I wish I could show you time-lapse photography of the last six days. You would see blurry images of Sarah in red jersey short shorts and a ripped white tee and often times her burgundy slippers and me in dirty railroad-stripe overalls and another sacrificial tank that will be so grimy at the end of the day that its not worth washing. You would see us enter an empty space that still smelled of the previous renter's last meal. You would see us begin to add objects, a kitchen table, two chairs, a rug that used to lay in Penelope's bedroom. You would see us hop in Kevin the Truck and drive to the outlying suburbs of our fair city to collect what the inner city does not offer... linens, cutlery, lamps and a mattress. On the weekend she hit the estate sales and I found furniture at Goodwill. At night we cleaned and arranged, we raided our house for the good of the little sister studio, we hung art, we scrubbed counters, we lit Sweetgrass, we plunged the bathroom sink (eeww), we pinched our fingers and bruised our arms to get the hide-a-bed couch through the door. And on the seventh day we rested (that's today) because our precious cargo has arrived. Rachel, Jared and Misha from Montreal stepped off a plane and into our home as if it were the most natural thing. I greeted them like, no-biggie, follow me around the corner, I sure hope you like the place, ... hoping they didn't see that I was holding my breath and bursting at the seams with pride. Exhale. The little studio looks beautiful.

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