Is that boring, or what? Isn’t it funny that the parts of life that are the best often make the dullest reading?<\/p>\n
Boy and girl meet and never have a moment’s discord. Who wants to read that? Towering couple screaming at each other as if they were actors in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?<\/em> Couple being pulled separately through the gates of hell. That’s what we like. Even oil-and-water rom-com cuties finding their way through dating mishaps to True Love.<\/p>\n The good stuff is boooooooring. War stories. Murder mysteries. Tragic or violent family sagas. That’s what we really like.<\/p>\n But today? Today was merely a simple, quiet, sunshiny day. And I’ll take it.<\/p>\n —–<\/p>\n Today was a no-work day. Well, no work on the house. Last week’s plunge into Great Project, Phase II went deeper than I’d hoped. Don’t they always? Everything was doable. It’s coming together. But there were many glitches and head scratches. And so instead of the three or four days we’d hoped, it’s gone to six and tomorrow should wrap up at seven. So it goes. <\/p>\n But today, because of The Wandering Monk’s schedule, was a day off from slave labor.<\/p>\n Anyhow, these have not been eight-hour days. Several have been five and the longest was 6-1\/2. I have to give the Monk credit. When he’s “on,” he is really, really, really on. I have never worked with anyone who’s his equal in the combination of skills and smarts. Several times he has saved me from some terrible mistake by spotting a problem I’d missed.<\/p>\n On the other hand, when he’s off, he plunges waaaaay off the rails. While chugging over a ravine. In the Amazon jungle. Where there are cannibals. If he gets tired or something goes wrong and he gets flustered, he’s useless. And he doesn’t easily come back from that state.<\/p>\n So I give him credit for learning to pace himself and recognize when “that state” is coming on. I referred to him before as being OCD. A commenter chided me for applying an overused and stereotyped judgment term. But that’s the Monk’s term for himself. When he’s not with it, he’ll fixate on some tiny little thing (say, a floor still being an inch out of level even after we’ve been jacking a while), and suddenly you’d think the entire rest of the project was subsidiary to figuring out that one, single thing, even when it’s something I’d easily shrug my shoulders and live with. Or find some compromise for. <\/p>\n And in those moments, he can make serious mistakes, and when he’s made mistakes he can be upset with himself for days. He has to be pulled back from then mental brink. And then take a break.<\/p>\n I honor him for developing the self-awareness to recognize himself approaching that state.<\/p>\n Even if one late afternoon I guilted him into spending an extra 45 minutes taking the one last step that would make the difference between a happy client who brings him cake and a grouchy client who’ll be brooding all night.<\/p>\n Naw … I did not say that. He probably heard<\/em> it, though.<\/p>\n —–<\/p>\n And here’s a bit of Monk-related trivia. <\/p>\n He spent some time in the medical profession and has paramedic or EMT training, I’m not sure which. While we were working outside finishing foundation repairs, I caught him singing that aaaaaaaaancient BeeGees hit “Stayin’ Alive.”<\/p>\n “You must be a lot older than the 39 you told me,” I said.”No 39-year-old goes around singing that hoary elder, that relic of the caveman era of rock & roll.”<\/p>\n So he explained. In his training, they either were taught or informally came up with the idea of doing CPR to the rhythms of that song: “Ah – ah – ah -ah – stayin’ alive – ah – ah – ah …” or whatever it is they’re actually saying where I wrote “ah.”<\/p>\n It was one of two songs they used, he told me. I don’t recall the other. I still don’t know if it’s a widespread thing or just something they did. I wonder if our resident first responder or anyone who’s had first aid training might be able to tell us?<\/p>\n But ever since, I’ve had those BeeGees yammering in my head.<\/p>\n —–<\/p>\n It was a nice day today, though. I did catch up on digital chores. Of course. But except for dusting and washing dishes, I didn’t do any household drudgery. And I certainly did not swing a hammer, slice off a sheet of tar paper, or grumble over a single new discovery within the walls. <\/p>\n Ava enjoyed the day. I enjoyed it. If that bores you, you’ll just have to suck it up.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Is that boring, or what? Isn’t it funny that the parts of life that are the best often make the dullest reading? Boy and girl meet and never have a moment’s discord. Who wants to read that? Towering couple screaming at each other as if they were actors in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Couple being pulled separately through the gates of hell. That’s what we like. Even oil-and-water rom-com cuties finding their way through dating mishaps to True Love. The good stuff is boooooooring. War stories. Murder mysteries. Tragic or violent family sagas. That’s what we really like. But…<\/p>\n