Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Past My Prime



What were you doing at this time last night? I'm guessing you were resting peacefully, hopefully having the sweetest of dreams.

Here's what I was doing:


To clarify, I was wrapping up priming the drywall on the first floor of the addition. The worst part of the job was, as it always is, the ceiling. Painting a ceiling requires that you keep your head back, supporting that heavy noggin of yours, while your shoulders also strain to control the roller, which in this project has the added joy of requiring balancing a 6-20 foot pole (extending to reach the part of the ceiling that's over the stairs) atop which the roller sits. I find this to be one of the most excruciating tasks of home improvement, for not only does it leave your entire upper body in a tangle of knots, but you end up walking into things because you aren't watching where you're walking. I almost knocked over the paint twice, acquired about 10 bruises, and 2 bloody gashes. As an added bonus, I ended up with paint in my hair and all over my bare arms and legs. In addition to skipping the common sense notion of wearing full body cover, I also ignored the warning on the primer to wear eye protection, figuring my eyeglasses were enough, but narrowly missed a splotch of runaway paint that bombed right past my lens and missed my left eye by a lash.

It occurred to me as I was wrapping up that it was nearly 10 years ago that I started working on this project I (now) call a house. Back in The Hadean Age, my daily routine consisted of working from 9-6:30 pm, coming home, having a bowl of cereal, changing into work clothes, and tackling some project until the wee hours of the morning, then wrapping up the day's work with a beer and a cigarette on the porch. I washed, rinsed, and repeated this daily cycle for about 2 years. Now I no longer smoke and avoid the front porch because of the crazy neighbors who are always on theirs. And until last night, I had forgotten about how good it felt to wrap up a day of hard labor with a cool bottle of good beer and (i'm sorry all you non-smokers) the delicious pulsing of nicotine through my veins, which had an amazingly restorative effect. Having neither item, I had to make do with another vice - namely wasting lots of hot water in an effort to soothe my poor, now ten-years-older body. I guess I should be happy that I can still pull off such late-night labors.

Anyway, things are starting to shape up, and I'm especially pleased with the way the exposed beam looks:


And now that the walls are primed, now all we need to do is pick out a shade of white to paint the walls. And then paint them.


Friday, August 6, 2010

Are you there, God? It's Me, D.


Dear God(dess/Allah/Yahweh/Buddha/Vishnu/Takuskanskan/Zeus, et al.),

Seriously, what have I done to offend thee so? I'm not trying to dismiss my imperfections - and they are many - and I'm not trying to sit in judgment of others when I write this (truly!) - but am I as bad as the Tony Haywards or Rush Limbaughs of this world? Because I bet their houses haven't been under construction for four years, and I have to wonder - pretty much every time I pick up the paper and see a stream of viciousness, vile, and oil spewed forth to sully this beautiful world you all have put together - you know, the one I have devoted my entire career and much of my "free time" trying to protect from the whims of these crazy creatures called "humans" you chose to invent for reasons I'm sure you don't remember anymore, either - I can't help but feel a bit of resentment about their (respective) $18 million reward for overseeing the biggest environmental catastrophe in the Gulf and five house compound complete with a miniature version of the Biltmore Library - an offense to those who actually seek wisdom and truth if there ever was one.

I'm not even asking for a 24,000 ft2 mansion with cherubs dancing on the ceilings of my library or an $18MM golden parachute and transfer to Russia. I'd just like to finish a 500 ft2 addition without going into bankruptcy or the insane asylum. But while we're on the subject of libraries, I would also like to be able to sit on our worn out sofa to read a book without ending up covered in cat hair, although I know the vacuum is clearly under my control (I'm just saying, if you could engineer a cute and furry cat that doesn't shed, that would be perfect - and that bald sphinx cat thing clearly had to be a joke in response to someone else's prayer who fogot to specify that they wanted a cat with fur that didn't shed. I'm guessing they didn't realize your penchant for specificity, which should be obvious from all the laws you've set forth. So, while I'm thinking of it, if this new cat didn't want to naturally shred the furniture, yowl at 5am for no reason, or use its bodily functions as a means of expressing displeasure, that would involve major bonus points.) (But let me be clear, I can totally live without my dream cat - that's more of an extra-curricular project if you're interested. I'm here about the addition. But you know how I always digress.)

