I left for Mayne Island on Tuesday night, leaving behind a freshly-cleaned house and a huge roasting pan of Italian meatballs. I arrived at the cottage around 9:30pm. I looked around at what had been done but the lighting was poor and it was difficult to determine what I needed to do. I made a fire, drank a cup of tea, and read. The next morning I surveyed the work of our painter and understood why Lorenzo fired him. I can't describe how upsetting it was. The vertical wainscoting and window trim that had been meticulously installed was supposed to be cut-in with a narrow brush on all sides before painting. Our painter...let's call him "Dud"... made an absolute mess of it. He clearly has no idea how to use a paint brush. The corners were caked in blobs of paint. I could pick them off with my finger nail. The ceilings were only half done and badly at that, and there were long drip marks everywhere. I imagined him loading up his brush and just flinging paint around the room. Like Jackson Pollock.
I stood there in a state of shock and then I just sat on the floor feeling numb. I have never seen such a sloppy, careless, paint job in my life. A child could have done better. A toddler. A ferret...
Lovely, isn't it? These pictures don't begin to describe what the rooms look like...
I called Lorenzo and was a wreck describing the mess that had been left for us. He tried to calm me down, but I was feeling rage beginning to simmer. I cannot stand injustice, and the idea that we paid this ding-bat, paid him to cause damage to our home made me want to rail at the universe. I walked around the bedrooms glaring at his blatant incompetence and reached for my cell phone. My text to Dud turned into an essay. I demanded half of our money back, told him he did an appalling job, and basically released my outrage in a 500 word diatribe. Then I pressed "send". My missive took an entire hour to reach its destination. Still not sure what Dud's reaction was, if any.
It's a good thing I had no cell-phone reception because I was seized by an urge to call my husband and demand to know what he was doing while this dunder-head was wrecking our house. I don't think it would have been a wise decision. I would have heard something like this:
"I WAS DRINKING A MAI-TAI!" (*click*) The truth is, he was on a ladder running wire. Still, though....
That first day was the lowest moment in our cottage adventure. I sat on the sagging couch staring into the cold void of the wood stove feeling quite hopeless. And I had left one of my sons at home with a fever and that was playing on my mind as well. Spent an hour ruminating and plotting against Dud; scenarios involving eggs and other tools of revenge. The problem is, I hate to waste food, so the egg hurling idea was out...what else is there? Fire bombs? I decided I needed to get busy.
On his last trip, Lorenzo decided to fill in a bunch of spots in the bathroom (after I had painted it!) and the walls looked like they'd been sprayed with machine-gun fire. White blobs of filler all over the place. So I sanded it all out, slowly and carefully. Then I hauled the industrial vacuum up the stairs and tried to suck up all the dust. There was still a white film on the walls so I washed them down with warm water and vinegar. In a room that measures 6 by 11, this type of job entails bumping into walls, tripping over tools, emptying pots of water onto the lawn, your light goes out because the crappy extension cord gets jostled, etc. It's an exercise in complete frustration. That first day was the worst. We'd been happily thinking of names for our cottage, but at that point all I could come up with was "Another Hope Crushed" or "This Dump Is All We Could Afford." Welcome to stinky hollow...
Anyway, I re-painted the entire bathroom, touched up the ceiling, and was very pleased when I was done. That took all day.
Every time I go to Mayne Island I lose at least one pound. Why? Because I am spared the Tyranny of Dinner. For five days, I lived on fruit, tea, and one sandwich for dinner. It's all I need, and it explains why, prior to meeting Lorenzo, I was 25 pounds thinner than I am now. I blame it all on marriage. However, I digress...
Slept poorly the first night, woke up the next day and tackled my daughter's bedroom which received the bulk of Dud's stupidity. If our painter were living in medieval times, he would have been the village idiot. The scope of his ineptitude was mind-boggling. I had to chisel out every single corner to clean his gummy brushwork and I could only do so much; if I kept at it, I started to gouge the wood. Lorenzo suggested that I use his palm sander. But did he leave a fresh piece of sandpaper in it for me? No! I had to take it to Home Hardware and get the owner to do it. Back to the lonely cottage...sanding, scraping, chiseling... When you're alone for days on end, speaking to no one, your thoughts really get to roam free. At home contemplation is always interrupted, like a train that never leaves the station.
