I remember from my youth that untidy teenage bedrooms, car pile ups, dodgy council estates or any chaotic situation would be described as ‘like living in Beirut’…i.e. a war zone….
Our builders are doing a great job with our kitchen extension and working through inevitable hiccups. But having to walk through cramped corridors and elbow each other to get to the fridge is taking its toll on me and dear husband…there’s nowhere to just ‘be’. We are getting tired and irritable after nearly 10 weeks of work…and yes, we feel like we’re living in a war zone. This got me thinking about what it’s like to live in a war zone. I guess in a war zone, you don’t know whether it’s safe to go out, whether you or your family or your house is going to be blown up. Whether someone is going to blow up your bus. You don’t know whether there will be regular electricity or water supplies or food. How does anybody live with a constant state of fear or anxiety…or even just discomfort and unease…constantly? How do they do it? Husband and I are almost ready to walk out…refugees from a kitchen extension. Even though we know it will be over soon….the real refugees don’t. They are brave, courageous, patient people…hoping for better.
My study, complete with storage cupboards, files and other office-y things, currently also houses a fridge-freezer, mini oven, breakfast table, washing machine and kitchen sink. It’s as comfortable as it can be..which is, not very. Neighbours are helping out by inviting us round for dinner so I don’t have to cook too much on our 2-ringed hob (which is piled on top of a microwave). There, there, J, it will soon be over…you might actually miss having the builders around….
So, thank you God for generous neighbours, skilled builders, lovely husband, beautiful house (soon to be more beautiful) … and… peace.