I doing dessert before the main course. Since arising today and toddling into the office about 7:45, I’ve trascribed data from index cards into an aviation history file to be posted at AeroKnow when it’s done, postponed a small Saturday gathering here because of the hot weather (I have no air conditioning except for a small unit in my office.) and decided to post at H&Q NOW so my mind doesn’t wander when I hunker down to making a living. The window a/c unit went in for the first time this year about 10 minutes ago. I decided I MUST write cool to write well. This my luxury long-postponed but installed at the perfect time.
The picture above is my kitchen, and there lies the tale du jour. Almost 10 years ago, I adopted a Labrador puppy offered by a friend. At the time I was determined this would be a civilized pooch. The literature about toilet training instructed me to put newspaper down in a restricted area and to take Max out after feeding in the morning at early evening. He was not large enough to transit through the foldable fence I had placed twixt my kitchen and livingroom, but I learned he was strong enough to scratch out chunks of my linoleum floor. They were small chunks, no larger than 3 x 6 inches, but they were obvious: in front of my refrigerator, at the end of the counter cabinets. We never mastered the art of toilet training, and he soon became a backyard dog and something of a wild child. Bless you, Max, wherever you are.
This week in the throes of some really warm weather and perhaps going a little nuts, I decided what Max had done was my cue to replace the linoleum and get a nice floor back, something I could share with friends without scandalizing Maximum Labrador for being an impetuous beastie or myself for my inadequate training acumen.
What is the difference between three or four breeches of the ancient flooring and the appearance of the floor as I slowly pull off the linoleum, step one toward recovering it with something new? NOTHING I decided. A floor in a state of rampant disarray is no more imperfect as a floor in minor disrepair. So for short stretches of time — five minutes here, 10 minutes there — I’ve been removing the top layers down to the wood base. In this passing condition, it’s the ugliest floor I’ve seen, but it’s also like a random abstract painting I can walk on. I can still cook, wash dishes. I have no idea of what I’m going to cover the floor with — linoleum tile? new linoleum on a roll? granite tile? Absolutely not kitchen carpeting or rugs. I have a lot of top cover to remove before I decide. The inspiration to not dawdle will come from the horrendous appearance.
I don’t want to live with that floor as it is any longer than necessary. But I don’t see resolution before November at the earliest. I have real estate taxes to pay and a sizable gas bill which must be paid so I can have hot water again and heat for the winter. I have missed the showers. I’ve been sponge-bathing since April, and I’m pretty efficient by now. Others in this town have it worse than me. At least I have a stove to heat the water. In the meantime, I will scrape when I can and work toward a finite, attainable goal of a new kitchen floor.
In the meantime, I must start writing for dollars for this rest of this day, with a clear head undistracted by the heat or blog musing.
Thanks for dropping by.
Live long . . . . . . and proper.