I remained optimistic when you sent that weird tornado-like storm through our neighborhood yesterday and took down half the trees in the area that the power would be on in time for the drywall guys to come in today and sand the mud so we can finally paint, so we can finally put in the floor, so we can finally put up the glass block wall and finally move on with our lives. I did not ONCE complain about not having A/C last night - not even silently, in my head. If you were listening, you would have heard my usual optimism saying "Well, at least there's a cool breeze tonight! Could be worse!!" You saw me reading my book on the roof garden by glowstick - you did not hear me complaining! You heard me enjoying the night air and the sounds of your multitude of chirpy insects (I'm sorry if flicking that spider off of me offended you - i'm sure it didn't get hurt, though). And when the power finally came on at 7:45am - right before the 8am deadline to let the drywall guys know whether they could work today - I thanked you, but was not surprised. I knew you would come through.

It's when I heard the transformer behind the house explode as the power shut back off at 8:15 am and stayed off, despite my pleading with you on actual bended knees to turn it back on before 9 am pretty, pretty, pretty please with sugar on top, pleeeeeeeeease!! and yet off it remained and then, to top it off, the drywall guys now can't come to work until Tuesday, that I was reminded of Job's most famous line:
Oh God, why hast thou forsaken me?! I'm sorry, I know that when Job said it, you were gravely disappointed, and so you're probably none too pleased with me for thinking it, either. But there's only so much the human spirit can endure, you know?

I know, I know, I'm a drama queen. You made me, though, so you get what you pay for, I guess. But seriously, consider this a formal petition: please, Lord, let my project go. I'm sorry if I built it on a sacred burial ground or the font of your perpetual anger. Like Eve, I didn't really know what I was getting into here - I was lured by the slick talk of a snake and a heavenly (i.e., Dwell-worthy) design. You would have fallen for it, too, had you been facing the real estate market of 2006 when you made this decision. But anyway, I'm really, really sorry, and I beg your forgiveness and I know there are googles of things that are vastly more important than the construction plight of one silly girl (and boy) - wars, floods, famines, diseases, etc. - seriously, I get that and feel guilty for even bothering you about this. But if you have a little extra time - just a second - we could use your help in bringing this project to closure before I lose my mind. I'm not even asking for a return of all my previous good fortune seven-fold (besides, if we had 7 cats, I think the boy would move out, so one is cool), I'd just like peace.

Yours truly,
D.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

The Butterfly


I have so many things to write about the house, but none of them are particularly inspiring. So, per the urging of a friend of mine, I am sharing with those few of you who still read this blog a little story I related to her regarding my journey home yesterday.

I was riding the metro home, lodged in my turbulent head, feeling like crap (ill, old, wondering what it's all for), when my eyes happened upon the most beautiful butterfly resting on the very bottom of the divider by one of the doors. This was around Pentagon station. Despite the stops, no one else seemed to notice this majestic yellow and black bit of fauna that had inexplicably left its more appropriate context for this industrial world. And, as it didn't once flap its wings or move the slightest bit despite the shuffling on and off of the passengers, I thought it might well be dead.

As we approached my station, I got up and walked over to the butterfly and just as the train stopped, bent down to see if it was alive and to try to take it off of the train. As I gently reached out my fingers, suddenly up and away it flitted, and a frantic effort to catch or direct the butterfly off the train ensued. There I was, chasing a butterfly about the train car, trying to get both of us off before the doors closed. And everyone's sullen spaced-out faces suddenly came alive with the surprise adventure playing out before them and I could feel the collected hush and tension - everyone rooting for me to help this poor creature escape, while also thinking I was slightly batty. There were oooos and finally ohhhs as the butterfly miraculously latched itself onto my waist and I was able to dart out the doors just before they closed.

And there the butterfly remained as I walked home trying to shelter it from the wind, past the quizzical stares and smiles of passing strangers. It was a little ragged at the bottom of its wings, and clung to me all the way to the house. I thought it might be at the end of its life and just couldn't bear to think of this beautiful creature dying alone on a subway car. So I transferred it to our tomato plant in the hope that it might eat something (not knowing, exactly what butterflies eat, but having seen some in the zoo eating fruit). I went out an hour later and it hadn't moved and as I was terrified that it would be knocked from the leaves by the wind, we plucked the leaf it sat on and placed it on the more sheltered lavender cotton plant, which is closer to a patch of moss, so that should its end be nigh, it would not drop down onto a ragged concrete sidewalk but onto a soft green space as would be more appropriate.

This morning I went out, holding my breath, but the butterfly had flown away.