These boxes lying about represent kitchen cabinets. Did I just say 'kitchen cabinets?' Yes, I did ~ kitchen cabinets. Rolls off the tongue like a skateboard on asphalt. They were delivered today. It's more exciting than getting the windows a year ago because this represents
some semblence of truly finished housing, some marked step toward civilization. We are no longer an overgrown tree fort with glass; we've grown up. (Well, some of us have, but we won't go into that now. I'm basking in the glow of cherry wood and all-plywood construction.) As a result, we are afraid to open the boxes. Well, we peeked at one, but then quickly closed the box lest the construction dust contaminate the surfaces too soon. That is the inherent fear in opening the boxes which contain said cabinets ~ they'll have to be cleaned once released . . . for the rest of my life or the duration of a 40-year mortgage, whichever comes first. (Ever notice how the word 'morte,' which means 'death' is in the word 'mortgage.' Perhaps the closing attorneys should chant, "Dead man walking" instead of "Sign here . . . and . . . here . . ." ~ you're pretty much in it for life, otherwise.)
Upon inspecting one cabinet, I noticed, not only how lovely cherry wood can be, but also that the holes for knobs and pulls weren't drilled. What this means, my dear Watson, is that if one wants to install knobs and pulls one will have to reach for the nearest appropriate power tool (cordless, if possible) and create one's own holes in the presently unmarred, perfect satin surface of the cabinet or drawer. Suddenly, we were vastly unqualified to install our own cabinets. That realization alone had Dirk on the phone with credit card in hand ready to sell more soul for someone holding a doctorate in Cabinet Installation to come Monday and begin work.
We can handle creating our own countertops though. This is where Dirk excels ~ ceramic tile. No worries there, mate. I just have to muddle through the astounding array of ceramic or glass tile choices. Lighting was pretty much the same muddle; but I'm just about through that. There is the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel for lighting. But tile . . . that's another matter. Another day, another tunnel; and probably lined with exotic tile as well.