Cali Pitchel McCullough is a Ph.D student in American history at Arizona State University. For earlier posts in this series click here. –JF
Arizona saw dark skies and heavy, grey clouds this week. A silvery sky and cool, damp air are the perfect accompaniment to a good book. In our new condo we have three floor-to-ceiling windows that allow natural light to spill into the living room. A table and two upholstered chairs are situated in the corner where the sun shines brightest. I’d love to report that I had plenty of time to settle myself into one of the chairs, The Age of Homespun on my lap and a hot tea piping steam into my little reading nook. Despite my good intentions (one book a week, complete with notes to share with my cohort), my first week of freedom and free time did not go as planned.
We moved into the condo one week ago on Saturday. 1500 square feet of belongings crammed into just under 900 square feet of new living space made Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday unbearable. I could not focus my attention on reading when I had to crawl over and around fifty craft-colored boxes. So I got to work. I successfully unpacked 80% of the boxes, sent four loads to Goodwill, found a place for the utensils, and established the “junkdrawer.” I did manage to read the introduction to Ulrich’s book about objects and their value and meaning over time. But just the intro was OK. It was onlyTuesday night. I had the rest of the week ahead of me.
Wednesday rolls around and I had to make several trips to Target, Wal-Mart, and Home Depot for the requisite contact paper and cleaning supplies. Said trips ate up most of my day and by the time I would have settled into my comfy chair, my parents were knocking on the front door ready to take Quinn and I out to dinner. OK. No big deal. Thursday through Sunday would be adequate for finishing the book.
Thursday morning. Rainy. Dreary. Damp—such a nice alternative to the typical sunny December day in Arizona. I scurried out of the door for an early morning yoga class and planned to return for a marathon reading session. After class I came home, fixed myself some lunch, and started sifting through some of the remaining items from the living room floor when I heard a subtle clinking sound from the other side of the room. I first assumed this sound was coming from below. We’re on the second floor of the condo and it’s not unlikely to hear loud noises from our downstairs neighbor. The sound intensified, so I moseyed over to the kitchen to investigate.
Clink. Clink. Clink. As I moved from the sink to the stove I felt a cool drop on my neck. Water, dripping into the kitchen from one of the can lights in the ceiling. At first it wasn’t too bad. I simply placed a towel under the infrequent trickles and snuggled back into my happy place. The towel had dampened the noise, so I was shocked to hear another clink. And then another. A new leak! Two leaks turned into five, and when I no longer felt capable of controlling what had become a frighteningly steady stream of water into our laundry area, I made Quinn come home early from work.
I’ll spare the details of the next 3-4 hours (sopping wet towels, every bowl and cooking pot employed in the kitchen, bathroom, and laundry area, a shop vac, several expletives, and a forecast calling for more showers), but suffice it to say, it’s Sunday and The Age of Homespun is still not read.
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