For the last week and a half or so a worker has come to our home daily to strip wallpaper and paint the walls. A few days ago, the entire kitchen was closed off, a week ago the bathroom, now the living room and at times the stairwell to my bedroom. Tarps cover couches in the center of that room; the bookcases must be in there too because everything else is now in our newly painted kitchen, including the books that those shelves once held.
The house is a mess. I had to reach over the cat’s litter box, brought down from its corner upstairs to make toast, step around the fake plants, board games, wall hangings, lamps, freshman Spanish workbooks, and the piano bench with a bright yellow box claiming to hold chocolate pudding.
Of course the Valentine’s Day picture of Dad and I inside trumps the desire for the long ago eaten pudding, but although I like to look at it myself, it’s not one that I’d be too eager to show off since my eyes go straight to that buttoned up slightly bulging business shirt that I have held onto but not worn for the last two, two and a half years.
“Zacchaeus – I’m coming to your house today”
As I started to type zach into my search bar to figure out the spelling, the suggestions morped from zappos, to zac brown band, zach galifiankis, to the scandal, affair, divorce, and funeral of zachery tims, to the coloring page, song, and craft for Zacchaeus, who was a ‘wee little man’.
That troubles me.