When you can't afford to complete an entire project as one scheduled job, you start prioritizing. But with construction, it's not as simple as throwing darts at a carny balloon pop, hoping it reveals the correct task prize. There's an order to follow or else the midway wins and repeatedly snakes your money. That's pretty much where we are now.
~~~~~
We've been slowly getting additional bids, yet it still hasn't clicked into place. Maybe it's seeing the bummer reminder on paper that comes from knowing we can't have it all right now. And not in a pouty selfish way, in a pouty "I just can't see why this simple plan is becoming so fiscally complicated."
Hardscape, lifeless as all get up but provides an important backbone to the Softscape, the breathing, bizarro variant. All non-biological elements should be completed first, since those won't change much. Whilst secondly, the living can then grow and evolve around its permanent environment. two defined work streams in that order. The happy path would be to first work exclusively with the solid
elements. I'd jitterbug along the 3x3 cement squares, while trailing my fingers against our new fence, while the sunset dims and flowers gently swaying in time... barf. And only when
all stiff facets have been counted and completed, would I start to plant our future.
But since this junk costs more than we anticipated, I can't walk down the jolly trail. No skipping, no gossiping song birds, no cliche photography. Which means it's become a necessity to blend parts of both subdivisions, if we want anything beyond a raked pile of dirt. I'm struggling with this because I don't care much for unfinished business. I want it either done or naught, think about it or don't. Call it a form of brain slug, but as such I become fixated
on all thoughts related to what's outstanding. And only when this imagined checklist is finito, can I purge those translucent bullocks.
~~~~~
I keep swapping looks between our tokens and inventory of wants, hoping those bits will somehow go farther.
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Sweet Chili Sauce for Days
Sweet Chili Sauce
makes approx. 1.25 cups
This recipe has a nice balance of sweet heat, but isn't going to scrape your teeth. However, feel free to increase the agave if you're looking for that extra sugary punch.
Adapted from here
makes approx. 1.25 cups
This recipe has a nice balance of sweet heat, but isn't going to scrape your teeth. However, feel free to increase the agave if you're looking for that extra sugary punch.
Adapted from here
- 10-15 Thai red chilies
- 10 Garlic Cloves
- 3/4c water
- 1/4c Apple Cider Vinegar
- 1/4c Rice Wine Vinegar
- 1/4c Agave
- 1tsp Salt
- 1TBSP Arrowroot or Cornstarch
- 2TBSP Water
- Wash and trim ends of chilies. You can choose how many seeds you leave in, depending on your heat level achievement.
- Place them and all ingredients through the Salt, into blender. Blend on high speed until mixed and frothy. It will be very watery.
- Pour mixture into a small saucepan and bring to a boil.
- Boil for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.
- While mixture is boiling, mix Arrowroot with 2TBSP water until smooth.
- Add Arrowroot thickener. Stir and bring back to a boil for another 30 seconds - 1 minute. It will suddenly create thick, magicky goodness!
- Remove from heat; cool & place in glass storage jar.
Monday, September 14, 2015
Seitan's Graveyard Nuggets
Who doesn't love dipping chew pockets into a bowl of saucesome. sickos, that's who. Tonight I made Seitan's Nuggets and they killed. Rich, mesquittey, and really fucking good. I <3 my garden, filled with 23 gravestones.
Dipping Saucesomeness:
Preheat oven to 400°. Prepare two baking trays with either tin foil or silpat (if using tin foil, oil it.) In a medium mixing bowl, combine flour and baking powder, stirring thoroughly with a whisk. Add all dry seasonings* and whisk again to really incorporate. Dissolve the tomato paste in the water to make a slurry. Add the wet ingredients to the dry; mix with a spoon or your hands (or go wild and do both) until incorporated. Taking your rolling pin, roll the dough to approximately 1/4" thick. Use your favorite, not too detailed cookie cutter, and to cut to shape. Arrange on the baking trays and bake for 15 minutes. Remove from oven, flip over, and place back in over for another 12-15 minutes. Remove when they have a nice browness and are slightly springy to the touch. Eat right away with the sauce or cool for later snacks.
