Ok . . . so where was I? . . . oh. yeah . . . was. just saying something along the lines of . . . home improvement is not really that far off from making life in miniature. But that really isn’t important here — big things happening on the farm (and not really that big, but I just like writing the phrase big things).  We are nearly into the kitchen project I have mentioned, in passing,  for several months . . . now.

And I had mentioned, too, hinted at even, and in passing that we (the fam) had been staying at my mother’s house — for a clip, while “a guy” worked on our exterior, and surely lead-infected . . . bad for young children, paint.  In other words, that time for the family . . . “away” was perfect too. to. do. messy interior demolition and the cutting of finished surface-type things.

Red Hot Chili Peppers Blood Sugar Sex Magik Cover image via artisena.com(about right here . . . hear the funky guitar)

And . . . did I mention that our kitchen has been half-finished for about 4 years now? (Oh. yeah. I have mentioned that . . . in previous posts.)  I myself have settled into that easiness, of its half-finishedness; my wife – well, not so much.

And I know, I know, I have said it before . . . this timeline really has allowed us to, well . . .  think things through . . . with it — and the decision had finally been made . . .  we would be cutting a passthru into the wall that divides the kitchen from our living room.

Now, of course, when b (aka Barry) heard of this, he offered his services and offered to make the trek up from the lower, slower Delaware shore.

And Probably about a good point to make myself clear:  While b and I email frequently, are on the phone talking biz (about twice a week), and have . . . even actually hung out. . . this, in fact, would be the first time that we would work (you know, like real work . . . with power tools and all) . . . together.

*errrrmm* (I love to feel your) stroke and splatter, I attest to your gray matter . . .

Now . . . this whole experience (working together), and this is really how my last post was meant to start, made me remember something from a little ways back.  About a year ago, the guys that ran theStanleyWorks social media presence (we were a little tight — we talked) popped a poll up on their Facebook page.

The Question: What kinda diyer are you? There were a few options, with only three that I actually recall right now — Option A: By the book,  Option B: Fly by the seat of your pants, Option C: I don’t do that, beeeeeecause (embellishment) I hire someone else to do everything around the house for me.

Now again . . . remember . . .  b and I, if anything, are a special breed of diyer.  He, after all, is a professional; he does this stuff for a living.  And me, after all, a one-time professional;  I used to do this stuff for a living.  But on looking beyond that, and as we got into it (you know, the work — and despite the obvious issue I have with this “do it yourself ” descriptive), my thoughts drifted, well, a little . . . to the  . . . East (and, you know, all the cool kids are doing that).

And you have heard me rant on it before (well a few of you might. have) I mean – the word improvement about says it all. The home, for me, is not much more than a process of perfecting, of learning, and applying acquired knowledge (translation: what we learn when we fuck up) to the things we do. moving forward.

*errrrrrm* (I add your love to. my claim), singing a song about what men don’t do . . .

And I remember just recently including this little bit to a friend in an email (and yeah, for the record — all of my posts are stripped right from the email communication I have).  Quote I have learned most everything I know in life the hard way. . . and it’s no different with the house stuff . . . .

And hey. it’s true, I usually have to do. something at least once to really know how to do. it.  And sometimes that first time can be for the good, and yeah, well, sometimes for the bad – and actually it’s kinda light, dark, white, black and so on . . . if you know what I mean, and it all just seems to balance out in the end.

And . . . Ok, Ok,  back to my wall —  the center bearing wall in the original 1889 farmhouse . . .  b, and his only 3 hours away as the van drives, distance from me – was there to help me . . . do. battle.

b and I worked to cut a “passthru” in the paneled and plastered wall. And let me tell you, like two eastern warriors with very distinct fighting styles – they really couldn’t be any more different — we worked.  b the silent grasshopper schooled in the ways of the flowing natural, and me the always-mumbling “ruzzen fruzen” (yeah, that one’s for you AFF) who studied under the fine masters of the Eastern, as in the Eastern High, school . . . you know, chopping “cmus” (that’s concrete masonry units) . . . with my head.

No, I am not really that barbaric, but I do mumble a lot and do often go about things quickly, almost all the while, providing (self-) commentary on how I could always work more efficiently.

It is in absolute contrast to b with his Sprinter, a rolling workshop, that he glides stealthy into and from.  His toolbelt (an Occidental) loaded with his Japanese carpenter’s knife, placed neatly next to his mechanical pencils, and his hammers from a maker I did not initially recognize — and they were Stilettos – to be exact . . . I asked.

. . . I know you’ve got a mother With a whole lot of love . . . (Chorus) (it’s a long Chorus) & (Outro)

He stands back and allows me to go about my bizness.  Under-prepared as I often am (because I dedicate *errrmmmm* why too much thought to, well, other things.)  Me and much as I am in life – I do my clank and jangle from the moment I hike my large-mouth toolbag out of  the basement . . . I plop it down and say, OK – I am gonna cut . . . ah . . . here.

And x marks the spot . . . this idea of constantly defining and redefining what is good enough.  What, as a craftsman, can be lived with . . . at any certain price point. b talked even this morning . . . before I had a chance to place these words . . . of the hour of “reflective” time he takes at the end of each day’s work . . . on any job. And how we ultimately do. our measuring.

Did you know . . . I mean — how cool is this? — he walks around and takes in what was accomplished in a given day from *all* angles . . . I mean — even from the outside, through windows and looking in.

. . . And did we do. just that on our day . . . together?  Nope, and despite the change in direction — sourced to the misses’ pop in at the job site . . . we got from point a to point b, and encountered only some issues along the way . . . we still not only made the cut, a passthru in the making,  but really. we had our way with it (or her) that time, together, and it was . . . delightful.

*******

Thanks for reading and a note on this post — it may seem a little ambitious, but hey if shows like True Blood can do it (you know, naming episodes after songs), why can’t I?  RHCP‘s straight up sexy “Mellowship Slinky in B Major” acted as the “Love Track”.  Here’s a link here, and don’t forget to expand out the lyrics >> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=StaAGRWQZaM. Out! jb


Wait! — I’ll point out that a reader recently asked why I do not have more images in my posts.  Answer: well, sometimes — I feel that pictures wouldn’t do the topic justice.  Nah, truth: just usually run out of time or can’t think far enough ahead to plan for the photos that I might want.  Thanks again & BMoxie BMore!