Little Victories

For a month now my apartment has been hostage to renovations. Holes in my bathroom wall and ceiling, the entire wall in my kitchen a fond memory.  If I stand in either room and look up or down, I’m staring into a neighbor’s apartment. For the past two weeks I have had to use the bathroom of the neighbor across the hall because I have not had running water in mine. This is especially problematic at 3am when I need to do a middle of the night to use the facilities. Thrice last week I’ve lost an hour or more of sleep as I could not fall back into slumber after such.

Because dust is everywhere as they somewhat systematically replace the 100 year old pipes in each apartment on my side of the building.  Not having a sink or a stove, I have spent a ridiculous amount of money on take out during this. Buffets have become my good friend to nicely fill my belly without emptying my wallet.

Tonight I arrived home to discover they’ve reached my apartment to for more work. I already had a headache and after two weeks of this I was not in the mood to even ask yet again about the water, just to be disappointed again. But soft! What sound through yonder rooms break? Did I hear water drippeth? Yes!

The bathroom and kitchen are still filthy and looking like a Hollywood set for war zone aftermath. There’s so much work left to be done, the rooms are not getting more than a nominal cleaning until all is finished. They were nice enough to get ammonia and wipe things down. Yes, I cleaned again behind them,  I am a Virgo after all, but at long last, I have a functioning toilet and bathroom sink!

It’s a small victory, but believe you me, I’ll take it – gotta go!


Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

The Little Things…

Thirteen years ago, I became a married woman. It took thirteen years to reach that point and I happily wrote out my newly hyphenated name everywhere. However, partly because of laziness and partly because I wanted something of the original me to be just me, I wound up not changing any of my legal IDs (birth certificate, work, social security, insurance etc.) to my new married name.

Six years ago, I became a widow. Though I have made it through the grieving process, I still sign things with my married name. Partly because it is a habit I have no need to break at this moment, and partly because I like the alliteration of it with my birth name (blame the poet in me for that). I will concede it was something of a convenience not having to change all my documentation back again and thus thought nothing of it, until today…

My trip to England in ’03 was the first international stamp to grace the pages of my very first passport and my trip to Paris last month was the last stamp. After ten years of running amok, I now have to renew it. It’s not exactly news, obviously, I have known for a while that I would have to do so, no big deal.  However, as I am thinking of all the documentation I needed the first go around, versus what I will need now to renew it, is when it dawned on me. I will need to include my late-husband’s death certificate to change my name.  My passport is the only legal document that carried my full first, middle, maiden and married name.

I now find my head at odds with my heart.  My head understands that this must, and certainly will, be done. Still, there is this odd part of my heart that aches. For this feels that this really is the end of it all.  That once I change my passport, nearly all traces of that marriage will be over except for twenty years of photos and memories.

It’s the little things that sneak up on you…


Weekly Slice of Life Story Challenge