Was it only a few days ago that I was gleefully attacking the garage; enthusiastically thrilled to be moving things around and preparing for the installation of a "new to us" pantry???
Yes, it was, and it's been an exercise in frustration ever since! For starters, my dear "always willing to lend a helping hand" husband, woke on Sunday in mortal back pain. I sweetly allowed him to rest and didn't even complain about him not putting the new shelves together. Surely his pain would be short lived, as usual. I made him dinner, and, once or twice, cluck-clucked in sympathy.
Monday morning, just as I was getting ready to leave for work, my husband surprised me by returning home from work after a mere two hours of trying to stand the pain. I breezed past with, "You'd best call your doctor", and left for work.
By the time I arrived home, he was laying on the floor, in slightly less pain (due to muscle relaxers and pain pills. It turns out he pulled a muscle while helping me move three full footlockers (among other things) on Saturday . . . whoops!) and in no shape to assemble any shelves. I fixed him something for dinner. It was the least I could do.
Tuesday, he managed to go back to work, but was on the floor, flat on his back, when I got home. We had breakfast for dinner.
Tonight- surprise, surprise! He assembled the shelves on the floor of the garage and we excitedly began to move them into position.
Oh, no! Tell me it isn't true! The new shelves are too big for the space they are supposed to go into! Who measured the shelves at the neighbor's house? I must confess, it was me. Who apparently forget the measurement in the time it took to walk two houses home, to measure the space I would be moving them into? It was me, again. Somehow, I measured 62" at the neighbors, but my brain remembered 52" (which was a perfect fit, by the way!).
What to do, what to do???
After cursing vehemently and banging around the kitchen preparing dinner, and at least two trips back to the garage to see if there was some way on earth I could force 62" shelves into a 52" space, I finally calmed down. (My husband, quite wisely, said not a word for probably an hour.) (He is nearly a saint; as he patiently puts up with me and my frequent half-cocked ideas!)
The new shelves are in three sections, a short one foot wide center section flanked by two longer sections. After thoughtful consideration, I came up with the brilliant idea of having David whack off about a foot of the top and bottom boards, smush the one foot center section together, and reattach the outside boards so there are two sections. Of course, the doors will no longer fit, without fairly serious remodeling. We may just give up on doors.
I'm really blessed that I have a husband who has never said to me, "What were you thinking?" (And, while I'm certain there are moments when the thought probably crosses his mind, he is wise and doesn't say those things aloud!)
Tonight, he is mostly healed, so, knowing him, I'll probably come home tomorrow and he will have taken apart, cut, and reassembled the shelves. At least, that's what I'm hoping for. Anyway, that's my plan!