* the key to seitan is to season, season, season and season more until you think you've gone too far. It's also flexible, so set your sights on creative.
- 2c vital wheat gluten
- 2 tsp baking powder
- 2.5 tsp salt (I use a rich, savory blend called Magic Unicorn but regular works too)
- 2 tsp garlic powder
- .5 tsp ground fennel
- 1 tsp cajun blend (or a mix of smokey paprika & cayenne)
- 2 tsp McCormick brand, Mesquite blend
- 1 tsp oregano
- 1.3c water
- 2 TBSP tomato paste
Dipping Saucesomeness:
- 1 TBSP Vegenaise
- 2 TBSP tops Barbecue Sauce
Preheat oven to 400°. Prepare two baking trays with either tin foil or silpat (if using tin foil, oil it.) In a medium mixing bowl, combine flour and baking powder, stirring thoroughly with a whisk. Add all dry seasonings* and whisk again to really incorporate. Dissolve the tomato paste in the water to make a slurry. Add the wet ingredients to the dry; mix with a spoon or your hands (or go wild and do both) until incorporated. Taking your rolling pin, roll the dough to approximately 1/4" thick. Use your favorite, not too detailed cookie cutter, and to cut to shape. Arrange on the baking trays and bake for 15 minutes. Remove from oven, flip over, and place back in over for another 12-15 minutes. Remove when they have a nice browness and are slightly springy to the touch. Eat right away with the sauce or cool for later snacks.
* the key to seitan is to season, season, season and season more until you think you've gone too far. It's also flexible, so set your sights on creative.
Monday, September 7, 2015
Construction Junction: Woe Is Me
Professionally, I've experienced situations which completely blew.
Personally, I've experienced situations which were emotionally wrenching.
Personally, I've experienced situations which were emotionally wrenching.
Constructionally, after spending 10 days with a black metal \m/ ailment, I feel cured of newbie-itis. At least until the next visit, which may bring it round again. The awareness has shifted from a personal idea of intrusion, to holy ballz why is everything more expensive and take so fucking long. Apparently we have not been sufficiently prepared for the cost of seeing this project through, as well as the time invested simply asking companies how they can take our money.
I envisioned the next cookie parade would come after the hardscape was done. The entire hardscape. However, based on initial bids for said total plan, that's just not possible with the remaining budget. marbles... So the current main priority has shifted horizontally to a fence, a few other smaller things if we can. Which begs the question - are we getting hosed? Does items A, B & X really cost $chi-ching and how much to push over a stupid brick fence? Trav & I will kick that over for you, no problemo.
And maybe it does cost what they've said, as more bids come in we'll find the baseline. But until we do, I question it {Fry squinty judgement face.} It's perturbing and frustrating, and for what? We're not asking for anything unreasonable or extravagant. It's livable and practical for the urban Los Angeles dustbowl. New fence and siding; new seating area; new water saving plants. No atom splitting here, people.
I envisioned the next cookie parade would come after the hardscape was done. The entire hardscape. However, based on initial bids for said total plan, that's just not possible with the remaining budget. marbles... So the current main priority has shifted horizontally to a fence, a few other smaller things if we can. Which begs the question - are we getting hosed? Does items A, B & X really cost $chi-ching and how much to push over a stupid brick fence? Trav & I will kick that over for you, no problemo.
And maybe it does cost what they've said, as more bids come in we'll find the baseline. But until we do, I question it {Fry squinty judgement face.} It's perturbing and frustrating, and for what? We're not asking for anything unreasonable or extravagant. It's livable and practical for the urban Los Angeles dustbowl. New fence and siding; new seating area; new water saving plants. No atom splitting here, people.
Saturday, September 5, 2015
Nostalgia Face: 90s Music
It's 1994 or whatever and I'm feeling something. I sit at my desk, door closed, sun brightly coming through the closed curtains I just made. Against a backdrop of school work, drawings, passed notes and my friends clothes - man, if only I was older, I could be on my own doing exactly this. I look down at several plastic jewel cases, each one a key to exploring my life. Which do I choose: number, blurred, or completely fucking important?
