In the ongoing marathon that is renovating a house that you live in, we finally got the floor laid. Or at least started to. This is the floor for the new kitchen and family room which is part original house, part extension. The extension we believe was put on the house around 1970.
In preparation, we ripped up the dubious yellow fake tile lino and the equally dubious beige carpet to discover an underlay of newspapers from 1969 and 1950, depending what part of the room we were in. The whole task took much longer than anticipated as we found ourselves submerged in a time warp. A rabbit hole of car sales, lonely heart columns and articles that shone a light on the world the way it was. I am going to save some for framing as part of the house’s heritage.
While I have no idea how long tiling should take, it seems never ending to me. Our tiler, as recommended by the tile shop, seems pretty good but he isn’t blessed with optimism or joy which is nearly as challenging as being holed up in a bedroom with a geriatric boxer dog and a laptop. Word to the wise, while it’s a challenge to renovate a house you live in, it’s a right nightmare when you work from home. Holding out that the big jobs are coming to an end and there is light at the end of the tunnel.
Of course the arrival of June means the impending doom of Father’s Day. As time literally stops for no man, it arrived, sun shining – my first Father’s Day without my Dad. I am seasoned with the feeling of overwhelming grief on high days and celebrations having lost my mum many years ago but here is another day to add to the list. Of course it is no different from any other day, except of course it really is. We made a weekend of it, with daughters arriving on different days working around shifts. Bringing cards and happiness for their own father. I found myself submerged in people with gentle acknowledgements difficult anniversaries and loss. It was ok, I was with my brother, with people that cared. I cried, we ate pizza and I slipped off the bed as soon as I could, exhausted by grief and happy in the knowledge that the grief is just a result of great love.
Much love xx
The Frank Journals 