October 25, 2006
I stayed at my friend Diane's house for four nights recently. Heaven. (She was in Italy.) I forgot what it was like to be surrounded by orderliness and beautiful decor in its proper place. I actually cooked on a stove, washed dishes in a sink—I didn't even want to use the dishwasher—and ate at a kitchen table. I walked without fear of tripping over wooden planks, or stuffed boxes, or extension cords. And ahhh, the washing machine. Something once so familiar has become my holy grail—I'm always on the quest for one when I visit friends and family. There are detergent and fabric softening sheets in the back seat of my car.
I read tons of decorating magazine and realized just how beautfiul my home is going to be. The anxiety subsides a bit when I accept the fact that I will never own it, but just rent it from the bank…well, there are worse things. At least the respite has served us well. Liz and I had started looking for the white flag to surrender with! I am sure that the workers loved not having the "homeowners" around.
I returned the other day early a.m. A huge truck was in front of the house. The driver, his colleague, and the "lads" unleaded 86 HUGE boxes—the cabinets, counters, etc.