““Yeah, so I guess we have to move that outlet”, I continue, “now that the wood box is going there.” The electrician nods his head and gazes at the wall, without any histrionics. He’s already ten steps ahead of me, redesigning the previous wiring plan. I suppose electricians have to deal with seat-of-the-pants reversals from clients, ditto carpenters, almost every day of their working lives. It’s a skill, finding gracious ways of “going with the flow”, when new ideas get put into play. It’s just a job. At the end of the day, you get paid for the hours you put in. “And now that I see it, that outdoor light should be on this side of the door, not that side.” I’m on a roll. Might as well lay it all out. Just like with a mix, on the musical side of things, I do my best to anticipate factors beyond my control. A lousy drum EQ, a piss poor set of guitar strings, a hastily positioned microphone in front of the lead vocalist. I’m not a robot yet, nor a perfected being of light. But I will energize the worst of situations, and try to turn it around, with a dedicated zeal. Moving with interest across the newly installed pine floorboards, the electrician shows no signs of exasperation, and is relaxed. “So, we can either put a low-voltage transformer here, or maybe an outlet, if the sign has a plug.” he posited. “I don’t want to make more work for John, so we could go under the deck floor and try to fish it up there” he continues, pointing just beyond the French doors. We both stare, vaguely, at this other wall, wondering what the sign maker will bring to the table. He’d had to cancel his visit, due to heating issues, on what turned out to be the coldest day of the winter. His input, would be critical. But, in the meantime, we’re happy just to be looking at a building being brought to completion after two years of blood, sweat and tears. The sun pours in, as the soapstone stove hums its quiet mantra of warmth. “Quite an efficient envelope”, John had said, before he left for a day, giving a nod to the crew that had grunted and heaved, and thrown up the bones of the structure. Firing them had not been impulsive or easy. I’d finally reached my limit, exhausted and tired of living without my life. Camping on a construction site, alone, when they all left at the end of the day. Unable to get any commitment, as to when they’d return. My one chair that I sat in, was not enough, after months of sitting in it. My couch, an able bed, was barely comfortable. I breathed in construction dust, like it was my own, day in, day out. Okay, that’s just how it is sometimes, when you choose to soldier thru, holding onto a vision of what you want. Nobody else particularly wants it, not yet. But they will come to want it, to find refuge, and sanity. Refuge and sanity. A thing worked out by those who can put up with discomfort, who can hang out with chaos, until the confusion drops away, like a dead leaf. Which it will.”