I pick up and open completely fucking important, careful it remains undamaged; the thought of it not existing means I lose the comradery I just found. It was too precious and I couldn't let that happen. I gently pluck the round, pliable disc out its claw-toothed holder with a faint click. Punch open the cheap CD changer not worthy of playing any of this, but down goes the disc, P for freedom.
Without hesitation I was drawn. I parted the frayed opening of torn jeans, revealing a secret world and I walked in, wearing nothing more than a thrift store tshirt and a pair of dirty chucks.
The song that jarred the door to feeling understood begins, played as loud as my parents will allow on a Saturday afternoon. they still probably hated it. I jumped & twisted on the grey carpet, shaking my head up and down, just like the music videos showed me. My hands starting to perform some sort of rhythmic action... I knew how ridiculous I looked having no experience being graceful at a head bang, and being solo without a family to join me, but I finally connected to something way beyond my comprehension. I didn't have to understand why to know I fucking loved it. This was for me. always.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last night we watched the Kurt Cobain documentary, Montage of Heck. Travus has spoken countless times about how the 90s is where his heart will always live. I couldn't disagree because mine does too. In both are minds, the 90s were simply the last decade. I graduated not that long ago, babydolls & docs are still kinda popular, and it's ok for me to sit on the floor in my room listening to this music over and over again. This film brought all of it rushing back, as if to remind me I must fully appreciate what we experienced. Reliving the past through the visualization of house parties, backyard shows, music, drugs, behaviors and friends. That was our lives. My life over 4 years. Every running frame on that flat TV was like a convex mirror surrounding my brain, reflecting where & how I grew up, just different faces staring back. A solitary image glimpses in my head of each girlfriend and I, with our arms around each other, smiling at who we are, each a mess of awesome. I miss that. terribly.
oh god... I found my nostalgia face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After Travis left for his comedy show, I went to the CD rack and ran my fingers over the boat loads of lyrical memories from both his and my intersecting lives. I thought back on how many years it took for him to feel comfortable with us combining our music - no joke. I didn't have many, but the few I had lived on separate shelves; we didn't co-mingle the past. I didn't care; made it easier to find mine actually... But at some point post-wedded bliss, it finally felt right. still makes me laugh though. But for any duplicate albums, I would tuck a sticky note inside the liner notes with the letter B... just in case. I recently went through those and peeled them off, one by one, because silly. Except Nevermind. I couldn't. It was the embodiment of a turning point in my life that isn't soon repeated. No sir-ee-bob, I wouldn't lose the actual physicality that took me there.
I finally landed on our copies of Nevermind. his and hers. gross, I just got a toothache. I plucked both from their shelf plot and held one in each hand. Which was whose? I set them on the table and went liner note fishing. bam. Here she was, suddenly the same anticipating teenage girl ready to listen, experiencing emotions I still yet can't describe accurately. How do you not respect that?
I sit here at my laptop, 20 some years later, the backdrop updated but familiar. The CD now spins inside this portable, metal computing machine, which if it eats my disc I'll rip it's guts out. Music still plays, clothes still unfolded, books books books, a puppy, and now our home. I'm combing the memory banks for all that was once right in my life. Simple, but complicated in the lamest sense. My age will never matter. I still feel like I'm playing grownup...
Sure, Nirvana made alternative ok. Manufactured or not, it took a culture and shoved it into the oculars of every household. And for me, it could have been any band, really. It just happened to be them. They unknowingly allowed millions of psyche's to start another revolution of questioning the norm. And I wanted in. With fury, I started listening to everything my parents hated or didn't consider country: grunge, alternative, psychedelia, punk, classical, nature sounds, foreign, my friends screamo bands, the bargain LPs at Goodwill. I embraced The Ramones and NOFX, went to horribly overcrowded Guttermouth shows and generator parties. Tenaciously repeated the mixed tapes these dudes gave me till they were worn out, laughed when Blink added 182. Debated why The Smashing Pumpkins really only had one album and remained confused by why people liked Red Hot Chili Peppers. Got stoned to Oasis and tripped on Mazzy and wondered what IS Bob gonna do now that he can't drink? Sang awful renditions of Hole songs and crushed on Trent Reznor. Screw you normalcy, I won't concede! shakes fist.
