The bank appraiser comes Thursday afternoon. I could not put him off longer and still have any chance of closing on the mortgage August 13, the date to which our application is locked. The house will not be anywhere near finished. He will have to come back in early August and verify that the work has been completed (another appraisal charge. Sigh. And will the work be done by then? Sigh).
There is nothing I can do to advance the installation of siding, floor tiles, basement stairs, and bathrooms, but I am sealing the kitchen countertops. These heavy pieces of butcher block have been set up on sawhorses in DH’s cabin and bunk house and I am painting them with four coats of Waterlox sealant. The buildings are hot and airless and smell faintly of mice. The sealant dries slowly.
I was supposed to go to a memorial service for a 90-year-old friend yesterday. Whit and I always enjoyed each other’s company; as DH said years ago, Whit was in my “favorite demographic group” — men over 70. He was also both a teacher and a farmer. We always chose to sit next to each other at board meetings and happily talked books, pasture, and cows. However I had waked up at 1:30 AM and been unable to get back to sleep, so had come downstairs and made a list of everything I should accomplish before the appraiser’s arrival. This made it clear to me that in my current state of anxiety and exhaustion I could not spend eleven hours on the road for the funeral. I knew Whit would understand. I will write a letter to his family.
I worked all day in the house and made a small dent in the chaos. My hope is that in between raindrops and more unpacking, in the next four days I can also mow, weedwhack, and clean up around the property so that it looks slightly less shabby by Thursday.