We began remodeling in early May, a week before my last
reading at the Issaquah Library. When asked about my work-in-progress, I
responded that my next memoir titled The
Ex-Mexican Wives Club would be released in late summer. I naively believed I’d be able to continue editing the final draft in the midst of chaos. I was wrong.
It’s a slow-going project, reminiscent of my childhood – I was
raised in an unfinished house my father built up around us. Since my husband
and I bought this little house almost thirty years ago, we’ve remodeled several times. Drywall dust, the pounding of nails, the ragged whine of a
table saw are not new to me. That doesn’t mean I’m accustomed to any of it or that
I like it. I like the progress, I like peeking in at the end of the day and
seeing what’s been accomplished, I like to imagine the finished project.
Remodeling is not unlike building a book. Both
require endless hours of dedicated hard work punctuated by moments of creative
glee and others of deep despair. Both offer the promise of a completed project
that I’m cautiously certain will have been worth the effort. Yet throughout the
process, the noise and chaos (both internal and external) as well as the
endless choices and decision-making drive me nuts.
So I take a deep breath, try not to be angry that the tile
guy is over an hour late, and remind myself that our remodeled bedroom and bath
as well as my next book will both be completed, each in its own time.
