Not good.

I will start this post by saying how much I was looking forward to moving. I'd never lived in an apartment until about two years ago and ever since I have longed to have a bit more space both indoors and out (how I dreamed of a yard)! So when we found a house to rent in an adorable neighborhood with a big yard, all new cabinets, floors, etc. and plenty of space (the kitchen seemed huge!) and all within our price range we were thrilled. I can openly admit that I spent the last month dreaming of the garden I would grow, the decorating I would do and the charming dinner parties I would throw.

But when we moved in, things went south. Fast. Much of it seemed like little things: the storm door (which I am itching to remove) doesn't close quite right, the new plumbing under the sinks leak, etc. This didn't bother me so much as I expect when the place was gutted and updated, there would be a few hiccups as new construction often has.

However, yesterday brought an absolute nightmare. I was placing a few of my late Grandmother's dishes into a kitchen cupboard when I heard a sound. I said to my fiancee, "I think something is shifting...."

He had a look and we both believed it was the shelf or a plate until he discovered that the whole cupboard was pulling away from the top of the wall. That's when he said, "We need to get everything out of the cabinets now!"

As he reached up to start unloading the whole thing fell into his arms and dishes rained down on the floor. We lost so many... our everyday dished, some of our cereal bowls, my favorite broiler-safe crocks from Williams-Sonoma, and last but not least a good number of my Grandmother's dishes. They all lay smashed on the counter, the floor, the sink... it was too much. Hysterical and inconsolable are words that may have described me at that moment.

Of course, I think to myself, "If only I had known! I would have placed them on the lower shelves... or in boxes... or...." But it's no use. Poor Jared blamed himself for not catching enough of them as they tumbled down. At the end of the day, however, the fault lies with neither one of us. Upon further inspection, the cabinets are hung like one may hang a picture: simply drilled into the wall with absolutely no anchors. When I think of it now, I am no longer sad. I am angry. I cannot believe that anyone would complete such shoddy work and I cannot believe it is up to code. Imagine if it had fallen on one of our heads!

When we went to bed last night, we were both in very bad spirits, wondering if we had chosen an absolute lemon of a house. My dreams of gardening vegetables and hydrangeas, Pizza Fridays with friends, and making my rental into a real home were all dashed. However, Jared spoke with the landlord today who seemed to be very understanding and offered to compensate us for the dishes, which was very much appreciated.

The contractor is supposed to arrive this afternoon, but knowing it's the same guy who is responsible for the destruction of my cherished dishes leaves me with mixed feelings. I'm thrilled I will have cabinets to unpack into, but can I really trust his workmanship? Are my cabinets destined to house only cereal and dried pasta? Then there's the matter of what to say to him. I'm so furious about the whole thing that I feel I must say something. But at the same time, I don't want to be rude or let my emotions get the best of me. Either way, I will certainly be watching to make certain that the cabinets are installed to my standards.

Wish me luck.

Edited to add a few pictures of the carnage. Those faint of heart should look away.