For us absorbent teenagers in the coveted youth demographic though, that part of the 90s was way more than marketing. I needed the expressionism, not because it was popular, but because it moved me. It broke down what my parents dictated; the desire to feel more and think more and explore more and to know I wasn't alone. I was part of something huge and weird and special - I was hooked on a drip line of sounds and influence.
My life with Travis reopened that experience and I'm fucking grateful. I guess I was too busy or whatever, but I somehow missed Screaming Trees and Mudhoney, Radiohead and Faith No More. Kyuss, PJ Harvey, L7. Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Pixies and Sonic Youth. And like all the other ones your shouting at me right this very second. Luckily we have countless musicalories left on MyDiscusPal to continue feasting. And because the 90s will only ever be a few years behind us, it calms me to know when we're grey and feeble, we'll sit together on the floor and air drum our way to the grave.
<3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I didn't know then how incredible that time was, but I kinda owe it everything.
I respect you oh great decade, for I shall never replace you.
I pick up and open completely fucking important, careful it remains undamaged; the thought of it not existing means I lose the comradery I just found. It was too precious and I couldn't let that happen. I gently pluck the round, pliable disc out its claw-toothed holder with a faint click. Punch open the cheap CD changer not worthy of playing any of this, but down goes the disc, P for freedom.
Without hesitation I was drawn. I parted the frayed opening of torn jeans, revealing a secret world and I walked in, wearing nothing more than a thrift store tshirt and a pair of dirty chucks.
The song that jarred the door to feeling understood begins, played as loud as my parents will allow on a Saturday afternoon. they still probably hated it. I jumped & twisted on the grey carpet, shaking my head up and down, just like the music videos showed me. My hands starting to perform some sort of rhythmic action... I knew how ridiculous I looked having no experience being graceful at a head bang, and being solo without a family to join me, but I finally connected to something way beyond my comprehension. I didn't have to understand why to know I fucking loved it. This was for me. always.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last night we watched the Kurt Cobain documentary, Montage of Heck. Travus has spoken countless times about how the 90s is where his heart will always live. I couldn't disagree because mine does too. In both are minds, the 90s were simply the last decade. I graduated not that long ago, babydolls & docs are still kinda popular, and it's ok for me to sit on the floor in my room listening to this music over and over again. This film brought all of it rushing back, as if to remind me I must fully appreciate what we experienced. Reliving the past through the visualization of house parties, backyard shows, music, drugs, behaviors and friends. That was our lives. My life over 4 years. Every running frame on that flat TV was like a convex mirror surrounding my brain, reflecting where & how I grew up, just different faces staring back. A solitary image glimpses in my head of each girlfriend and I, with our arms around each other, smiling at who we are, each a mess of awesome. I miss that. terribly.
oh god... I found my nostalgia face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After Travis left for his comedy show, I went to the CD rack and ran my fingers over the boat loads of lyrical memories from both his and my intersecting lives. I thought back on how many years it took for him to feel comfortable with us combining our music - no joke. I didn't have many, but the few I had lived on separate shelves; we didn't co-mingle the past. I didn't care; made it easier to find mine actually... But at some point post-wedded bliss, it finally felt right. still makes me laugh though. But for any duplicate albums, I would tuck a sticky note inside the liner notes with the letter B... just in case. I recently went through those and peeled them off, one by one, because silly. Except Nevermind. I couldn't. It was the embodiment of a turning point in my life that isn't soon repeated. No sir-ee-bob, I wouldn't lose the actual physicality that took me there.
I finally landed on our copies of Nevermind. his and hers. gross, I just got a toothache. I plucked both from their shelf plot and held one in each hand. Which was whose? I set them on the table and went liner note fishing. bam. Here she was, suddenly the same anticipating teenage girl ready to listen, experiencing emotions I still yet can't describe accurately. How do you not respect that?
I sit here at my laptop, 20 some years later, the backdrop updated but familiar. The CD now spins inside this portable, metal computing machine, which if it eats my disc I'll rip it's guts out. Music still plays, clothes still unfolded, books books books, a puppy, and now our home. I'm combing the memory banks for all that was once right in my life. Simple, but complicated in the lamest sense. My age will never matter. I still feel like I'm playing grownup...
