Snowy white

Patrick had a gig in Plattsburgh this weekend. I spent most of the day Saturday trying to be busy at the house, trying to keep my mind off my sweetie driving four hours home through flying ice. We have no phone in Gilbertsville as of yet (and certainly no cell reception!) so all I had was my imagination. Since I'm a worrier by nature, my imagination was no friend at all. I drank hot tea. I paced. I worked on painting a ceiling, which was really a joke, since I felt the need to step down from my ladder and walk across the room to the window about every two minutes (to see if Patrick was driving down our street!)

But he finally made it home. After a good gig, cheap beer, three hours' sleep and driving across the entire state he was somehow ready to get to work. So I happily returned to painting my ceiling, much comforted by the presence of my husband.

(Side note: When I was in Greece, I somehow managed to convince myself that Patrick was dead because I hadn't heard from him for two days. My imagination carried itself to a very dark place: yes, I thought, he's dead, and my parents won't call to tell me because they don't want to spoil my trip! It all made perfect sense. This resulted in a hysterical call home, at 6:45am eastern time, wherein I roused my sweetie from his peaceful slumber to croak, in a tearful quaver, Are you NOT dead? Oh, mercy.)

Anyway, ahem, yes, the ceiling. I would wager to guess that at one time a very heavy smoker lived in our house. Look at that dingy paint!

I love the coffered ceilings in our house (two big rooms) but painting them is pretty loathsome. Lots of brushwork. And the sitting room ceiling (shown here) is going to need two coats. Fortunately I need something to occupy my time next weekend, while Patrick takes on the stairwell.

(The bag is covering our ceiling fan.) Painting ceilings is one of those things I tell myself, Ok, I'll only have to do this once. That makes it a little more bearable, somehow.

In other news, we celebrated our house's three month anniversary this weekend. It's crazy, really, to think of all we've accomplished since the beginning. Three short months of working long weekends, dreaming, doing, buying, and living. We're beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel. As we progress with the work, we're beginning to imagine the time when we can turn from our work into living, just enjoying the house and riding out the seasons in it. That time will come.

More than anything, I have to admit, I'm just plain looking forward to taking a day off. Before this house, Patrick and I had so many opportunities for exploration. We'd get in the car Saturday morning and drive to a state park, an antique store, a new town we hadn't discovered yet. I miss that. It's been a long time, it seems, since we had a day for goofing off. Which, of course, means that when we get a day like that again, it's going to feel so, unbelievably, good. I can't wait.