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Came last Thursday, looked at the tiles, said they were too wet to grout, took the equipment and left.

They called Friday to say they were stuck and couldn't make it.

This morning, the head guy called to tell me I had a choice: first thing this morning or later this afternoon.

I went with this morning, of course.

He's due here in a half hour.

Could this, at last, be the end?

And god did I want to sleep in.
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Were here Wednesday. They installed the backsplash. supposed to come back yesterday to do the grout and finish up details. He came, tested the tiles, said they weren't dry enough, and that he'd come today. Today he called... he's stuck upstate. Will get here Monday.

This journal brought to you in bite-sized chunks.
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OK, saw this in [ profile] cori_may's livejournal, so had to take the quiz...

Which Lady of Camelot Are You?

brought to you by Quizilla

But I wanted to be Dame Ragnul! I wonder if they even had her as an option. I think this is a cool quiz. How did they even find personalities for half the women of Camelot? I mean, how do you assign values for Lynette? I wonder if the non-maidens from the Castle of Maidens are even options? And damn that Guinevere, I'd never cheat on my guy!

As usual, I am overthinking, I suspect.

So. The contractors came. They made my kitchen boo-ti-ful, but sitll not QUITE done. For one thing, they have to put in grout in the backsplash. They tell me they'll be back tomorrow but don't know what time. So it goes.

Took Dad out for a longish walk today. I don't think he was expecting to be put through his paces quite so much. I also bought him fruit salad at a little deli halfway through the walk so he'd eat something and not dehydrate. I caught him mumbling to Baby that he has a job opening at his house (presumably, formerly filled by the dog) and that she's welcome to apply. It's better than some of the other stuff I've caught him muttering at her...

As usual, my parents are showing up before I can become properly introspective.
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Is here! And without prompting, he offered to knock $$ off the price of the job. Yay!

And... Buffy! Buffy was cool!


Sep. 24th, 2002 07:20 pm
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Thanks all for the good thoughts and wishes following the death of my parents' dog. I spent today with my father in an attempt to keep him from dwelling on everything. That dog was really the center of his life until Baby came along, so I've been attempting to make sure he remembers there's a new center. I think it worked. After hysterical crying on his part on Monday he seemed in much better spirits today. In fact I suspect this will bring about a change in our routine in general, with more time spent up at his house.

Contractors are theoretically due here between 8:30 and 9:00 am tomorrow. Anyone taking odds?
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Still no word from the contractors. I've left several messages. My husband is now leaving messages. The baby is considering calling and telling them to get their butts down here. At his point, all I want is my backsplash. Hell, maybe I should install it myself. I wonder if I can rent a tile-cutting device for the day. We could put in our own knobs, cut and varnish our own shelves... hm....
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It's 3pm. Do you know where your kitchen contractors are?

Mine were supposed to be here at 9 am. Then 1 pm. Then 2:30 pm...
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Did finally show up. At 1 pm. There were a few calls throughout the morning telling me they'd be here in 'half an hour' from the time of calling. When they got here, they set out to do half a day's work and accomplished roughly half of what they set out to do.

I've noticed my contractor has a habit. Whenever I'm sort of quietly asking such questions as, "Oh, I thought you were picking up the knobs yesterday?" or, "Didn't you say the tiles would be in last week...?" he changes the subject and talks about babies. I mean, I think he earnestly likes to talk about babies, but I think it's also so much smoke screening. I can now recite all of the recent births, deaths and major life events amongst his social circle.

Friday, he says, I get my backsplash, and door knobs, and extra drawer, and... a whole host of other things. Friday.

This time I guess I won't hold my breath.

And PS, yes, my phones got fixed (I hope) yay!
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Are not here. It is 11:30 am. Is anyone surprised? Pathetically, I am.
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My contractor just showed up. He told me "everything" would get done last Monday. Then last week he told me "everything" would get done this Monday... so he showed up right at 9am on the nose this morning and said... "everything" will get done tomorrow.

I am still optimistically hopeful that he is giving me an accurate prediction. What sort of fool am I?
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Gwen just outgrew 6-9 month size. She is just moving into 9-12 month size... so how can it be that her 12-18 sized pygamas are already a little snug? Ah, the jigsaw puzzle that is children's warddrobes...

My mother and I have each selected a heap of clothing for when she grows into 18 month size... everything my mother picked has embroidery and bright colors. Everything I picked is plain and either tan or grey or both. So it goes.

In quite other news, my contractor is virtually AWOL. I don't know when my backsplash is going up, or when my cabinets get glass, or when he's going to put up the microwave spacer or order the new knobs or put in my sink pullout or replace my hallogen lightbulb or clean up the pencil mark...

"Soon" he tells me. I'm still not sorry I went with him, but this had better be done before the end of the month...

Meanwhile, I think I am in denial about the fact that Patrick is coming to visit this weekend. THAT should be interesting.
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Last year I woke up and Chris called me to tell me he was okay. Ten minutes later there were shouts from upstairs as my neighbors saw the second plane hit. I watched in edgy worry, feeling the baby in my belly, until the towers collapsed. Then I knew I couldn't be alone. My neighbors invited me upstairs, so I went, and spent the day with them. Like other New Yorkers, we were busy trying to locate our loved ones, finding people in downtown places to go for the night, breathing a sigh of relief at every friend and acquaintance who checked in to say they were OK.

