Still no calf. Moxie’s udder is so swollen it resembles a rubber glove inflated to the breaking point. Yesterday at morning chores I anxiously ran my hands over the hot, giant teats and discovered that she is freshening with bad mastitis in one quarter. The milk is clotted like cheese curds. My sense of doom is increasing.
That feeling is not allayed by a walk-through of the house. Though progress is being made in every room, it’s still far from ready.
It has also dawned on me that we will be moving with two dogs into a work space where men leave all the doors open all day long. Another problem to solve.
For now I am thinking we (Lucy, DH, I, and the dogs) will sleep upstairs but, for the next week or two, spend any other time hanging out in the basement. Yes — that big chilly space stacked with boxes and furniture. It sounds crazy but the basement doors can be closed and then we will be removed from the rest of the house and the ongoing work. (Except for the day they replace the stairs.) To make the basement a comfortable spot will require considerable effort, but I have a plan.
The boy Nick texted early yesterday that he could not come, but that was fine. I often find it restful to work alone.
I spent the morning cutting more sheetrock and putting it up. At one point I had struggled to carry an upright sheet through the maze of mess and finally got it safely against the far wall when I turned to find the electrician staring at me.
“You work so hard,” he said, his eyes concerned. “I feel sorry for you.”
I smiled. “I like to work.”
It’s true. If it weren’t for the time pressure, I would be having great fun.
With the pressure, it is indeed a little stressful. To cheer myself up I have been wearing Allen’s old baseball hat. He gave it to me years ago at the end of one of our long working days. It looks foolish on me but that’s OK.
Though clearly I was a strange woman and without most practical skills, it was my impression Allen respected my sheer determination. I always recall him saying to his son-in-law, back in 2009, “You’re gonna be workin’ with girlie, here. Try an’ keep up!”
His belief in me is a happy thing to remember.
* * *
After lunch Lucy and I drove to the city an hour away to get more bathroom tile (believe it or not, a box fell out of the second floor window and smashed, and now we were short). Lucy went along to pick out her bathroom shower curtain. I would also take the opportunity to buy mastitis meds for Moxie. The last thing I wanted to do was interrupt my day for an unexpected four-hour trip, but it could not be helped. In order for us to have one working shower by Sunday morning, Nick needed to finish tiling the children’s bathtub.
We bought the tile, we bought the shower curtain. Naturally, Tractor Supply was sold out of mastitis meds. We found some in another store in the other direction and had them held for me; I will be driving to pick them up this morning.
When we got home I discovered that the toilets and kitchen sink had been delivered at school. The stack of giant boxes was chin high. Toiling slowly, I partially unpacked some of them in order to fit them in the truck to carry them to the farm. One toilet was in shards. Though I do wonder how toilet companies stay in business, I have no more emotion in the toilet department. I asked Nick to unpack the others carefully in case they, too, have to be returned.
Today: Moxie, mortgage calls and paperwork, finishing the basement.