Sure, Nirvana made alternative ok. Manufactured or not, it took a culture and shoved it into the oculars of every household. And for me, it could have been any band, really. It just happened to be them. They unknowingly allowed millions of psyche's to start another revolution of questioning the norm. And I wanted in. With fury, I started listening to everything my parents hated or didn't consider country: grunge, alternative, psychedelia, punk, classical, nature sounds, foreign, my friends screamo bands, the bargain LPs at Goodwill. I embraced The Ramones and NOFX, went to horribly overcrowded Guttermouth shows and generator parties. Tenaciously repeated the mixed tapes these dudes gave me till they were worn out, laughed when Blink added 182. Debated why The Smashing Pumpkins really only had one album and remained confused by why people liked Red Hot Chili Peppers. Got stoned to Oasis and tripped on Mazzy and wondered what IS Bob gonna do now that he can't drink? Sang awful renditions of Hole songs and crushed on Trent Reznor. Screw you normalcy, I won't concede! shakes fist.
For us absorbent teenagers in the coveted youth demographic though, that part of the 90s was way more than marketing. I needed the expressionism, not because it was popular, but because it moved me. It broke down what my parents dictated; the desire to feel more and think more and explore more and to know I wasn't alone. I was part of something huge and weird and special - I was hooked on a drip line of sounds and influence.
My life with Travis reopened that experience and I'm fucking grateful. I guess I was too busy or whatever, but I somehow missed Screaming Trees and Mudhoney, Radiohead and Faith No More. Kyuss, PJ Harvey, L7. Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Pixies and Sonic Youth. And like all the other ones your shouting at me right this very second. Luckily we have countless musicalories left on MyDiscusPal to continue feasting. And because the 90s will only ever be a few years behind us, it calms me to know when we're grey and feeble, we'll sit together on the floor and air drum our way to the grave.
<3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I didn't know then how incredible that time was, but I kinda owe it everything.
I respect you oh great decade, for I shall never replace you.
Monday, August 31, 2015
Construction Junction: And On The Tenth Day
Ten days of pounding at various intervals.
Ten days of heat.
Ten days of ice water.
Ten days of an outside port-o-john.
Ten days of thank yous.
Eight days of Travis taking Leroy to his parents.
Six days of wondering why they told us four.
Five days of working from home.
Two days of doughnuts.
One pair of pants.
Resolves to a gorgeous new roof!
~~~~~~
It's true, I am enamored with this piece of black metal \m/ aluminum, with the gritty coating on top and the radiant barrier underneath. I want to stare and caress her beauty, her uniformity, her protection. I didn't think I'd feel that way either; I hear the millennials collectively chanting basic, basic, basic... Don't care.
That's what struck me unexpectedly. As it morphed into a tangible thing, I became fascinated by my reaction. Certainly not like the first day of the truck backup, excitement overshadowed that by a linear foot. I wanted to see the progress throughout the day; I kinda wanted to learn; I gained an even larger appreciation for a days' labor. I wanted a sign with classic neon typeface buzzing the evolution of seeing today realized, where this much needed necessity was hard at work, keeping us both fashionable and safe.
~~~~~
Ten days of heat.
Ten days of ice water.
Ten days of an outside port-o-john.
Ten days of thank yous.
Eight days of Travis taking Leroy to his parents.
Six days of wondering why they told us four.
Five days of working from home.
Two days of doughnuts.
One pair of pants.
Resolves to a gorgeous new roof!
~~~~~~
It's true, I am enamored with this piece of black metal \m/ aluminum, with the gritty coating on top and the radiant barrier underneath. I want to stare and caress her beauty, her uniformity, her protection. I didn't think I'd feel that way either; I hear the millennials collectively chanting basic, basic, basic... Don't care.
