The hero of these past weeks has been my friend Martin. Generously, almost in defiance of our shared cynicism, he's climbed up and down ladders again and again. Even my attempt to drive a screw into his finger didn't disuade him. He's been squashed by a rolling helicopter and spit off by bucking motorcycles, but ask about pain and he'll hold up that finger.
No matter what the planet threw at us, we were out there. Less insightful carpenters would have just gotten it done, but with each piece of wood we'd share a story about life or a badly pounded nail. It was, to quote a friend, "The pillow talk of blunt trauma" as we persuaded each nail to do as we asked and sometimes begged. As we pondered how much gap to put between sheets of plywood, we found the meaning of this muddy life. I couldn't tell you what it was. We left it on the roof buried under curses, bruised knuckles and now shingles. How well do you think a monkey named Shakespeare would swing a hammer?
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't disappear into the sky.
Skilled amateurs we were. Amateurs they weren't. We'd fussed over those valleys. One board got the better of me and took five tries to get cut right and in place. Don't work when hungry. Don't work when you can't even convince with hammer and saw a piece of wood that you're in charge. What took us weeks, Juan and Arturo covered in a day with gloriously heavy gray wrapping paper. This will be the best christmas present I've ever gotten.
It looks fantastic.
Gone from the main space are the temporary supports. Spanning just above the wall are the rafter ties that will help keep the back wall from wandering. They'll be boxed in before the sheetrock goes up. I won't tell you how many times Martin and I moved them up and down and around before settling on their current position.The skylights were another subject of debate. I was right. They look great.
With the reworking and mistakes, there have been a few casualties.
Today, I begin the process of installing the windows.
