16. Difficult days

“Every day is a new day”. she reminded herself. Just  because  the last few weeks had been filled with difficult days did not mean that there wasn’t to be an end to them.

 She could finally see the light at the end of the building  project. All that was needed now was the final plastering and painting part of the project.  

Whilst she did enjoy the painting, the  preparation was the trickiest and most challenging part of the process.  It was a bit like the ‘soot’ storm she had endured when the gas califont got choked up with soot.  The technician had purged the system but none of the men present had thought to shut the house doors to prevent the soot from infiltrating through every room in the house, bathroom included!

She had been absent when that ‘soot storm’ had struck.  She had struggled with the monumental  clean up from that spectacular catastrophe. Now a mere few week later, she had the ‘white clouds’ of the plaster sandstorm to contend with. 

Donning the dust mask was another new experience for her.  She hoped the mask would protect her sensitive asthmatic lungs as she swept yet another pile of dust and dirt. But hopefully that would be the final test of these difficult days.  Time would tell if it was all worthwhile.  

Watch this space!

This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.

Day 20. Two hands are all I’ve got

The joys and delights of DIY.

As I struggled to hold the ceiling panel up and manipulate it into position, cross words were spoken. There we both were, holding up the heavy gib ceiling panel – and just where is the drill, the screws and/or the hammer?  Yep – as far away as possible – on the other side of the room!

“I need another hand”, says I. 

“Two hands are all I’ve got”, said he. 

We were both stuck!  One of us would have to let go to reach the drill and screws. 

Bad preparation on whose part?

Oh – to be someone else’s building mate

Home renovations with the husband can be just a little bit fraught. 

This is is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, July Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’