July 1, first day we gots the house. ^^ that's my mom ^^
Turns out we hallucinated presence of kitchen sink in the back apartment. Now all the appliances are out that lil kitchen looks a lot like any kind of room. At least it still smells like 100 years of cigarettes in there.
We are a little afraid of the house, like a rescue pet that might bite you. There are a million things to do and each task can be subdivided infinitely. How many whole-room coats of paint? I estimate: 40. How many hammer strikes? I don't estimate.
Daylight comes in under the back door. You open it, there are no stairs, just a three-foot void.
The family before us has left us some gifts:
1 mini bottle Goldschlager.
1, mostly full, bottle orange juice.
One "Party Time" frozen pizza.
Later, with dust in my mouth, I will drink the orange juice so grateful.
That first night there are only two things to do: drink champagne, bang on the plaster wall over the fireplace till bricks.
Other gifts from the family before: three bags cement, double dolphin trash can.
Meanwhile, upstairs, we are priming out the darkest blue walls. I find a yellow guitar pick. The window falls out of its frame. Somewhere between blue and not blue is a seriously beautiful primer palimpsest.
We do not prime the inside of the closet where we find tiny footprints on the sloped ceiling and my mother says, "there must have been a bassinet in there."