This House

This past weekend, a miraculous thing happened: we had an entire afternoon with no plans on the calendar. Nowhere to be, nothing to do. Well, nothing planned to do — the house needed picking up. But it ended up being the “ok” kind of housework, where you just get in the zone and get shit done. We fell into a rhythm, puttering around and cleaning, talking to one another from different rooms, listening to the radio in the background.

At one point we were both in the bathroom, Byron wiping down the sink and me looking at the shower, which I had cleaned earlier that day. When we bought the Rambler, the shower was advertised as “new!” Well, technically yes. It was a new, shoddily installed shower with obvious gaps and really questionable caulk work (really, so much of our house is basically an advertisement for “hire a professional, yo!”).

As I studied the shower, I said, “Byron, I’m a bit worried some of the shower isn’t sealed correctly and water’s getting behind the panels.”

“Oh yeah, it definitely is,” Byron said.

Oh, well, ok then. “So do we have to worry about mold?”

“No, rot. Definitely rot. I’m 99% sure it’s rotting back there.”

“Oh good, another project.” I shrugged. “Add it to the list.”

“This song is appropriate,” he said.

I must have given him my ‘huh?’ face. “Listen to the lyrics.”

I did — and I laughed:

What do you know? this house is falling apart
What can I say? this house is falling apart
We got no money, but we got heart

 

Well, yes. That about sums it up in a nutshell. But what can you? We had a quick dance party in the bathroom, then moved on to the next task at hand. This never-ending project of a house may throw curveballs at us, but we’re creative, resourceful, and we have each other. We’ll pull this place together.

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