That's what struck me unexpectedly. As it morphed into a tangible thing, I became fascinated by my reaction. Certainly not like the first day of the truck backup, excitement overshadowed that by a linear foot. I wanted to see the progress throughout the day; I kinda wanted to learn; I gained an even larger appreciation for a days' labor. I wanted a sign with classic neon typeface buzzing the evolution of seeing today realized, where this much needed necessity was hard at work, keeping us both fashionable and safe.
~~~~~
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Construction Junction: Home Wasn't Built In A Day
What a difference 24 hours can make, yo.
Last Monday with honors, I received my first for reals construction experience badge! Even though there was no time to go jogging, which has been my wonderful, stress-reducing morning routine for a while now, I was ecstatic! I was at ease, I was actually looking forward to the clunky noises because it meant it was all happening! We were starting off the week with a 3.5 year "to do" come to light; stoked over the moon, I tells ya.
The original plan was for a family friend, who is also a contractor, to cut back part of an overhang before our new black metal \m/ roof goes on. It was part aesthetics, part structural. At the same time, the roofers were supposed to lop off the unkempt, crusty hair that had seen one too many nights out. But a few hours into the overhang work, I found out they wouldn't be partying with us that day.
drats.
Maybe it was for the best. John could work uninterrupted and truly prepare a great new accessory for her future metal \m/ outfit. It was loud, although not an immense amount of work, so it was a solid introduction for something I'd never been through. I could handle the rest of the job like a champ.
~~~~~
Tuesday, 6am:
I peacefully jogged a couple miles, prepared the crews' ice water, then got the entire family ready for puppy park play.
Tuesday, 7am arrived outta nowhere:
The previous days' positive wafty feeling was still lingering, just starting to burn off like a post rain. Even had that familiar sweet & slightly tart smell, thanks to the "hasn't been exposed in nearly 30 years" wood. As the Clark trio headed towards the door, I optimistically envisioned Day 2 would be very similar to the events of Day 1; I mean how could it be much different? But the front door knock changed that: the loppers were here.
Whether it was the earlier than expected arrival time or it being someone we didn't know, I put a roll of quarters into the anxious machine and hit jackpot. There was no introduction, no hey this is my crew for today, it was a blunt can you move your car so the big ass truck can back in. What happened to the me from yesterday? What happened to my tough guy exterior who was looking forward to this? Did that mean I had to give my badge back?
I did as requested, still trying to figure out why all these emotions were suddenly flaring up. After moving the car and going back inside to see Travis, we agreed I would take Leroy to the park and he would stay in case the guys needed anything. Plus make breakfast, which was super sweet.
While the lopping crew got straight to work and they became prospectively smaller to my rear, I ran through various scenarios for why the change of heart. I wanted them there, but felt tense. I trusted the company we hired, but felt inundated. why? The only word I kept visualizing was personal. I tried to shake it off while at the park because I didn't want to ignore our friends or become distracted from Leroy. But it kept plucking at my nerve core. Could I handle this?
Construction is a very personal experience. I realized this even before we finalized the purchase of the house, although I had no context for what it meant at the time. When the sellers brought in people to complete a list of repairs, I kinda jokey / kinda seriously thought this is ours now and I don't know you. please leave, dudes. I remember standing in the kitchen watching them work outside. Not even inside! and thinking well shit, this is new. Then they left and all was right again.
And when the occasional minor upkeep is needed, say a plumber, we choose who is allowed over. We're initiating the contact, not a faceless voice behind a desk. So it's like we've already gone through the mental checking of the short term relationship and agreed (fingers crossed) it works out.
Later in the day:
I was still adjusting to the barrage of everything, when I noticed we'd forgotten to move some vegetable pots in the back. The peppers & basil had been doing so well, the last thing should be for them to get damaged because of this crumbly, old hag. As I was dragging them to safety, some being way heavier than others, a crew fella standing above me near a pile of busted tiles offered to help. I smiled & declined because I was nearly done, but almost instantly the edge of the past few hours began to recede.
~~~~~
Here we are:
Therapy has illustrated connections are very important to me, even associative ones. And since exchanging vegetable-eyes, there has been no remnants for what I experienced that Tuesday morning. I can't convey how rad it is without sounding repetitive, so trust me. There was even a crew change and STILL the delight of the new metal \m/ roof supersedes.
