Yesterday was nuts. L. and K. came down early to paint and prepare the bedroom, my mom's old room. It's completely transformed. It now has a hardwood floor instead of ancient, ugly green shag carpeting! No more faded, strange wallpaper, either. They've done a lot of work, and it looks great. The construction on the bathroom is moving along, though there are still two more bathrooms to work on. All I can do is take small bites of the giant evil termite-infested cookie that is renovating my house. L. and K. have a lot of spastic energy and it kind of helped me start doing more work. I could probably get a lot of work done if I weren't so damned lazy.
My mother never threw anything away. She also had a serious cookbook habit. I sorted out a nice heap of cookbooks for myself, and K. grabbed up a nice stack for herself, but for many hours the whole livingroom was consumed by a really daunting mound of books. Now they're mostly in boxes, and yet the livingroom is still insane. Last night, I had a small breakdown after I realized I had run out of boxes to pack the books in. I actually broke down and cried, totally overwhelmed and frustrated. It's just that it was really hard for me, clearing out the kitchen with K. My mother was so passionate about cooking, and she was very involved in the kitchen, and it felt like we were scrubbing her presence away. I've been sort of avoiding the real work, treating a lot of the house with a sort of reverence. Well, no longer. Sigh.
I just sent George off to get 36 more boxes for me. Hopefully that will be enough.
I'm not whining, really, it's just that this is the weirdest thing i've ever had to do.