As the countdown to the demolition of our kitchen ticked away, we continued our own initial destruction, tearing out cabinets and removing ceiling tiles; it got to the point where little in the room needed to be kept functional or pristine, and then Groom really cut loose. He hung bowling pins from the rafters and gave Paco a baseball bat. “Hit stuff” was the order.
The demolition dovetailed nicely with a two-week road trip we’d planned, first to St. Louis (where I am right now, as I type) and then back up to Minnesota next week for my 20-year college reunion (which is really odd, since I’m only 24). We’re viewing camping as training for the rest of our summer, once we get back home, when we won’t have a kitchen for at least 8 weeks. Groom will flip pancakes on the camp stove, and I’ll be all about pork chops in the crock pot (one time I messed up and made crock in the pork pot, and let me tell you, that required extra scouring).
This looks so peaceful, but I’ve decided “tent” should actually be called “place that is simultaneously hot and cold, where my hips hurt and my arms fall asleep all night–and that’s before the garbage trucks, inexplicably run by a Christian organization, come and empty the dumpsters near our campsite at 5:45 a.m.”We’re in St. Louis now and today attended the rehearsal of a wedding that will be held this Sunday. Don’t fear: we were invited to both.
As I think about the restricted eating that awaits us once we get back to Duluth, I am outrageously happy that the reception meal after the wedding will be barbeque. I plan to cram enough into to get me through the summer without having to restock my stomach.