Modern houses, those built in the past dozen years or so, have high ceilings, reflected most noticeably in the kitchen. Oh, that vaulted cathedral ceiling in the living room looks good, but it doesn't affect you unless you have to change the bulb in the ceiling fan/light combo.
Kitchen cabinets appear to be mounted at least a couple – maybe even as many as six – inches higher from the countertop than mine were 30 years ago. And said cabinets go up and up and up.
Yesterday's workout, therefore, involved lots of stretching and climbing as we unpacked half a million (okay, 500) kitchen boxes. This woman can cook!
First I had to measure, cut and place a million square inches of shelf liner. Then it went like this: Zip open a box, retrieve the contents and put them on a counter, determine placement, grab a stepstool, lift, stretch, deposit, repeat.
Zip, retrieve, place, grab, lift, stretch, deposit, cough, hack, ouchwhat'sthatburningfeelinginmychest, repeat.
I started coughing shortly after arrival on Thursday, but figured it was just the dusty environment of the garage. Yesterday, though, it was the kind of cough you try to suppress because it hurts so. damned. badly.
Along with a sore throat.
So, um, yeah, I'm sick. At exactly the wrong moment. Here I am, trying to earn the help-someone-move star in my crown, and I can barely lift my head off the pillow.
I exaggerate. About barely lifting my head, but not about being sick. I'm armed with Zicam and Mucinex and will soldier on. We should get the bulk of it done today. I am planning to go home tomorrow. I'd love to leave this cold in Tennessee, and arrive in West Virginia all healthy and stuff, but I think I'm going to limp into my own house – the one with the cabinets that fit me – and head straight for bed.