Woke up this morning feeling things closing in on me. I’m trying to juggle the completion of the basement with the start of the master bath remodel with moving Hubby and me to the upstairs for the bath remodel (we can’t stay in our room while that’s going on) and moving our tenant into the basement and moving stuff back into the basement from the pod so our tenant actually has something to sleep on and sit at. Lots of moving parts and just when Hubby is about to start working Saturdays during his busy season. He’s great about stepping up when asked, and he typically waits to be asked because he knows I’m picky about how things are done (understatement). Writing things down helps relieve the mind of having to remember and keeping me awake at night, but you know what they say about best-laid plans. The problem is the timing; everything has to move quickly to accommodate the builders and make sure all sleeping arrangements are sorted out. Hubby keeps telling me not to worry, but that’s my job. I’m the planner; he’s the spontaneous one. The painters will finish in the basement this week; I can’t believe how bright it is down there now. Floor goes in next week, along with some miscellaneous detail items.
I’ve been wanting to finish this old library table that my dad nabbed from somewhere—probably before I was born. It’s been a fixture in our house for as long as I can remember. When my folks downsized back in the early 2000s, I brought it home. For years he used it as a hobby table, so it’s splattered with paint and polyurethane drips and god knows what else. It got a good cleaning this morning with the intention of stripping it and refinishing it in tongue oil. It needed a few minor repairs, too, which I was able to do myself. I could feel Dad looking down from above and being proud that I even know how to do minor woodwork (very minor). After estimating the amount of effort it would take to refinish, I decided it’s going to get a tablecloth instead, on top of which I’ll put a plastic, transparent desk protector. It’s going in the new bedroom in the basement for our tenant, and I know he’ll be fine with that. One less thing I have to do to prepare for the big moving-crap-back-into-the-basement day. Maybe next summer I’ll tackle refinishing it. Dad would love knowing it’s been given a new place.