The time has come to do a few home renovations and I don't know if I can handle them all or not.

Actually, I know they will be handled, but the thought of handling everything is like a ‘thought tornado' in my mind. Swirling possibilities sweep through, sucking up my more rational thoughts and tossing them hither and yon in a wrecking field of destruction.

As a for-instance: Should I close in the front porch and put in windows and then move the washer and dryer outside? That would add more space in the small kitchen, which currently hosts a number of appliances, but would require removing rails, overlaying the floor and adding on a roof. Should I instead only cover the roof and make a mud porch?

At the same time I am considering replacing the kitchen counter top and sink, adding a few replacement windows, putting in a new outside spigot for the water hose and fixing the sagging building roof.

If that isn't enough, I also have to concentrate on the real projects that are going on at this time, like repainting, putting down new carpet and repairing the furnace.

My pocketbook consultants tell me that I will probably run out of money by this Friday at the rate I am going now, unless I need to put more gas in the pickup — in which case I will likely be out of money today. With prices inching towards $2 a gallon, I am personally considering invading Iraq to steal a few barrels of crude oil for my home refinery. Maybe I should have put in a few big tanks like John Denver did. Of course, he wound up crashing his airplane anyway. He would have probably been better off if he had just run out of gas like the rest of us and stayed home.

So where to go on all this stuff? I suppose I will just try to get by as best I can, replacing the stuff that has to be replaced and fitting in the extra stuff as funds become available. The carpeting has already set me back about $200 with a hallway and at least one bedroom still needing attention. I shudder at the very thought of the overall bill. Mostly though, the renovations are costing me something more important than money. I am sacrificing large amounts of my time on the projects I have underfoot. Just this past weekend alone I invested at least 35 man hours in cleaning, painting and renovating. That doesn't even count the woman-hours and friend hours that were invested. I even invoked child labor in some instances. Well, not really. Actually a couple of friends came over with their three children and put in a great deal of time scraping off old wall borders, mopping floors and putting on a fresh coat of paint. Their kids mostly played outside in the rare weekend sunshine.

It isn't easy getting everything done that I need to get done. But I should also tell you that I put myself into these impossible circumstances through some kind of subliminal mind games. In other words, an excess of work helps motivate me. Take for instance the fact that I usually don't do anything to the house unless I create total chaos. It seems I have an all or nothing approach to work. I have to have work going on in three rooms at once, complete with pickup-truck loads of supplies coming in the front door and trash going out the back. I like to think of it as an organized chaos, but it usually isn't. For some reason, I far prefer to paint on the ceiling and wait for that to dry while I am tearing out the floor in another room and trying to plan a third project at the same time.

In the process, I sometimes lose things, like tools, nails and screws, but usually hold on to at least a modicum of patience and mental faculties. Even so, patience and mental faculties still remain in shorter supply than man hours and building materials.

I had to go through the building Sunday afternoon and figure out what to keep and what to discard, not an easy task by anyone's figuring. For instance, I found a carpet that I didn't know I owned, a stereo that I should have tossed out years ago and a clock radio from the 1960s that is still in operating condition, despite spending the last three years in a moldy box. (They don't build them like they used to). I also found a small family of field mice, to which I promptly gave an eviction notice. They promised to file a protest with the local magistrate, but I do know that they have been stealing dog food from an overlooked box for some time. I found the evidence in the head of a discarded Tickle Me Elmo that probably won't be laughing ever again. If he had a brain, it is definitely filled with visions of Gravy Train at this point. Despite their heinous abuse of a beloved Sesame Street character, the mice still say I will hear from their attorney decrying no-notice eviction. I offered to settle out of court for a few D-Con mints. I hope they accept; I don't have the time for mediation.

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