Don't Push the River

Fritz Perls had a saying: Don't push the river, it flows by itself. I'm taking his advice.

When the remodel adventure began back on June 18, contractor Roni promised the job would be completed by July 14; "Maybe even before Fourth of July," he had said, but I knew that was probably unrealistic. And it was.

Here it is, Aug. 3, and the painters are still touching up work they've done. There are just a handful of things left to do, and it seems like it's taking forever to get them finished. Roni is quickly failing his goal of me referring everyone to him because he's so good at what he does and I was so happy with the remodel experience.

The problem. Miguel has remedied it.

It's Sunday and Carmen and Miguel are here, doing the final paint fixes. They were upset because when I called Ronnie on Thursday to explain that Miguel had plastered the pendant light's faceplate into the kitchen ceiling, making it impossible to get the screws out. I requested that either he or Sam be here to explain to Miguel what he needed to do.

Roni never called me back. Instead, he called their boss (his subcontractor) who then called Carmen and yelled at her because I was upset (according to her, she hung up on him when he started spewing the F word). In any case, they thought I was angry with them when my real irritation is the lack or organization and management of the job.

In all this, I am coming to the conclusion that Miguel, while a sterling fellow, is not terribly bright; that fact, combined with the breakdown in bilingual communications, has caused the major headaches and goofs on this job. Once he understands the situation and what is being requested, he goes out of his way to do the right things and do them well.

These are the folks who have been working their butts off on this job. They are pressuring me to come in on weekend days to do the extra work to get the job done. It's all flowing in its own time, and freaking about about it won't change the situation.

I just want to get the job done. It's very disruptive to everything I have to accomplish (which in itself is also inherently disruptive) in getting the house ready to show and my stuff ready for storage and moving. I simply have to have people stop coming through and taking over the house. I need time to
clean and pack items not included in the home staging, and still I run across things every now and then that set off emotional bombs for me. The process needs time and patience and privacy.

I really have to process my feelings about each item. It reminds me of the end of "Torch Song Trilogy," when Harvey Fierstein embraces an object from each of the people he loves/has loved. I imagine needing to do that with an item: does it feel weird or natural? Is this something that will comfort me in days to come, or is it simply more leftovers of Steve and my life with him that need to be left in the past?

Certainly I have to keep some things to remind me of Steve, but an item or two, things that bring a smile to my face even now. He should be happy enough that I'm dragging his cremains halfway across the continent with me; that's as much a reminder as anyone needs.

The days have been hot and muggy. A high-pressure dome sitting over the four-corners region circulates clockwise, pulling up lots of tropical storm remnants from the Gulf of Mexico and dumping all that moisture into the Southwest. It's been sprinkling off and on since about 11 o'clock last night, but the skies are starting to clear this afternoon. It by no means relieved the  current drought.

I've been training Patty (the cat) to go out with me and spend time on the patio. She appreciates the outside space (which has a 6-foot privacy fence around it), and has come to enjoy it. She goes out when I go out, and she comes back in when I do. That last part took a couple of tries to get understood, but now she's the first one to hop though the door when it's time to go inside, almost like a compliant dog. But this rain has thrown her for a loop.

We were on the patio last night when it started raining; barely sprinkling, just a couple drops on the ground. Patty was sitting near the door, waiting to go in when she jumped like she had been electrocuted: a raindrop had fallen on her. She looked around in alarm and jumped again as another made a direct hit on top of her head. All of a sudden, she's pawing at the door, yowling to get inside. I let her in, and she sat and watched me outside and the rain falling (of course, I was under the umbrella).

Saturday I drove down to Irvine to visit Jessie and see her new place. All I can say is it's all very Irvine. (For those of you who don't know, Irvine is a planned community south of Santa Ana in Orange County: think "The Stepford Wives" meets "Poltergeist".) Jessie's place is in a warren of apartment buildings (a single development) with serpentine access, both via car and on foot, to the hundreds of apartments designed like boxes that don't look like boxes.

Birthday cookies!

I'm being a little unfair now, but it's odd to see my best bohemian friend (BBF) in such button-down surroundings. At present she's feeling the pressure of everything being new and strange. Although she'll pull through the culture shock soon enough, I could tell she really appreciated a visit from a an old friend.

And she gave me a birthday present (well, a couple, actually). First was a framed photo of her and me at Andy's Diner. Second was two tubs filled with homemade cookies (enough to bathe in, I commented via text.) When I opened the tub, I took this picture and texted it to her. Her reply: "Blogtime!" So I have included it here to scoop her on this mundane publication of idiocy.

This longterm disruption of the home has really thrown my routine (such as it was) for a loop, and there are things that need to get done, calls that need to be made, and I don't have any real battle plan to get it all back to a cycle. So I'm reduced to picking up the loose ends as I see them dangle and hope that I don't forget anything—or anyone—important.