Like The Forest or A Gameshow :: A Cage, The Keepers and The Cuts

aka the Beauty and the Beast . . . and, well, a few other things . . . like a Show

After ten years of homeownership, it is a sound that I have grown quite accustomed to . . . . Rrahhhwonoonnnnn . . . ting!

Kinda like a rooster’s crow (you know, down here on the farm); and that’s the sound of a circular saw. From the north, south, east or west – truthfully — it’s usually quite in determinant . . . but the call comes, most weekend mornings . . . from somewhere, here . . . in the ‘hood.

And maybe this is a sound you hear . . .*errmmmm* in your neck of the woods.  But I know it well, I mean — we have paid for it. In fact, it has come with every house we have ever owned (and that’s only four total . . . now).  We have bought into our neighborhoods.  And here . . . where there are many old houses, the renovation activity is, well, performed.

And this is a sound too that I have contributed to quite frequently.  Rrahhhwonoonnnnn . . . ting! — the saw cut (and I just like typing it) intermingles with the whacks of the hammers and the occasional high-pitched squeal of a hammer drill, a plunge router or some other rotary-type tool.

. . . Most weekend mornings, of course – this is when the work gets done . . .  or maybe it is just me, here, standing in the trees . . . and able just then to hear it. It makes like a symphony sometimes, but at others, though . . . it seems more like a gameshow.

“Name, That, Toollllll! . . . .”  and I have actually gotten quite good with it.  Too bad for the contestant (me) no chance of winning prizes.

And still sometimes, you see, these sounds too can cut.  And on those days, I had one just this past weekend — I was confined early to playing dad. Later . . . I would be assigned to the hazardous material (lead paint) clean-up crew, and yeah – it was me . . . working alone.

And while I enjoyed my time, and more than any gameshow — it, for me, makes like some such call of the wild. A rally cry (maybe) — Get out! my little foreman barks . . . “and get it done . . . .”

I mean – on weekend days that I cannot work, you know, really work . . . with power tools and such – it’s easy at first, but it gently works its way in — those sounds just eat at me (simile:) like a drill bit boring right into my brain . . . and I guess it is simply how I am wired . . . to think and to do.

Are there others like me? These mornings like an elephant that has spent a week and way too much time on things meant to entertain the paying guests . . . but then trapped there, held up inside — left to circle in my cage.

I have said it frequently and I have even created a tag for it  >> in the cloud . . . My Life is a Home Project.  And this itself, an idea that I have tried to elucidate on at least two occasions recently – the house, our houses are simply a microcosm of life itself. No?

I could go on to develop a rough sketch around Maslov’s needs or to provide an extended description around the human body, used to support it all –  but I won’t.  The point though, decidedly . . . for this . . . and maybe for you too — as the house, and my work on it, goes, so do I . . . sounds, silence, show, and all.

And it seems recently that these sounds, billowing out from around the neighborhood, make more like a hyena’s laugh . . . me in my cage, a onetime fortress of something or other (and yeah I do like Spiderman more, but he doesn’t have an awesomely named pad).

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It’s odd to think that this actually started out as a post about Barry & I working on my house together (maybe next time).

Thanks for reading and BMoxie BMore!