I wake up in the morning, my head teeming with brilliant ideas. Okay, at least they seem brilliant through the mist of half-sleep. They may dull a bit upon closer inspection, by the cold (30 deg. C) harsh light of day.
By the time I've showered and done my sun salutations on the narrow strip of relatively dust-free floor alongside my bed, half the post is written in my head.
If I'm lucky, I get to jot down a few ideas in my notebook (not Notebook) during breakfast. I have some really witty phrases, scathing remarks and entertaining quips dancing in my mind just begging to be put into Word.
But then the Work Day begins, and all my creativity is steamrolled out of me by the Exigencies of Life.
Said Exigencies currently comprise two chief culprits:
- My kitchen-in-the-making, already alluded to in my previous, klappa-related post (June 24th, 2008)
- The City of Rishon LeZion and its Roadworks Department, currently tearing up the road right under my window.
The only two rooms in the house that have escaped a fate worse than dust are our bedroom, which is only marginally messier than normal, and the tiny lavender-colored (your fault, Sparklette) aptly-named Water Closet known in Hebrew as sherutim, i.e. services, which I've always found funny, as I still half expect the tiny "room" to address me with a polite "How may I be of service, Ma'am," when I step in.
Of all the 1,675 streets in Greater Rashlatz, they had to start digging up mine. Again. This time it's with the purpose of scraping and resurfacing it. Do you know what a huge, noisy, green-or-yellow monster it takes to scrape yon road with deep ruts, like a stainless steel fork through a bed of mashed potatoes? Actually yes, I'm sure most of you know.
I've turned down job after unappealing job with the excellent excuse that I just can't concentrate.
Micha the shiputznik (handyman? Renovations contractor?) – the one who addresses me as "motek" -- and his two aides de camp, Simon and Moses, stride in around 8 a.m., and head straight for the coffee corner I set up not far from the rubble, in what used to be my lounge.
As I stare at the ruins, I begin to wonder if I know what I'm doing, and what was so terribly wrong, anyway, with my old kitchen.
Hubby and I have migrated to the front porch. Which overlooks the street where those big yellow monsters go garrumphing by. We set up our dinette table in-between our desks, after having sent the two large potted plants for some R&R with the next-door neighbor, bless her.
* * *
Well, patient readers, this is as far as I got. No need to bore you with all the grimy details. The deed is done. The kitchen is up and running. Well, not by itself, of course. It still requires some human input and elbow-grease. If you want to see it, here's the link to the pictorial saga: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ninush/
If you want advice on how not to order a new kitchen, feel free to contact me.
1 comments:
Oh God, I'm getting a vicarious thrill + Consumer Buzz. I love the fridge. Is that a freezer on the bottom? If you would like my business card (it's a magnet), send me your snail address. Sharp fridge -- I thought they made electronics. I loved "shines like a National guitar". It does indeed. *mitz gezunter heit*!
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