I filtered through the day like always, thumbing through it like it was the Yellow Pages—another symbol of how dated I sometimes feel. I don’t mind those moments of nostalgia, though, remembering the corded phone days when a boy who liked me would call, and I’d stretch the curly wire as far as it would go to steal a little space from my family. That fifteen-year-old girl could never have imagined that her future self would one day take calls from the middle of the ocean or atop a ridge in the Grand Canyon.
The concrete for the pool was poured, but I barely registered it. My focus was on the looming arrival of the sectional couch. Its placement on the currently empty living room floor symbolized comfort, togetherness, and a sense of completion. The U-shaped beast, with its luxurious fabric, was supposedly designed to withstand ballpoint pens and spaghetti fingers—at least, that’s what the salesperson assured me.
I also found myself wondering if the sprinkler system had done its job since it hadn’t rained today. Two things were affecting water flow—one requiring a professional to adjust the well’s water pressure, and the other needing a filter to remove sediment clogging the pipes. I’d been so set on keeping the natural minerals in the water, but the unexpected $2,000 filter to remove excess iron (which had already stained my toilets and bathtubs) wasn’t something I’d envisioned.
Then there was the hydraulic oil spill on my brand-new concrete driveway, courtesy of the forklift operator’s mistake. I’d found out it could have been avoided, but now the company gave me two choices: tear up and replace the stained sections, or take financial compensation. It wasn’t easy, but considering it’s just a driveway—one bound to collect oil and tire marks anyway—I opted for compensation. That compensation soon turned into something else: plants from the nursery, extra gravel, and a pallet of sod.
But that led to a new issue: how many plants were fair to ask for?
And then there were the patio lights, still not hung. I’d stepped outside to say hello to my brother-in-law and husband and found the string of bulbs lying on the floor, uninstalled. If I could just pull myself out of reflection and get up now, I could guide the hammering and tightening of the wire, making sure we had that perfect cozy, well-lit atmosphere for everyone.
And that’s exactly what I did.
Going On 40 