The Quotidian Round

Quotidian: ordinary or everyday; mundane.

Looking down the lane toward our 'encampment.' A rare morning of sunshine.

Somewhere in the past two weeks, I think we began to lose our sense of time.

One day has followed another--most of them grey and chilly--so that we pause and ask ourselves things like: 'Did Howard bring the doors last week--or was it the week before?'  'Didn't we refill the propane tanks last Friday?'

Howard was at home in Tennessee for nearly a week, so Jim spent the time putting up window trim and the wainscoat in the living area.

I applied polyurethane to both sides of all the knotty pine doors--a most frustrating task.

I dislike poly!  I'm a careful 'painter' but this stuff drips and runs, spatters off the brush. 

Jim insisted I buy the oil-based variety, which adds the insult of a nasty odor clinging to my clothes and hair. 

I applied the first coat with the doors in place, then next day lightly sanded preparatory to the second coat. 

Once I am embarked on a project I tend to ignore the warning signs that I should stop and rest.

The payback was considerable pain in my right shoulder, a stiff neck, vertigo.

I left the door project for a bit to paint some trim laid out on trestles--this was an easier job.

I mentioned that painting a horizontal object was less painfully aggravating than climbing and stretching, which prompted Jim to take the doors off their hinges and lay them across trestles.

The downside of this was a better view of the dripped poly.

More sanding, repeated efforts to view the work from every possible angle.

The finished doors were rehung yesterday and I was fairly satisfied until the morning sunlight caught a dribble of poly that I missed. 

I'm sure I will notice it each time I walk past that bedroom door!

Lumber to be sorted.

Last Thursday Jim decided to move firewood which has been stored at the Amish farm since our move.

J. A. who is the new owner of the lower farmhouse, offered to help with the wood.  It was a daylong project--three loads of firewood and a stack of lumber.

Both men were tired the next day! 

Dixie escorting me up the lane.

Pounding rain again on Wednesday.

Jim walked down for lunch using a cardboard box as headgear.

He couldn't resist pausing at the camper window and startling the cats.

Teasel is wary--a low warning rumble as she peers out at the alien creature.

A day without sunshine, but as Jim is now prone to say, 'At least its not raining--yet!'

Jim tackled the septic line which has been cleared by the county inspector to link into the existing septic tank.

He did much of the work with the backhoe, but hand-shoveled a layer of dirt over the PVC pipe to prevent crushing it with too heavy a bucket load of coarse soil.

Doing this on the day after moving the wood supply, he wasn't surprised that he was tired!

Rain last Friday night turned to wet snow.

The morning promised sun to melt the snow into muddy puddles.

Bobby Mac [aka Robert] keeping his feet dry while he surveys his kingdom.

We deal with delays and frustrations which aren't out of the ordinary for a project of this sort.

The electrician went 'down in his back' for a week, which meant that the electrical inspector's visit was postponed.

Electrician reappeared, finished his work, inspector didn't show up yesterday as re-scheduled.  He arrived today, inspected, left a certificate permitting permanent power to be turned on [when?] but said he had a list of things he wants the electrician to modify.

Electrician assures us this is the usual--inspectors must find something to justify their existence!

I am 'over' life in the camper.  I remind myself daily that it has served us well: it is roomy as such things go, it has a small but adequate shower stall, it has a laundry area.  We have phone and internet.

Still, I am most anxious to be in a proper house! 

The washer and dryer, stacked in their tiny cubby, are elderly and the washer has fits of refusing to go into the drain and spin cycles. I resort to the classic retaliation of pounding on the lid! 

The small table in one of the 'slide-out' sections is heaped with our winter coats, down vests and gloves. I can't imagine trying to eat while sitting there--the ceiling is lowered over it--a head banger.

Jim eats at the little desk, I pick my way to one of the easy chairs, or stand with my plate at the counter in the kitchenette.

A friend offered words of understanding. 'A camper is fun for a few days; you take in what you need for food and clothing, enjoy the outing, then return home, tidy up the camper--you don't continue to live in it for months.'

We wait now for whatever the electrician must do to satisfy the inspector.  We wait for the power company to come out and pull levers, flick switches--however electrical current is made to flow into the 'box.'

We wait for a dry day or two to finish laying out the septic line.

Jim and Howard have been busy fitting shelves for pantry and closets.

[They do not solicit my suggestions!]

We think the kitchen cabinetry may be ready for delivery next week, likewise the kitchen appliances.

We will be overjoyed to move into the main floor, while work continues to finish the lower level, build a carport. 

I've been told life-long that the things we wish for are most appreciated when there has been a waiting time. 

Has the wait been long enough?