Construction Update 4: Keep on Moving

Tired is lodged between my shoulder blades. 

I pick a shovel and one scoop at a time close up the trench connecting the power from the shop to the shell of our house.

Seven hours later I shower and drive Adam to the airport.  He is mostly out of town for two weeks and I have no option but to keep moving.  Every day starts and ends with an impossibly long to do list.   

I am woken up Tuesday morning a semi load of insulation being dropped off at my curb.

 After work an (unbelievably kind) neighbor and I lug each giant bag of rock wool into the house and pile some in every room - down stairs and up the stairs – until my arms no longer can hug the bags to my chest.  Wednesday night we do the same, but when I try to bear hug the first bag insulation to me I find I can’t carry a single one on my own.  As we round up the corner of the stairs the first time a flutter catches my eye.  An owl is trapped against the window screen upstairs.  It must have flown in through the deck’s open sliding door.   I slowly move close to the frantic bird, opened the screen, and it silently flies away. 

It must be a good omen.

A friend joins me on Thursday and Friday. We turn on the music and begin to open bag after bag of insulation and stuff it into the cavities of the house.  The itchy dust finding its way through gaps in our clothes.  The upstairs is done.  The downstairs is done.

All of Saturday I fill gaps.

Monday, I am in the rafters, stapling insulation stops into place and foaming gaps.  I am perched two stories above ground, my legs wrapped around the trusses. Hours later I look around and I feel defeated.  After dinner and bedtime books, I plug in the long cord of lights, turn up the music, and keep stapling. 

Tuesday, I go to work and try and keep up with the little things that have to happen to make life run smoothly.  I put away the clean dishes that have gathered on the counter.  I fold the piles of clean laundry that have taken over the little living space on our bus.  While the kids sleep behind the curtain, I tuck each thing where it belongs.   

Wednesday committee meetings are canceled and use that time to I run to the studio to try and get a few more mugs thrown and finished before I leave town.   By noon, I am back at the house, and lugging individual bats of rock wool up a ladder into the loft.  I count the bays, calculate the number of bats and climb up and down, up and down, up and down.  

The kids come home from school and a hoard of children bounces on the trampoline next door.  There is screaming and laughter until the sun starts going down and I can’t put of making dinner any longer.  I’m so close to being done, but, so not done.

Brightly colored ears of corn from our garden.  Planted too late, watered too little,
loved by the kiddos. 

In spite of having showered my neck itches as I walk to work.  The leaves on the trees are changing color: red and yellow against the backdrop of stubborn green.  

Adam comes home, a day and a half earlier than expected.  We briefly see each other as he stops by my office to check in.  “Here is the list of what needs to be done”, I say, “before Monday”. 

I fly to Pittsburgh on Sunday and part of me is looking forward to being able to just sit down, the other is trying not to panic:  I have to pay normal bills and construction invoices.   The HVAC guys are in and done on Monday.  Two inspections have to be passed before drywall can start on Tuesday. 

It has to be fine.