O Lord, You recall that 46 years ago today, a freshman medical student and his unemployed bride promised You they would love each other for life. The odds of keeping those vows appeared even skinnier than they were. But, OMG, thank You for helping us do the impossible!
Hubby and I labeled our new home’s difficulties as “temporary.”
The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines that word as “lasting for a limited time.” As in, “This sparkly 1970s wallpaper is temporary.” Or, “This white carpet where kids held pop-spitting parties is temporary.”
In remodeling timelines, “temporary” resembles a blank, signed check.
We should have known better, having delayed remodeling our former house until we’d lived there 23 years. Then spent big bucks making it irresistible … so we could sell it.
Now, 11 years later, “temporary” has caught up with us again.
We’ve made some improvements: new siding, roof, and landscaping. Hubby painted the ugly, “temporary” black front door.
He says it’s orange.
I say it’s terra cotta.
Which illustrates two reasons we procrastinate in updating our home:
- Hubby is male.
- I am female.
This complicates the simplest project, yet we’ve made progress. After only 45 years of marriage, we not only like our terra cotta/orange door, we arrange decorative pillows on our bed without debate. Hubby keeps the plain one on his side. The fancy one goes on mine.
Surely, we can now agree whether to paint kitchen cabinets Blue Sand or Eggshell Ecstasy.
Hubby’s eyes narrow. “Have you ever seen blue sand? Anywhere?”
I haven’t experienced ecstasy boiling eggs, either. However, I don’t want to extend a discussion about color misrepresentation to blank-check proportions. Then the cabinets will go unpainted another decade.
But a decade is temporary. Not forever.
It just seems like it.
Hubby, a reasonably skilled handyman, could shorten makeover timespans if he were married to a better assistant.
We attempted wallpapering together. Once.
Everything I touched turned to trapezoids.
No matter how carefully I measured. No matter how many tutorial videos I watched.
I should create one for homeowners like myself. I would condense “Seven Simple Steps to Your House’s Total Makeover” to “Two Simple Steps”:
- Light a match.
- Burn the place down.
But then, I’d have to move again, probably to jail. Even wallpapering with Hubby seems preferable. Though he might feel differently …
I suggest another option, in which we could forego painting the kitchen and cabinets and installing new counters and —
“New counters?” Hubby’s eyes narrow again. “Since when?”
Surely, I say, if we paint the kitchen, we should replace ancient, discolored counters. The flooring’s nicked, too.
“If remodeling seems overwhelming,” I say brightly, “we can move to a different house.”
After we sink a ton of money and work into our present home to sell it.
Before moving to another house with temporary sparkly wallpaper. Temporary stained kitchen counters. And temporary carpet somebody showered with Blue Sand …
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Are you at home with the temporary?
O Lord, Thank You for my Boy Scout and his love for Your creation. Thank You that we’ve shared several great camping trips this summer. But now he’s bought new backpacking gear for primitive wilderness camping. OMG, thank You that I won’t share in that.
O Lord, thank You for the avid camper I married. I, too, love sharing in Your beautiful creation. But OMG, I’m wondering if each of us defines camping–and a few other things–a bit differently.
O Lord, when Hubby and I first rode our new tandem, we nearly took out our neighbor’s trash cans. He wasn’t perfect then and isn’t now. And unlike Daisy, I don’t always “look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two.” But OMG, thank You for 17 years and 5,500 miles of mostly fun cycling together without a crash.
O Lord, given the personality differences during this quarantine, I imagine a large number of your children have to repent daily. But OMG, would it be so bad if I, um, interrupted Hubby’s Zoom college class only once?
O Lord, thank You for brain cells — though they seem to have vanished from our household lately. You know that in our absentmindedness contest, Hubby and I are neck and neck. But OMG, having placed the coffee pot on the Keurig, I think I have the coffee pods’ vote.
O Lord, I thank You for a steaming cup of coffee this chilly March morning. My husband thanks You for a cup of tea. As we’ve aged, we hope we’ve grown in wisdom. In insight. In compassion. But one thing is sure: OMG, our cups have grown with us.
OMG, thank You for a 45th wedding anniversary celebration Hubby and I will never forget: blue ocean, swaying palms, and a kayak trip in which we made the acquaintance of a (fortunately) sleepy alligator.
O Lord, Two very different people live in this house. We don’t even agree on how to eat Cheerios. Yet, OMG, thank You that You’ve kept us together for almost 45 years. 😊