Thing Hog

In the meantime, I have jumped into the kitchen renovation with both feet.

It is a complete nightmare.

I get my sister's contractor, Wally, and after explaining to him that I do not have my sister's budget or her fastidiousness about cleaning (as in NOT the White Tornado) he assures me that he's done smaller renovations than mine (but probably not smaller kitchens) and has been in much worse a pig sty.  Yay.

I have a vision. Wally will work with me, however twisted the vision. He has the good sense not to laugh out loud at my ideas. He listens well, and as he makes suggestions, and I explain what I want instead, he is figuring me out.  Now he is not only a magician, he's a mind reader, too. He seems enthusiastic about my idea of painting the ceiling plum. He is not daunted by the fact that the space was designed over 80 years ago before refrigeration and microwaves became standard issue.

But still, I am in a panic.  He's measured and examined and opened doors and looked under the hoods of things and has sketched some plans.  He can wedge this in here, that in there. Create more visual space by doing this, create more actual space if we think about doing this versus that. What am I missing? I am sure I've forgotten to mention something. Watch, he'll be done and the dishwasher will be sitting in the middle of the room without a home.

I have picked out tile. Grout. Chosen dimensions of the much coveted subway tile with which I am so anxious to cover the backsplash. We've discussed millwork, lazy Susan's fixtures, garbage disposal, dead space, paint colors, appliances, venting, and finally....dates to start the work.

This is where I begin to breath heavily into a paper bag. 

All that money. In all those big chunks!  So much for the fat cat feeling of a big tax return.

And the notion of taking every last item, dish, glass, utensil, gadget, crumb, twisty tie, piece of mail, art project, cleaning product, and frivolous serving piece out of my kitchen to live somewhere else while the work gets done. While I am buying a new range I should also have a fainting couch delivered.

But I write the first check so the cabinets can be ordered and the permit issued.  And suddenly I am calm and in control.

I have a signed contract and I have a good idea about what the end result will be. I've even settled on countertop material and the perfect oven. In 3 short weeks, demolition will take place. On the last week of school while the kids are in Lars' torture chamber.  It's time to systematically relieve the kitchen of its contents.

Oh.
My.
Gawd!

I am nothing short of astonished at what I have stashed for decades in a space you could not park a Mini Cooper in. 

And I am convinced I could star in a Sweeps Week episode of Hoarders.