A long “note”

Week six

When last we spoke, I had nearly been bested by a lighting fixture. At which time the urging of those closest to me to slow down (or God forbid stop) increased to near insistantance. Leading this campaign are my Wife and my Daughter. This week was, in a lot of ways, an extension of last week. The pace is the same, at least in my mind it is, and there is much to report.

The electrical inspection is in the books, followed closely by the plumbing rough in (vent stacks are in and run through the roof as well as water lines from the mechanical room to their designated locations. Cable, internet, something called Cat-5 wire and gas lines are all in place. All of this was done after work during the week to clear the way for drywall on Saturday and also Sunday if needed (spoiler alert- it was needed).

Which brings me to the meat of this week's post.

Saturday saw a lot of familiar faces on the farm; Owen and Emmett Kruse, Andrew Schaefer and Landes Williams. I even stole one of Elton’s guys for the day to ensure certain victory. I had all the material delivered during the week so we could run full tilt and trim starting first thing Saturday morning.

The day started as scheduled, 8am, and 11 hours later, with darkness falling we emerged from the house with all the ceilings drywall hung and only half the walls done.

What happened? Glad you asked. I could not find my rhythm. It was like I was moving in slow motion, small manageable tasks became huge roadblocks. My ability to motivate and entertain the crew was equally disappointing. In fairly short order my funk was affecting everyone.

Remember a few posts ago when I talked about “building fence” and how it was a time when I could lose myself in the physicality of a task and let my mind work through whatever the issue of the day was? Well, the problem with this whole getting older thing is, I know better than to attempt what I used to do (like build a house in 90 days) alone. So I bring in help, really good help, but in doing so I feel the need to play the clown and be “on” the entire time. Which has the exact opposite effect of building fence. I end up drained, both physically and mentally.

After surrendering to the will of the group and calling it a day. I decided that a smaller group on Sunday would be easier to manage and more efficient so it was Owen, Andrew and Myself on Sunday. Smaller crew, similar result. I sent them home at noon and set my shoulders for what looked to be another late night at the house.

Then it happened, my phone rang and it’s my daughter. This will surely shine a light on an otherwise lackluster weekend, right? Wrong. My favorite quote from the conversation was when she said “ I’m not impressed with how fast you can build a house.”

Taken out of context that sounds harsh. In context it was equally abrasive to my ears. But it was said with the utmost concern and love.... I think.

Carissa, my daughter, has a very direct, tell it like it is approach to things (I wonder where she gets that from). What she proceeded to tell me was she knows I can build efficiently but what would really impress her would be if I put a higher value on my health. To consider what shape my body will be in when there are grandkids that want to play with Grandpa. That one hit me right in the feels. To consider what retirement will look like if I keep abusing my body like this. My initial response, if only in my head went something like;

“And as soon as someone provides me with a daily schedule that maps out how this house gets finished before the deadline and allows me to take days off and quit when I get frustrated I’ll gladly downshift into a slower gear. But I don’t see anyone offering a better playbook for me to use, so I guess I’ll let you go and get back to work.”

But the conversation had the effect Carissa knew it would. A seed was planted and the rest of this post is the fruit of that perfectly timed planting.

I am not a quitter.... But there is a difference between quitting and resting. As I wrestle with the concept of “self-care” which sounds very wimpy to me. I’m reminded of a conversation I had with a newly found friend of mine, Issac Steffensmeier. He asked me if I could read music and went on to describe the function of different notes, a quarter note, half note, etc.

“Imagine how unpleasant a song would be if you only used a single note.”

That’s how I’ve been operating. One singular focus, one all consuming objective. 43 days without a break. 43 days since I’ve slept in. 43 days holding a single note.

I’m tired.

But it’s a temporary situation and in the end, which is not that far away, the discomfort will be an insignificant footnote in the story of how the house came to be. The fact that we did it in 90 days (or less) and what I learned about myself along the way will be the story I tell those grandkids Carissa spoke about this weekend.... Oh what a beautiful song that will be.