I haven't been around much because I've been busy – so busy – both at work and with the new house. Finally, on Thursday, we were given the go-ahead to use our third bedroom. Yes folks, it has a floor.
This morning, we had carpet installers at dawn. Or something like that. The old carpet was pink, which is awful in and of itself (I hate pink, you know), but also infested with fleas – yuck! My poor Cleo-dog has nearly chewed her tail off in her desperation to be flea-free. Top-spotting, combing and bathing seem to have no effect. Ugh. But, a vet visit's happening in the morning, and we'll beg for something stronger. And I'll refrain from commenting about the staining on the carpet that was pulled out. Just…ick! But, anyway, we now have pretty blue carpet, and can put the bedroom completely together. This weekend, I plan to paint the pink bathroom and the pink trim in the bedroom and dressing room. I'm not sure of colors yet, but…NOT PINK.
As I've been unpacking, it's been driving me absolutely crazy because many of my possessions are things I first saw as a child in my grandmother's house, or in my mother's collection of personal treasures. In an effort to keep Cleo from standing at the front window with her paws on the sill (adorable as that is to come home to, I've put one of Grandma's marble-top tables in front of the window, and arrayed some family favorites: A pair of pewter quail that intrigued me when I was little, a tile my parents brought me from Catalina, one of my grandmother's cut-glass vases with a few flowers, and a framed needlepoint my aunt did at the beach one summer.
What's really frustrating is this: I want to write about each piece, share the memories here (I had a whole mental essay written about napkins and picnic coolers at the beach, and another about men and garbage, for example) and I still don't have net-access at home, except for dial-up which is excruciatingly slow, and I'm sure is really an illegal form of torture in many countries. BUT, things are brightening on that front. Fuzzy reported today that we're go for getting T1…our price: $130 / month. YAY FUZZY.
Between work insanity and unpacking, I've been trying to remain rational at the thought of my mother arriving on Wednesday. Now, I love my mother, and I adore her visits, and now that she'll have her own room (as opposed to my living room), all will be much more comfortable, but I still have that mental time-travel thing going on, where she steps through my door, and I'm seven years old again. Please, please, someone tell me how to keep my head when my mother is here? Or tell me I'm not alone?
The search for a domain name goes on. More on that later. Or something.
I'm still at work, and it's seven on Friday night. After a summer of insane rate-dropping, this week they've begun to climb at the worst possible time. Two more files, and then I'm free till Monday.