Like Laurel and Hardy, Level and Sturdy are comedians. It’s the kind of funny that sneaks up on you a couple of days later, when you look at the framing you took a break from and there they are, tangled in the ladder, looking bewildered but earnest. You take off your hat, scratch your head, waddle over to get the level, then come back with the tape measure.
New term: joist hanger. D’uh.
New level of understanding: nails push, screws pull.
Skil saws buck when your board binds the blade. Weight on one end fixes that. Sometimes.
Power tools are just obnoxiously loud. But I do love them.
In the end, comedy gets it done. Level and Sturdy get some well deserved down time before the next job. They use it to jump up and down on the 5×10 deck we muddled through together (it holds). I make the shelves fit, put my paint on the shelves and rig up a tarp so I can work there in the rain…
Which is not just rain, it’s a deluge so intense, heavy and long that the cat stares at me in increasing terror because time has stopped, there is no daytime any more. All there is or ever was or ever will be, is rain.
Rain makes a painting out of the water containers I use for painting. Rain drenches me to the bone in five seconds. Rain on wet west wind finds ways to come inside and under my brand new tarp ceiling, until I, yelling AAAAHHHH, go outside with vapour barrier and staple gun to block it. AAAAAHHH and NOOOO there’s not enough vapour barrier left to go all the way around.
Wet still, but less wet. I chuckle a slightly mad chuckle at my own heroics, then realize I’m seriously chilled.
Happily there are a few sticks of dry wood to burn, smirks Sturdy, and winks at Level. He means there’d be WAY more than that, if I’d been on the chainsawing and wood piling during the eight week drought we had. Never mind, it’s enough for a fire in the stove.
Cat is much happier with the edge taken off the damp, snores his boneless day-sleep on the white chair. I wrap myself in blankets and read.
L&S play cards and wait for the next gig.