Am a little on the late side this morning when I wake and scowl at the noisy dogs. There have been three premature wake-ups, thanks to the monster Boxer, but otherwise it was an uneventful night. It was too short, but sufficient enough, I suppose.
While I’m locking out the monster, so I can let the others out, Knight II decides to vent his frustrations on the blankets, dragging them off in the three seconds it takes me to turn my back and lock the door in Trin Trin’s face.
I grumble my displeasure at him, dragging the blankets back up and then unlocking the door to let the pack of lunatics out into semi-freedom so I’m able to do the usual morning cleaning without the pack getting in the way.
About an hour later, once I’m in the main house, I’m delighted to find that there’s no laundry and that yesterday’s batch isn’t completely dry yet, so I change into my exercise outfit and start my warm up routine for today’s workout session. Almost a week without exercise, and I was starting to feel a little edgy from it, so I throw myself into the workout wholeheartedly.
It goes well, jumps, pumps, pull-ups, punches, kicks and whatnot preceding a short session with the weights until the hour has passed and I head to the showers to get rid of the perspiration that has gathered aplenty. Suitably fuzzy by the hot water, I get dressed once more and return to the house for a quick preparation of Yadzia’s extra meal, breakfast, and my morning coffee before I set up the computer and get to the messages.
Very few again today, blessed holidays allowing me to switch my attention to the latest book project and write down a page or so before I remember the plan: I’m supposed to get online with my publisher and load up the digest (cheaper) versions of my W.I Investigations.
It takes about three hours to get everything just right, some mix-ups that I don’t notice until I’ve already downloaded three files, meaning that I have to go back to do it all over again, dragging it out for longer than I’d intended. Ah well, I was successful in the end, having a five brand new copies of my book available for readers for decent prices at last.
Wonder if it’ll make a difference. Hah.
I was in the middle of the last upload when little sister started on our dinner: Asian stir-fry noodles, with pickles and fried eggs on the side. It goes down well on this chilly Christmas day, filling our stomachs and pleasing the palate.
We’re in the midst of dinner when grandpa reminds us of eleven years ago, this very day, when we had our very first meal inside the newly constructed–and not finished at that time–house.
It is a wonderful memory. I remember the weeks preceding it, while we were working double time in hopes of getting it all done so we could celebrate this very day inside the house. We’d been working like mad on getting the wooden boards up on the roof. Me using the circle saw to cut board after board, treating them with anti-termite poison stuff and then lifting them straight up into the air–still partially wet, of course, hah–where those on top of the roof were nailing them down.
We were spread thin, working on laying the last bricks on one side, others connecting the heavy beams making up the roof, while the boards rapidly hid the view of the sky overhead until at long last a ceiling was in place, just days before Christmas.
The weather was pleasant enough, if a little iffy when it concerned occasional rainstorms. We’d covered the whole up with a thick layer of plastic by the time all the debris were shoveled out of the structure.
The day before Christmas eve the first tiles were laid. Beautiful earth red squares with a matching decorative rectangular, laid out like a fake carpet in the center of what would one day turn into our living room.
I remember that even as I started on preparing a five-course dinner for that special night, big brother and a family friend were grouting those tiles finishing up just hours before dinnertime.
In the meanwhile I discovered the complications of cooking such an elaborate meal with only two burners and a tiny ten-year-old oven we’d brought out just for the occasion.
It took me hours to get everything done, filling dish after dish, demanding updates on how the work was going, while maneuvering through what was basically an old trailer kitchen where you could barely turn around without knocking into something.
I don’t know how many times we moved up and down the mountain, getting all the dishes, china, drinks, cutlery and whatnot up to the house, but I do know that by the time I was finished a feast was weighing down the makeshift table in the very center of the recently laid floor.
We’d used portable braces as supports for the table that consisted from spare wooden boards that hadn’t gone up on the roof. It was at least three yards long, a little uneven and covered by a clean white sheet. There was no electricity yet, and only three actual chairs, so with our group of nine we were sitting on buckets, piled up bricks and a wobbly stool that had been used through a variety of chores.
Two-dozen candles lit up the table; showing off the fancy china I’d dug out from the storage holds underneath the bus and had spent hours cleaning. It looked good and by the time we all got down to the business of toasting our hard work and digging in, the atmosphere was more than a little cozy.
I’d cooked too much, of course, but every course was a delight, making me feel stuffed up to my eyeballs by the time we finished dinner and procrastinated about starting cleanup and lugging everything back down to the bus. In the end, I believe we only took down the absolute necessary, deciding to tackle the big cleanup the following day when our bodies had digested the big meal. Hah.
It’s strange how such memories can flash through one’s mind in just seconds, while actually writing it down takes up to twenty minutes.
But back to today: I decide to get to work after dinner, doing the dishes in little sister’s stead and then looking around what’s on the “menu” for today.
The new cabinet for storage needs to be painted one last time, a task middle sister volunteers to do while I finish cleaning everything from the counter in preparation of taking out the bar in the center.
We’ve debated the issue for several days now, and finally we made a joined decision to lower the bar just a few inches in order to create a more open atmosphere in the kitchen.
It is a tedious job which big brother and I set ourselves on just as soon as we manage to pry the elevated section from where it’s squeezed between the counters.
Some effort is put into this task, until at long last we manage to lift the heavy section up and out of place, and set it on the counter so I can take it apart.
Since air grates have already been fitted, in order to create some symmetry we need to take off two inches from the top and one and a half from the bottom. It is no easy task to perform, especially since it is necessary to keep it all straight, and in the same dimensions when we slide it back in place and exclaim a mutual sigh of relief.
The end result is different, but also roomier, just the way we’d intended. Cut offs have been repainted, screws pre-drilled and two hours later the counter is once again looking pretty.
Using a small container, I mix up some more tile glue and fit the last pieces to the inches revealed by the lower bar counter, adding tile sills under the windows before using the remainder to grout the tiles and bringing us yet another step closer to completion of the kitchen.
By this time middle sister has finished painting, and while we wait for the paint to dry, we do some cosmetics, such as steel utility racks, allowing for storage. By the time we’re done, midnight is nearing, but the cabinet still needs to be hung, so we move on to that.
Using metal corners to hang the heavy wooden structure, the cabinet gets hung, leaving just enough room between it and the freezer for the steel racks that are going to hold our fresh produce in the near future.
At long last, with just one more rack to go, we call it a night and join little sister and brother, who have already started the nightly cleanup.
It is past one in the morning when the night has come to an end, and I drag my tired limbs up the mountain to my cabin, where I still need to feed the dogs.
In light of tonight’s activities, I might have done better in skipping another workout session, but still, considering that doing my exercises is, and should be, a semi-steady routine, I’m glad I did them anyway.
Yes, every muscle in my body is screaming by now, but the body also knows (and cheers audibly) that I won’t have to do them for at least a day or two.
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