Hovel Sweet Hovel

6:08 PM


The Attic


If dust could settle in cyber space, it most certainly has collected atop this blog. In years past I blogged with blissful veracity under the notion that my words went unnoticed. It is in this bliss that I will again type.

Well I got married. And moved out. And am slowly moving in. (It'll take awhile for all my clutter to mosey to our new apartment.) James and I live in an ancient brick house; complete with wrap-around porch, gables all about the roof, and a shabby set of stairs up the back to lead you to our hovel. One of the steps is not all there, and I regard it with continual suspicion. Half of the attic is our living space, and I swear no two lines in the place are straight. The floor slopes and rises like sheep-country, attested by the fact that my chapstick rolls right off my dresser.



A rare and precious commodity is that modern wonder, the power outlet. We have five. 5!
One deep behind the fridge, one behind the couch, none at all in the bathroom, and three in our room (one of which is unreachable).
James oft enters the kitchen/dining/living/entry room to find me squatting in the gable nook on the floor with the couch in my face. Our lamp, AC, dishwasher, toaster, waffle iron, microwave and crockpot all share that outlet. (Not all at once)
So I feel like an Easterner most days with my knees up to my ears, crunching on freshly toasted toast or whatnot with the couch in my face.


That $50 couch made it up the stairs and through the door solely on prayer. There's no other rational explanation. When you sit on it, you can feel the lasting marination of God's blessings. It's squishy and kind as heaven, complete with the christian humility of a rip in the upholstery. There are no back cushions, (the Pot Grower aka. Previous Owner did away with them) so illegitimate king-size pillows are there to prop your back for now.

Nothing's ventilated. Which means sautéing onions into the caramelized State of Perfection also requires flapping the front door open, closed, open, closed, and opening the windows to serenade the neighborhood with our blood curdling smoke-alarm. I'm a huge fan of sauté.







Drilling into the wall is every renter's longing. Alas. Unable to mount shelves, I devised this copper pipe shelf to hold froo froo over the sink and boy it leaned like a drunken sailor. Nothing a little wire and 5 lb command strip hangers couldn't fix. And btw don't bother soldering and torching if you build one for yourself. Epoxy is much faster to work with and the ability to tweak it as it slowly dries is right nice.






Rare Steak, Garlic Mashed Potatoes and Asparagus compliments of James






We absolutely love it here.

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