All day Saturday and on into the night, the wind blew. Trees rustled and shook the rain falling in sheets off their leaves. It whooshed and whipped about, hovering just below a whistle or a howl. Except for a short break when the sun and sky sweetly shone, it has rained since. It is still raining. On and on and on. The air feels moist. Traffic is snarled. The light is soft and muted and gray.
Downstairs, like the rain outside, the pounding has barely ceased. At least for the past couple of eight hour work days. The percussion section that has set up shop in my home is interesting, varied, loud. Drum. Glockenspiel. Crash symbol. Gong. Wood block. They are all included. Not very talented as musicians if you ask me, but there is an organic sound of work that I don't mind at all. I admit that I'm making the best of my imagination while hammer-claws rip off cabinets or boards, and pieces of wood, metal, tools or nails are dropped at erratic intervals. Bang, bang bang. Thud. Crash. Woosh. Bang. If they could just coordinate the sounds a bit during this demolition work, they might actually sound good together.
One of the workers decided to have a cigarette just inside the garage in order to stay safe and dry and out of the nasty elements. Tobacco smoke traveled up and through my open window, something my system doesn't tolerate well. I was trying to get a few things done and needed to go ask him to please move down the driveway. Nicely. Within a few minutes I had descended the stairs once again to let him know (nicely) that I was having a difficult time concentrating. Tunes blasting at outrageous decibels were coming from a portable stereo placed where a brown couch used to be. They didn't complement the sounds already echoing and bouncing off of the empty walls, ceiling and subfloor. "Sorry", I say. "You'll have to turn that off."
I in no way feel sorry for myself amidst this upheaval. Even during the jarring, unpredictable and discordant noises going on downstairs. Even after the reality of being relegated upstairs for a few weeks has set in (along with two dogs whose eyes ask how I could possibly allow any of this to go on). Even after the slight glitch that was discovered this morning (a noticeable 'dip' in the sub-floor), that needs to be fixed and will set us back a day and a few more dollars. Even after stepping into an uncovered vent, twisting my ankle, getting my foot stuck, frightening the pup and the contractor, breaking a nail and feeling slightly embarrassed.
I in no way feel sorry for myself. This is something I signed up for. Planned for. Saved money for. I am what caused this demolition to happen. (Well............Marc and I are.) Not a hurricane or a windstorm or a flood or a blizzard. We knew the date when parts of our home would be torn away, when they would be built back again and who would do it. It's a happy inconvenience at most, not a disaster.
Last week I wrote about Where I Live and a bit about preparing for this project. This was before mega-storm 'Sandy' demolished so much of the East Coast. Before so many were tossed about by life un-planned. Before they evacuated or became stranded. Before they lost many things......or everything. Before they found out that they needed to rebuild, but first needed to figure out where or when or how or who. To those affected by this recent disaster, those who were faced with the unexpected and with devastation...... my thoughts and prayers are with you.
Wishing you all peaceful days ahead.
Below is a link to #7 in my Empty Nest re-posts: On paying attention......On appreciating them for a whole bunch of reasons when they come home.