I’m experiencing frequent flashbacks to college life. Our living style is reminiscent of dorm living. We wash our dishes in the bathroom sink, which is upstairs and down the hall from our makeshift kitchen and dining room. My laundry room is unreachable from the rooms that are not under construction, and thus I run outside with a basket of clothes in my arms and a key in hand. Fortunately, my washer and dryer are more effect than those in a campus’ communal laundry mat.
Then there’s this ramp my husband constructed. The first ramp I saw him build was at a housing project in New Orleans. We and group of college students traveled to the southern city renovate homes destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. Our crew gutted an abandoned home in the French Quarter, but before we swung our crew bars and wrecking tools, the future engineers spent a morning designing and building a sturdy ramp. Myself and a few other art and science majors chuckled at the time they devoted to the creating the ramp, but once the demolition began, we quit harassing the engineering students. The ramp allowed us to quickly and easily dump our rumble. The time spent constructing it was quickly regained.
I was strongly reminded of that home in New Orleans last week when I saw my house soon after my husband torn down the hallway ceiling. My husband took advantage of the absence of his wife and babe and the dumpster out back to remove the cracked and peeling plaster. I’m glad he did so, but I admit that I was shocked and sad to see my home ripped open. That mess has been hauled into the dumpster, and my sense of home restored.