RENOVATION IS CRAZYTOWN. Chasms open and close without warning. The ground even shakes. As spatial realities dissolve, so do domestic comforts disappear and norms of behavior. It’s a struggle to do the bare minimum, a limbo bar that keeps lowering.
I was frustrated at first. Where is the light switch? Why is it so cold/hot/cold again? Do they have to listen to 93X? But this week something changed. I decided, unilaterally, to loosen up and roll with it.
Right now that means exercise more, drink more and eat whatever I can find, be it raw, bagged or boxed. Give leftovers an über-generous grace period. Accept my family’s half-done projects and destroyed rooms; they’re coping with chaos their own way.
I’m upping my strategies: maximizing efficiency in an ever-messier theater of affairs. Take domestic chores—I run our systems like little fiefdoms. Recycling gets relentless attention, as do closets and dirty clothes. Twice a day I sweep the area for rubbish and material backups. There’s a continuous bucket brigade for dishes: dirty tubs go up to the bathroom and tubs of clean come down. No trip between floors is wasted. I work every angle. Could I shower and clean our cutlery at the same time? I contemplated it.
My mission: refine all systems, however trivial. Outside I locked down the compost bin using heavy bungies and bricks from an old chimney. It looks medieval. Whatever it is was ransacking our rotted cabbage and coffee filters has been vanquished. Be gone, wolverines and badgers! You will not sully my dirt pile.
Inside, the void is gradually becoming a room. Little imagination is needed to picture free-flowing spaces and roomy, accessible cupboards, me sashaying from sink to pantry to counter, imposing rigid and permanent order in the kingdom.
I still have mixed feelings. About the privilege we’re flaunting and how cavalier we are getting about costly decisions. It’s only money! As long as you have enough of it! We are eating major cake and not sharing at all. Is our ability to do this what’s wrong with the world? How much does an already stupifyingly happy family deserve? Fuck Fat Cats like us. Remodeling is the least punk thing ever.