Love in the dust

What a difference a year makes. March 2009 I was creating healthy variations of Andrew’s favourite junk food in a week-long birthday tribute to my beloved husband.  Spicy Southern Fried Chicken replaced his KFC, homemade ranch dressing knocked the bottled supermarket brand off the shelf and I even made pie.

This year? I’ve no stove, not counters, no kitchen lights and one heck of a rash from plaster dust.  So what am I doing for Andrew’s birthday this year? A nice romantic dinner? No. A night out to the movies? No. Like the considerate wife that I am, I’m leaving him in peace to finish his marking and learning to plaster.

He’s not as enthusiastic as you’d expect.

Sure my “gift” means more dust, paint fumes and yet another rearrangement of an already hazardous collection of boxes so extreme it qualifies us for some interventionist reality TV show. But I’m thinking of him. Really.

While this might not be the most romantic way to show affection, the cracks in the foyer and living room are just getting bigger and more annoying by the day and there’s barely enough time to finish the kitchen let alone fix the issues in the other rooms, so I talked my kind and talented contractor into teaching me how to dig out the cracks, fill them with sheet rock 90, tape up the damage and then make the once broken wall look brand new. It’s not the sort of gift you wrap, but it does say, “I love you.” If you look really, really hard. (Note to grammarians: I figure if I can push through the discomfort of plaster-induced eczema, you can handle a run-on sentence or two.)

When this renovation is over, I’ll get back to cooking. And shorter sentences.

That’s my life in a dust-covered nut shell. What have you been up to?

PS: Happy Birthday Andrew. You’re a good sport.