I'm fascinated, in theory, that a simple introduction, interaction between two humans is all it takes to secure the bond between client and doer? I guess it does for lady Clark because I can breathe a little lighter these days...
Last Monday with honors, I received my first for reals construction experience badge! Even though there was no time to go jogging, which has been my wonderful, stress-reducing morning routine for a while now, I was ecstatic! I was at ease, I was actually looking forward to the clunky noises because it meant it was all happening! We were starting off the week with a 3.5 year "to do" come to light; stoked over the moon, I tells ya.
The original plan was for a family friend, who is also a contractor, to cut back part of an overhang before our new black metal \m/ roof goes on. It was part aesthetics, part structural. At the same time, the roofers were supposed to lop off the unkempt, crusty hair that had seen one too many nights out. But a few hours into the overhang work, I found out they wouldn't be partying with us that day.
drats.
Maybe it was for the best. John could work uninterrupted and truly prepare a great new accessory for her future metal \m/ outfit. It was loud, although not an immense amount of work, so it was a solid introduction for something I'd never been through. I could handle the rest of the job like a champ.
Tuesday, 6am:
I peacefully jogged a couple miles, prepared the crews' ice water, then got the entire family ready for puppy park play.
Tuesday, 7am arrived outta nowhere:
The previous days' positive wafty feeling was still lingering, just starting to burn off like a post rain. Even had that familiar sweet & slightly tart smell, thanks to the "hasn't been exposed in nearly 30 years" wood. As the Clark trio headed towards the door, I optimistically envisioned Day 2 would be very similar to the events of Day 1; I mean how could it be much different? But the front door knock changed that: the loppers were here.
Whether it was the earlier than expected arrival time or it being someone we didn't know, I put a roll of quarters into the anxious machine and hit jackpot. There was no introduction, no hey this is my crew for today, it was a blunt can you move your car so the big ass truck can back in. What happened to the me from yesterday? What happened to my tough guy exterior who was looking forward to this? Did that mean I had to give my badge back?
I did as requested, still trying to figure out why all these emotions were suddenly flaring up. After moving the car and going back inside to see Travis, we agreed I would take Leroy to the park and he would stay in case the guys needed anything. Plus make breakfast, which was super sweet.
While the lopping crew got straight to work and they became prospectively smaller to my rear, I ran through various scenarios for why the change of heart. I wanted them there, but felt tense. I trusted the company we hired, but felt inundated. why? The only word I kept visualizing was personal. I tried to shake it off while at the park because I didn't want to ignore our friends or become distracted from Leroy. But it kept plucking at my nerve core. Could I handle this?
Construction is a very personal experience. I realized this even before we finalized the purchase of the house, although I had no context for what it meant at the time. When the sellers brought in people to complete a list of repairs, I kinda jokey / kinda seriously thought this is ours now and I don't know you. please leave, dudes. I remember standing in the kitchen watching them work outside. Not even inside! and thinking well shit, this is new. Then they left and all was right again.
And when the occasional minor upkeep is needed, say a plumber, we choose who is allowed over. We're initiating the contact, not a faceless voice behind a desk. So it's like we've already gone through the mental checking of the short term relationship and agreed (fingers crossed) it works out.
Later in the day:
I was still adjusting to the barrage of everything, when I noticed we'd forgotten to move some vegetable pots in the back. The peppers & basil had been doing so well, the last thing should be for them to get damaged because of this crumbly, old hag. As I was dragging them to safety, some being way heavier than others, a crew fella standing above me near a pile of busted tiles offered to help. I smiled & declined because I was nearly done, but almost instantly the edge of the past few hours began to recede.
~~~~~
Here we are:
Therapy has illustrated connections are very important to me, even associative ones. And since exchanging vegetable-eyes, there has been no remnants for what I experienced that Tuesday morning. I can't convey how rad it is without sounding repetitive, so trust me. There was even a crew change and STILL the delight of the new metal \m/ roof supersedes.
I'm fascinated, in theory, that a simple introduction, interaction between two humans is all it takes to secure the bond between client and doer? I guess it does for lady Clark because I can breathe a little lighter these days...
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