Monday was my first sleepover in our house since before the renovations started back in late October. During the day, the workers finished relaying the tile floor in the sala, installed lights and shower fittings, and a very impressive cleaning crew spent a full day stripping away layers of ancient grime and recent construction debris and dust - which got them about halfway through the job.
A few deliveries came: a bed, a fridge and stove. Found a wooden table and a charmingly weathered metal rocking chair at an open-air furniture place suggested by Paul.
After the workers left and I had the place to myself, I spent a lot of time wandering from room to room. Seeing how the angles and placement of lights and door frames and other elements lined up so precisely. Trying out the different lights: the salvaged Art Deco pendant, the stone cylinders in the kitchen, the torch sconces in the studio. Noticing how the wall colour (called pavo - "turkey") changed as the sun went down and the artificial lighting took over.
It's essentially the same house but it felt completely different. The neighborhood sounds seemed comforting, not strange or alarming like they did the first night we stayed in the long-vacant house back in the fall. Earlier, Ricardo, a neighbor who has lived across the street for 40 years, waved me over to chat about all the activity around the house, and our plans, and his story. The woman who operates the Lavanderia Don Quixote came to pick up lunch at the cocina economica while I was having mine at one of the tables and wished me "buen provecha" (bon appetit).
It feels a lot like home.