Taking Measure

Yes, the earth has swallowed me whole again. The past week was a blur filled with deadlines and boxes, lots and lots of them. I've finally managed to put all my books away (except the ones I'm currently reading), including the big coffeetable ones with all those gorgeous photographs.

Today, we went to the house to see how things are going, and I am thrilled with the progress. The bedrooms have been painted, the extra sink demolished, the living area tiles laid in. The kitchen is shaping up nicely. And though there's a big blob of a mess in the middle of everything, I could already see where everything's going to be.

And so, I started measuring. These days, I always have a measuring tape in hand. I measured the dimensions of the walls to see where the couch could fit in. I measured the oven stove that I wanted so that my Dad would know how much space it would take. This afternoon had me measuring tiles, the ones they'd place on the kitchen counters and the kitchen floors.

I've never been very particular about measuring stuff. I've never been particular about getting the best grades, just as long as I wasn't failing. I've never been adept at getting the best deals, just as long as I could afford it. I've never been particular about who gets what when, just as long as everybody's happy. But, in construction at least, every half inch counts.




Tiles for the kitchen counter





Stripping the stairs of its ugly dark paint; they'll be tearing down the handrails shortly