This evening for dinner I enjoyed mattar tofu, basmati rice, and golden lentil dal. Sounds lovely, yes? Actually, it was a frozen dinner that I warmed in the microwave, which rests on the floor of the dining room right next to a can of paint and Hazel's recently rediscovered cat toy. Somewhat humbling to wait for your dinner on your knees, gripping a fork covered with tile dust.

Yes, friends. The renovation continues. Good thing I had the foresight to keep my cache of wine readily accessible. I'm enjoying a particularly jammy glass of Montepulciano d'Abruzzo from Capestrano as I peck out this latest dispatch.

The last time I undertook a kitchen renovation, it was supposed to be minor. Two to three days. Nothing industrious. Refacing of a bank of cabinets and construction of a basic pantry. No bells. No whistles. One carpenter, one quick job. This small project evolved into a textbook example of "renovation creep." You know ... no small home improvement ends without first leading to a half dozen others.

It all started innocently enough. With those freshly refaced cabinets, how good was that old clunker of a stove going to look? The answer to that question led to a cabinet alteration that led to another cabinet alteration that led to a tile alteration that required a chisel and hammer, removal of the sink, and a little rearranging of phone and electrical lines.

The phone guy ran a new line and broke my attic stairs. No extra charge for that. The weight warnings on drop-down attic stairs really do mean something. While the electrician was on the job, a bolt of lightening passed through the house, blue streak and all. Mother Nature fried the electrician’s nerves, one lamp, one motion detector, and all my phone lines, which, of course, necessitated a visit from yet another phone guy - this one well within the weight limits of the attic stairs. The proverbial icing on the cake was the inexplicable disappearance of my plumber before the reinstallation of my sink, which left me washing pots and pans in the backyard like a hillbilly for an entire weekend.

That "minor" renovation lasted more than two weeks and ended up including eleven (ELEVEN!!) different workers.

I'm wiser now. I knew there was nothing minor about this undertaking. I've learned to anticipate the unexpected. And (write this down), when I am surprised by something, I'm learning to just let go.

We've been hard at this renovation for a little over a month. So far - only six workers - me, Marian, Billy, Billy's helper, and two cabinet guys. Thursday brings two more (the floor guys) and in following weeks we'll welcome the appliance boys (n=2), the electrician, and Chris, the bearer of the Black Amazon granite countertops. One dozen if my math is right.

But, at this juncture, as I sit here looking at the wreck that is my house, I'm at peace. Perhaps I'm getting on top of those pesky control issues of mine. Or maybe I've had enough of this wine to dull my good senses. Whatever the reason, I'm able to look beyond this mess (the piles of tools, the paint cans, the blue tape, the sawdust, the tile shards) and focus instead on the light and love and laughter that will very soon fill this space. Thanks to all for your encouragement, your good humor, your patience with all of my false starts, and your well-timed nudges. We're almost there. I can't wait to lift a glass to my new kitchen and my most excellent circle of friends ... both near and far.