Home from work, at dinner that evening, Nannee commented that we sure seemed to have a lot of fun together in the morning. She couldn’t possibly think what I thought she was thinking. I looked over at Jeff for confirmation, most likely wearing a very readable “say something” expression on my face. Nannee hardily laughed at Jeff’s retelling of our trials.
Night two of sleeping in waves began with Jeff’s ever optimistic, “It’ll be fine. You’ll get used to it.”
After the second night, on our 40 minute togetherness-commutes, forth and back from work, Jeff came up with another plan.
There was a good mattress in attic storage, and according to Jeff, both he and his brother had done sleeping stints up there. He said there was plenty of room, and a bit more privacy.
He failed to mention the exposed rafters with exposed nails with exposed ice crystal frosting, or the noisy, narrow wood staircase that would need to be carefully navigated for bathroom breaks between 10 PM and 6 AM, the door that groaned and moaned protesting louder the slower it opened and closed. The only light to speak of was the naked bulb controlled by the up and down the stairs wall switches. It was very dark, but then, again, it suited sleeping.
I spent my nights in sweatpants and turtlenecks and socks, wrapping myself up in multiple blankets with such a small breathing hole that Jeff asked me if I needed a straw so I could breathe fresh, clear air instead of my own exhaled CO2. Jeff spent his nights barely covered by a sheet.
We’d been sleeping up there for the better part of a week, before Saturday came. Without the need to stumble around in the darkness, find our way downstairs, get dressed and get ready for work, we slept in a little. Which, was long enough to encourage a little limited dusty light to shine through.
For the first time, I had an enlightened view of the attic. Without moving too much, trying to avoid waking Jeff, I gazed around at the contents, mostly mysterious boxes vaguely labeled with yearly dates. 1977, 1979. It was all very interesting, but not interesting enough to keep me flipping on my belly, intent on going back to sleep.
That’s when I saw it staring back at me.
At first I was speechless, then I got so excited, I just could not contain myself a moment longer.
“Jeff!” I squeaked, growing progressively louder, “Jeff, Jeff… Jeff!”
He came awake with a start, looking around in confusion and slight panic.
“Jeff!” I exclaimed, “There’s a chicken in this attic!”
The look I got is still indescribable. I think for the first time, he might have been thinking, “Uh, oh. I’ve got a loon on my hands,” but all what he said was, “What!?”
“A chicken,” I repeated. “Right there! A Chicken!”
Jeff craned his neck, following my pointing finger.
“Where?” he asked. “I don’t’ see it.”
“Seriously!?” I exclaimed, “it’s right there next to that box, peeking out!
He squinted at me.“You’re either pullin’ my chain or your brain’s froze over.”
“No,” I said, “I mean it! Just turn over and look,” I encouraged. “There’s a chicken lamp, right there, with a lamp shade on it!”
“A chicken… laammpp,” he said slowly, half-rising up on an elbow. A few stretching neck turns and the rise of his eyebrows made it was clear he now saw what I saw.
He chuckled, laughed, and then full-out guffawed. “You never said it was a chicken … laaammppp.”
Quote for the Week:
Enjoy this Week’s Discovery Links:
Google this: attic libraries
Storing Memories: http://www.hometipsforwomen.com/memories-stored-in-our-attics
There’s a Song for That: http://www.broadjam.com/artists/songs.php?artistID=99659&mediaID=638505