Before the daffodils appeared, the property was pretty barren. No, it was sadder than barren. Thanks to the brutal winter in New Preston, CT, there were tree branches, dead leaves and all sorts of debris covering what I hope will be flower beds. Having just moved into this house, I don’t know what will bloom until it actually does.
Today’s excitement after yesterday’s visit from the electrician is the power washing of the front and back brick walkways and patio, the hanging of bathroom towel bars, the paint touch-ups of gouges in the walls caused by the movers and the unpacking of still more boxes. I don’t remember being so immersed in minutia.
But the house is coming together. It doesn’t feel as alien as it did last week. I’m not waking up in the morning with that “Where am I” feeling. I’m learning the house’s creeks and groans. (It’s an old house or, as our building inspector called it, “an experienced house.”) By this weekend, I predict we’ll be hanging artwork, and once that’s done we can turn our attention to the landscaping. The grass needs TLC and there are trees and shrubs to plant. We don’t have any outdoor furniture but we’re going to look at some used Adirondack chairs owned by a client of our contractor (she’s got a big house by the lake and she’s downsizing). And a neighbor invited us over for tea later (she’s British).
What about writing? I admire authors who can write with workmen around. I’m not one of them. I’m not good at chaos. I need order and organization and a fixed schedule. I need the certainty that someone won’t be knocking on the door any minute with a set of tools and an invoice. I need peace – a few hours of it anyway. The good news is I finished Farm Fatales, the spinoff of Princess Charming, before I left California. So once my head clears, I’ll figure out the next book. And the one after that. I will not let this move or this house or this pervasive sense of disorientation sidetrack me….unless, of course, I end up writing about that.
