Keeping It Real

I awake and glance at the clock with one open eye. Six a.m. My husband sits in his recliner at the foot of the bed, studying YouTube videos of barns, the table lamp glowing softly across the room.

My sleepy eyes do a slow sweep of my new house. Pretty small. Some would call it tiny. I prefer the word cozy.

Minus the fact that it doesn't have any modern appliances, I feel comfortable here. That tub of dishwasher packets my daughter Becca gave me will have to sit awhile. Totally sink washing for now. And my wicker hamper grows fat with dirty clothes until a drive to the laundromat.

Even my harvest gold electric range is missing the handle to its oven door. But plump, flakey biscuits turn out just as delicious.

Yesterday we installed our window air conditioner- a white box-shaped unit that has served as a makeshift end table for the past few weeks - holding beer bottles and dinner plates and tons of tractor magazines. The threat of 90 degree weather made one thing for certain - this table goes into the window - no discussion needed.

My deep freeze still sits on the back porch...(a stoop really)...the top laid out with a table cloth and a assortment of tools. Much like an operating table, ready at a moments notice to drill, measure, saw and hammer. I had to move it all yesterday so I could reach inside and get a Popsicle.

But I don't mind. Too much.

Maybe it's because I know these things are only temporary. That with time the addition will be built and  I will be spoiled by modern convenience.

For now, I stretch, stare at the ceiling, and look over at my husband.

"We live here," I say.

And we laugh.