headline shouting the news: CONSTRUCTION HAS BEGUN! After trying since early February, we finally got a work permit. We had waited so long and applied so many times, only to have some new objection pop up, that I thought when we finally got it there should be a celebration—cameras flashing as the Bundocks posted the permit on the door, bubbly flowing, lots of clapping.

Instead Lewis Bundock came in one morning, patted his pocket, and said, “Got it.” When I asked about posting it, he said roofing permits get posted. He and his brother, Jim, have to have this one on them at all times.

And there was no swarm of busy-bee workers. The plumber came one day and they took the old tin shower out of the apartment so they could see what’s underneath it; the a/c guy came another day. Building inspector is due Tues., and Wed. they will dig a trench in the yard to bury electrical wires—first real sign of construction.

At this point, it’s hard for me to imagine a fully furnished apartment out back and me living cozily in it. I am focused on my foot and its inability to bear weight though this too shall pass. Every day I think I see a bit of improvement—less swelling, less pain when I step on that foot briefly. Christian is coming for lunch today and I want him to look and compare swelling to Wed. when he took me to the doctor.

Meantime, if I learn patience from waiting for my foot to heal, perhaps I can use it in watching the daily progress of construction on Judy’s Cottage. I’ll either take pictures or commission Lewis to do it.