In the weeks that followed, after the ash had settled and most of the smell had dissipated, the candles still stayed on the street corner, lit every night, renewed, with flags and peace symbols. The neighborhood still took food and donations to the local fire station (which had been one of the first on the scene).

We were a community. We looked into each others' eyes and felt our bonds through our grief. There was so much grief...

I miss them, miss Park Slope, miss my neighbors, miss the familiar faces on the street, miss the shopkeepers who had become part of my daily routine.

And missing them helps me not to think about American Express and my time there, and all the people I knew for a day or a week or a year while I was temping all over the WTC and WFC, all the people who could have been caught in the collapse or the flying debris or trapped above where the plane hit, people whose faces I saw plastered on 'Missing' ads for months every time I went to the doctor for a checkup during the pregnancy. Helps me not to think about all the tears I'd shed every time I had to use the payphone across the street from NYU, where the missing posters were plastered in an overlapping papier mache in sight of the place where the forensic teams were sorting dead body parts.

I can't make sense of any of this today. Working in those buildings, we always knew this was coming, every since the first attempt. Knew it either as a passing joke or a sick dread or a pit in our stomachs. I would think every day, "I can't keep working here; I must leave this place," and I did. I fled, leaving behind not just my fear but the disgust I felt at the swarms of faceless, grey-clad drones marching toward the subway every day. There was an old woman who stood at the exit from the overpass every day, where everyone leaving the WFC and heading into the WTC passed by. She could have been mine or anyone else's grandmother, and her incessant cry was, "Please help me, I'm so hungry." I would often stop at a fast food joint and bring her back something to eat, and she always looked dumbfounded and grateful. Not once did I see anyone else stop.

So there it all is, mixed in, unresolved, milling about in my mind and my heart and here I am, sure that it's not over, that hate isn't dead in the world, that New York is still a target. And I'm thinking, I need to get my daughter out.
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The kitchen is sort of entering the final stretch. There's a whole list of things left to be done, but I'm hopeful they'll actually be complete by early next week. The tile floor looks awesome. Colors make me so happy, much happier than they have any right to, and the colors on the floor of my kitchen make me happiest of all. It's all earthy tones with a little green and hints of slate-blue, washed out as if sun bleached. I find I keep making up excuses to just go and walk on it. Does this make me a suburban sellout? Probably.

Ah, and here intrudes motherhood... another urge to post interrupted by a fussy baby.
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The kitchen guy did show up, late. He'd gotten stuck in traffic, poor duck. I notice that I still do not have a new sink or counter top (the old sink is there, and a big, gaping void where the counter top should be.) Happily, I did not go into this process with any expectation of it being completed "in a week" as my contractor indicated.

Yesterday we drove up to the Woodstock area to visit friends for their baby's first birthday, and we met their friends. Not for the first time, I started to have pangs of wanting to move up to their area. The hills are green, the air fresh, and the hippies plentiful.
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My kitchen guys did not show up. It is now early afternoon. They were supposed to give me a new counter today. Perhaps they are dead in a ditch somewhere. Perhaps I will never again have a working surface. Woe, woe.
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My father just called.

Yesterday, I spent the whole afternoon with him up at his house with the baby, hiding from the contractors and basically doing nothing but, well, hanging out with my father and the baby. I told him expressly I'd be trying to get some writing done this morning and I'd see him this afternoon.

It is 10 am, so of course he called, to see if perhaps I might like to come up and hang out with him. What's more he asked me in this flat, I'm-ready-for-you-to-hurt-me voice.

I gently told him no, of course. That I'd see him this afternoon, later.

Meanwhile, of course, the workmen showed up while I was in the shower and, when I answered the door, my towel swung open in back while I was standing in front of the full-length mirror in the hall.

I can't win.
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They started here on the kitchen today. Last night we moved everything out of the cabinets and stored it all in baby's room. I use the word 'we' loosely to mean Christopher mostly did it and I helped here and there. I don't know what it is with me. When I go to try to figure out something like, 'all these objects need to fit onto a few shelves, how do I make that work?' for some reason my mind goes blank and I start feeling light-headed and dizzy. I told this to Christopher and he pointed out it was no different than playing Tetris. But for some reason it is. Perhaps I am blocking some memory of severe trauma that occured when I was but a small child, something highly damaging that occured while I was being forced to clean my room.

I knew there was a way to blame my parents for this.

Meanwhile, the kitchen's pretty cool. They've ripped out all the cabinets on the right side and removed all the paint from the cabinets on the left with a heat gun. It was so hot that it was setting off the fire alarm earlier, but all is well now. It's remarkably clean for a space that was power-sanded. Pictures to be posted soon. Baby and I camped out in the bedroom all day with a laptop and a few PBJ sandwiches and her toys. Damn she's cute.


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August 2010

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