Taking stock and getting real . . .

It’s as if someone slapped me upside the head.  Those of you who have been following the saga of our home’s insurance disaster over the past few months have become privy to the range of emotions we have been through, having to move into an apartment, dealing with the insurance company, getting quotes from contractors and selecting new products and surfaces for our ‘forced remodel” as the result of an overflowing toilet back in December.

So it should come at no surprise that it sometimes takes a tragedy to make one appreciate so much more what he or she had to begin with. Still, I never really thought about how I’d be feeling three months into this quagmire. Like the people on HGTV reality shows moving from smaller homes to larger ones, I fantasize about having enough room for my clothes, cooking over a gas stove again, parking my car in a garage and even seeing our little dog disappear through a doggie door instead of whining to go out when nature calls.  It’s the small stuff that gets to you, such as the high point of our day being represented by having nabbed a non-dedicated parking spot outside the apartment steps after making the trek to our house to collect the day’s mail.

My addled brain has now elevated moving back into our house to the status of Christmas morning. The idea of seeing our furniture again, unpacking boxes and putting everything into place makes me giddy with anticipation, while part of me is hard-pressed to believe that day will be here in just a few weeks’ time.

Put into perspective, I sound rather spoiled.  If I were to think about how other parts of the world live, this apartment is an absolute hotbed of luxury.  We’re warm, we’re safe and we’re even entertained (HBO and Showtime) at someone else’s expense just a few minutes away from home.  The fact that we have a good homeowners’ insurance policy means that 99% of what is being done to our house is covered, while the rest is our stab at updating the place.  We can trust workmen to enter, do work and leave without worrying they are stealing us blind.  Hell, we won’t even have to pack our own boxes to move back in or pay to have our furniture put back into place. Covered.

And at the end of this short yellow brick road, I will be able to reflect on these days, recalling our months of living in limbo.  And if I begin to complain at any one point about not being able to afford the granite counters I wanted right away or of the backyard that needs serious revamping, or the 1996 stove I want to transform to a gourmet cooktop, I hope you’ll remind me of this blog.

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