It has been a hideous work week for me, as I wrestle with some major chronological problems in the tome. The end result is that, despite all manner of avoidance, I am going to have to do one more reorganization. The good news is that there should not be too much rewriting involved and it should be much stronger once I make the change. The bad news is that I have a huge amount of work to do and my poor brain is having trouble keeping all the moving parts straight.
When I’m having a bad time of working, I often find it helps to change where I’m working. I’d been doing pretty well at my grandmother’s desk in the corner of my bedroom for a while, but then when it got hot a couple of weeks ago, I moved back down to my basement office where it is nice and cool. But it is also filthy (thanks to a cat with digestive problems) and, since last summer’s water fiasco, somewhat anxiety-inducing on its own. So I decided I needed to move again. This time I ended up at the bar.
The bar is a ridiculously extravagant part of our house. Whoever built this place put in a long curving oak wet bar in the family room. At some time in the past, it had a brass footrail for those lined up in the bar stools, but a previous owner had (thankfully) removed it and stashed it in the garage, where its bolts regularly become entangled in the spokes of my bicycle. The back side of the bar, where the bartender stands, has an oddly low counter (it hits just above my knees) with a sink and a formica top edged in oak. There is a light underneath and probably room for a small dorm refrigerator underneath — it looks like it might be sized for that, although we don’t have one. The top of the bar is made of oak planks layed in blocks at different angles. It’s very nice woodworking. There is also a dipped down tray behind it, where the bartender can stack glasses or collect change. The back wall is made of built in cabinets — tons of them, made of the same rough pine that they used for the baseboards throughout the house and the cabinets in the kitchen and bathrooms. One of the bar cabinets houses a wine rack, another a pull out bin which could house a trash can (I use it to hold my enormous turkey roasting pan, which fits nowhere else) and a small hidden drawer for a box of trashbags. The rest are full of all kinds of odds and ends — vases, candles, tablecloths, and lots of the kind of dishes we only use at Thanksgiving and New Year’s. The cabinets are all centered around a large mirrored and uplit set of stair-step shelves to showcase the booze. The bottles glow enticingly when the lights are turned on. We have a lot of booze. It looks like we entertain a lot. Or that we’re alcoholics. Neither is, in fact, true. Most of the bottles have been around for a while. But it is an impressive array. Above the mirror is a downlit glass rack. In short, it looks like a professional bar.
Somehow this is where I’ve ended up today. I didn’t mean to sit down here. I was testing out a malfunctioning power cord from Mr. Spy’s computer and ended up staying here. The barstools are comfortable and I can lok out the window. And if things go badly, well, there is plenty to drink. Or perhaps I can just change careers and open my own speakeasy.
Okay. Let the editing games begin. Wish me luck.
Posted by harri3tspy 
