Gradually, we are achieving normalcy in the yellow house.
Yesterday, we felt the need to put our hands on our home – Bernardo went back to work painting the basement and re-organizing, prepping for when our shed is completed and we can put all the gardening supplies outside. I did a few mounds of laundry, finished turning over the closet to the fall season, sussing out some donations (a neighbor down the street, who’s very plugged into supply and demand post-Sandy, is collecting) as I did so. In the afternoon, I took Molly for a walk around the neighborhood – the gas lines are a weird repulsive attraction for me; I remember the gas lines from the 1970s, but I hate how people argue and carry on in the middle of the street.
We raked the leaves in the front yard. The air was brisk, and a neighbor had a fire going. We took our beers into the backyard, and surveyed – Bernardo had kept the pool cover on through the hurricane, and we had only a couple of pieces of shingle on the ground. Two baseballs blew into the yard – Molly discovered them and promptly shredded their covers.
We came inside and watched a movie on the computer while making dinner. It felt good to be tired.
In the night, Molly stole a bag of couscous and ate it dry. She’s been mischievous lately – I think she’s been unsettled by the hurricane; Bernardo thinks she’s just hungrier because the weather’s colder.
This morning Bernardo was out on the golf course. He’ll return to the basement chores while I polish all the brass fixtures in the house. We’ll keep putting our hands on our home, grateful that we have it.