On Mayne Island I found my thoughts could weave and meander and it was very meditative. I thought a lot about my family and how awful it would be to live alone, to have no children. Away from the annoying habits of my three off-spring, I was able to see them through a more flattering filter. I felt tremendous love for them.
At one point I was listening to Joni Mitchell which made me think of my daughter, left alone in a house of testosterone. Just the thought of her makes my throat tighten; she is so precious to me. She is like the little engine that could. Born premature, isolated in an incubator for five terrifying days, struggling to swallow while her robust twin brother was the picture of health. How I marvel at what has become of my strong little fighter. She is an amazing artist, a lightening-fast award winning runner, smart, pretty, funny. She's kind and generous; she is capable and intuitive. She loves nature, animals, art, music. Everything seems effortless to her - what takes someone a month to understand takes her one day. And she writes songs and plays the guitar so beautifully. She's an old soul. So when Joni Mitchell's "The Circle Game" came on my stereo, I lost it. I'm alone in this dilapidated shack, rain pounding on the roof, standing on a wobbly chair painting the ceiling, and I've got tears pouring down my face. Pathetic, really. But I just love her so much - whoever ends up with her will be the luckiest man. I can't believe I created her...
She's a wonder to me...
And here is her little room, before and after...
The picture doesn't do the colour justice; it'a lovely butter colour...
* * * * *
So the days were somewhat weird for me. I was emotional, frustrated, moody...but there were moments of real joy. I staggered down to the kitchen to get a cup of tea and looked up to see a deer gazing at me through the window. We locked eyes for a long time, then she slowly ambled away, giving me a side-long glance in parting. So graceful and soft. Later on, she came back with a friend...
Lorenzo called at one point to let me know that Marcello the Bunny peed all over one of the beds. He did this the last time I left as well, so the events must be connected as he's completely trained. Lorenzo detailed what was involved: removing the duvet cover, washing the duvet, the sheets, the mattress pad, etc. Who would think that a little ball of fluff can generate 3 hours of laundry? We're going away at Christmas and my cousin Shannon has bravely agreed to take on my annoying pets for twelve days. I think Marcello might have to be stuffed in a cage...sniff...
The evenings were the same: sandwich, tea, fire going. I watched "Practical Magic" which is one of my favourite movies of all time. The house in the movie is my dream home - perched high on a bluff overlooking the sea, surrounded by flower and herb gardens. The kitchen is jaw dropping. I kept pausing the film to drool over the interior...best movie house I've ever seen.
This film is quite silly, but it stirs something in me that is hard to describe. It makes me want to live in an old Victorian house where I could spend my days puttering around the gardens in long skirts, weaving spells, making potions.. It's a film that makes me glad that I'm a woman. If you haven't seen this movie, you should. Lorenzo loves it too. He has a crush on Sandra Bullock...
The next day, I began priming the wood in the upper hallway and stairwell. Lorenzo suggested that I use his ladder. It's an old wooden contraption that weighs 300 pounds. I lugged it up the stairs, only to realize that it was too big to be of any use. Even though I was only able to prime two-thirds of the wood, the change is dramatic. No longer is the stairwell a dark and gloomy passageway. Now it is light-filled and seems to have expanded...
By Friday I started getting texts from Lorenzo.."are you ever coming home?" "I'm lonely lonely lonely!" I told him I was leaving on the Saturday morning ferry. He replied, "Yaay! Yaay! Yaaaaaaayyyyyy!" I had a good laugh. The last night at the cottage I was so tired. I marvel at my husband - he has a tremendous amount of energy. I don't know how he does it.
So, I'm home. Lorenzo was so happy to see me - ran outside and gave me a big bear hug. The dog was freaking out, running in circles. The kids said how glad they were to see me and then took off with their friends. Even Marcello the bunny popped his head out to give me look...
The house looked nice, the laundry was done, and there was a pot of tea waiting for me on the stove.
Life is good.
Appreciate everyone you love while they are here, because all of this is temporary...
No comments:
Post a Comment