The wake of the Queen Mary, changing direction in the mid-Atlantic

I have been wondering for a couple of days now if I could write in the blog that we had reached the nadir of the renovation.

Nadir: The lowest point in the fortunes of a person or an organization.

I've been hesitant to say it, though, afraid it would just jinx us -- You thought that was bad, just wait until next week! Really, absolute words like nadir are best used in retrospect, talking nostalgically about those times you got through, and "oh, didn't it just bring us more together."  

Things have been, well, not-good.  It's been hard to get going in the morning, hard to stay pleasant with each other (and I've failed more than once). There are the pet ideas each of us has, and don't want to let go of until proved it can't be done -- laundry chutes, doorways, office space/command centrals, outside vents, room for a couple stools, leaded windows...  that may or may not be possible in the final space.

Everything we've done so far is to break down, pull down, rip down, destroy. Even the plumber and the electricians broke things down.  Now we are at the turning point -- we have to start building up. Not only is it a change in methods and thinking, but from now on, we are committing to the Design. What we do next is what will be the kitchen. Neither HomoDommi nor I are very good about committing, or finishing things.

We tricked ourselves into productive work today. After squabbling for a few hours, we agreed that at least we could clear everything out of the kitchen permanently, for the rest of the remodel (which means only three things: the fridge, the stove, and a temporary table holding tools). We'd clean up: pull down any swinging chads of plaster bits; pull any remaining nails from the old drywall or construction; vacuum in the holes at the base of the wall, full of plaster dust and wood shavings and still an occasional mouse dropping. And then, at least, we would have a clean slate, ready to start building up.

We got as far as unplugging the fridge.  That's when we realized we didn't have the little slippery things you put under heavy furniture to protect the hardwood floors when dragging a fridge from kitchen to living room.  So we went out to Freddy's -- they had none.  So we wandered off to Lowe's -- where something finally clicked: we rented a truck, picked out SheetRock (I learned today that is a brand name, not generic), concrete wallboard for behind the sink, wood, compound putty, putty knives, tape, etc. etc. etc.  I even got my very own toolbelt. (We even remembered the sliding things.)

The truck was a Lowe's deal; a "one-ton flatbed" -- a pickup big enough that it could hold 4x8 drywall flat on the bed, with a couple of feet to spare for stacking lumber and other things. I had to drive it, because they wouldn't rent to an out-of-state license (HomoDommi is legal in Idaho).  We were pressed for time -- it's a mere $21 for 75 minutes, but that timer starts when you sign the paperwork -- we had to pay for our materials, load the truck, drive home, unload, and drive back. (I was only 10 minutes late -- a ding of $5 extra -- and I skipped the request to add a gallon of gas, since that would have cost me at least $5 late fee more.)

But it was a glorious spring day, clear skies and sun in the 60's; Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens were doing their glowing-solid-white trick and we could even make out the green-tree-studded white peak of Mount Rainier (some 50 miles north of St. Helens) and the teeniest, magnesium-white peak of Mount Jefferson (some 60 miles south of Hood).  Spirits lifted -- which we needed to lug 4-100 lb sheets of gypsum double-time from the truck up to the front porch.

We crashed tonight, eating our last stove-heated feast and lemon pie in honor of our father's birthday anniversary.  But we have momentum again, that will carry us at least through the next day or two.

So maybe we are past our nadir after all.