1) As soon as I find the camera cord I will post some pictures! We are down to one big box of off-season clothes and three small boxes of pictures/wall stuff. And better still...
2) The bedroom is almost painted! The previous owners went with a kind of Caladryl/sunburn color scheme, with a nasty salmon wall (there's good salmon and there's bad salmon, and this one looked like a skin condition) and what is turning out to be a very pale pink ceiling. God. Who does that?
Ordinarily this would not be a huge deal, but half the room has a cathedral ceiling. I'm hoping the reflection from the vintagey-turquoise wall paint is enough to drown out the pinkness.
3) The contractor who did our must-do list of Terrifying Things Under the House (tm) came in well under budget, and did a lot of things that weren't even on the list (like fixing our sagging front gate, removing some rotten gingerbread from the side of the roof, and installing an extra beam under the floor). We were so impressed that we will continue to give him money for all the other things we keep finding. Urgh.
4) The roof, as it turns out, is in pretty good shape. The floors, on the other hand...well, Contractor Bill said he had never seen a floor so undersupported. Nothing's going to collapse, but the joists are too far apart and not thick enough. As a result there are lots of shifty, soft spots in the floor. I don't mind the cracks (except as they admit a ridiculous amount of cold air) but I have a hard time walking barefoot as it is, and little shifts really bug me. We're trying to decide what to do about that: get under the house, reinforce and add insulation board or plywood? Or win the lottery and do the whole thing in Marmoleum? Option C is to ignore it for the next six or seven years, throw some rugs down over the worst spots, and keep poking rope insulation in the big holes.
5) The problem with walking barefoot? Apparently I have substantial osteoarthritis and big old bone spurs in both big toe joints -- in other words, hallux rigidus. What finally drove me to the orthopaedist was hearing my mother complain about how she couldn't wear any of her shoes, and how painful it was to have her feet touched. I might have voiced a few uncharitable thoughts about toughening up, and isn't that just how feet are, they hurt all the time and you can hardly walk? And stubbing a toe is mortal agony? Then the lightbulb went on, and the upshot is that I have scheduled a cheilectomy (possibly with something more elaborate depending on what they find) for the end of April.
You know, after my new face is hard-set. Urk.
6) Speaking of: March 8 is my surgery date. (If you're just tuning in, I'm having orthognathic surgery for open bite; the surgeon will remove some wedges of bone from my upper jaw and also widen my palate, so I can eat and talk like a person again.) My mom is coming and I'm trying to think about that and not about, say, general anesthesia and catheters and a Sawzall in my face.
I keep wanting to overlay some larger narrative about how things wear out and how I have sympathy for my old house and its bowed joists and dry-rusted cast iron, considering my own shredded wear surfaces and deteriorating structures. But -- ha! -- I'm too busy to frame out the thought. It's like having a new baby, having a new-old house and two small children to run after (and Daphne is VERY MUCH in the running-after stage, you literally can't take an eye off her or you'll find her trapped on top of the pedestal sink, for example, or eating cat food or dancing on top of any chair not tipped over). I'm tired and scattered and in awe. It's good, but WHEW am I ready for that week in Aruba that I'm planning to pay for with my lottery winnings.