Building a House

Sometimes I look at my soft pink hands and wonder where the calluses would be if I did real work. I know that supposedly with education comes the benefit of doing work that is less physically demanding. A move up to white collar, so to speak. But at the end of a day, or week, or year, I've punched on a keyboard and talked my voice hoarse over a phone. That's it. I don't even create very much paper. My paycheck is direct deposited and the stub is online. I use a debit card if I need it--for almost everything. There's no real feeling of doing a job, seeing a big pile turn into a little one or watching bricks become a wall. There's no cash in hand to signify work done. I feel very disconnected from the world around me.

Now, this week has been different. I am on vacation, and for the first few days I was by myself so I went shopping. Shopping therapy can do wonders for the old self-esteem, especially the day I bought a new pair of pants that were two sizes smaller than the ones I wore in. I've been working on losing weight all year and it was finally time to go buy new fall clothes. Yay! But then on Thursday and Friday, Sweetie was on vacation with me. So we had work to do.

In the spring, a friend of his had decided to retire. They were closing shop on a family run greenhouse business that had been in west Louisville for more than sixty years. During that time, the neighborhood surrounding the business had changed, and they were spending as much time and money on repairs from vandalism as they were making from produce. So the man sold most of the modern greenhouses, and planned to tear down the really old original buildings--except for the parts he gave to Sweetie. So all summer we have had a stack of lumber and panes of glass in the back yard, waiting for the chance to be assembled again in our little corner of the world. We got started Thursday.

It helps to know how Sweetie and I approach an issue. I see parts and I might read the directions, but I want to see pieces stuck together, and soon. Sweetie reads the instructions, lays out all the pieces, measures everything, surveys the site, measures again, makes a template...to the point where I have gone back in the house to check my email. I am not complaining--if he didn't have patience there would be a lot more broken stuff around the house. But I have enjoyed being the hammer holder, and the putty scraper, and the old nail puller outer. He is the designer and assembler. We understand our roles and there is no friction. We worked together the better part of Thursday without any complaints and very little conversation. We had a job to do.

It's now Saturday night. Tomorrow I have been promised brunch at the Bristol (never leave Louisville without having Sunday brunch at the Bristol) and then we will come home, change into our scrappy jeans, and assemble the roof. After that, it's painting. Then we put in the glass and glaze. I am going to have a vintage, wood and glass greenhouse in the backyard. And if I can't grow anything after a few years, I am going to move for a hot tub. But until then I will try some herbs and petunias and ferns and maybe some lemon thyme for the ground in front between the paver stones. Then we will have a pleasant place to sip tea and eat crumpets and be very Victorian. Sweetie likes Victorian.

It won't be finished for weeks, but we have started. I got a real splinter, and my fingertips are tough and a bit scratchy. I know, the soft little girl actually did some work. But I loved it.