Sistering

My dad worked in construction. His English was really limited, yet somehow a lot of the construction words have made their way into my lexicon, and they are familiar to me. My very favourite of all the words is "sistering" - a term I've become intimately acquainted with over the past week.

When a beam or joist becomes old or otherwise weakened, another, new beam or joist is fastened to it to strengthen it.

As I was telling the girls about the work that needed to be done to the bathroom floor before any of the bathroom could be put back together, I explained the term to them. The metaphor is so apt and beautiful that I expected them to have the same experience of it as I had: one of wonder and understanding of the precious relationship between two girls. They shrugged it off a bit, as though it was a no-brainer: of course if your sister needs you, you'll be there to hold her up. D-uh.

Then I experienced it myself this weekend, not with real sisters - I don't have any - but with family of a different sort. While I was pretty happy with whatever state the house would be in when I moved, I was running out of steam. I was weakened and more than a little tired. And in what I can only describe as a whirlwind of love, friends came and swept through the house, seemingly leaving no to-do task undone. Those lovely people fastened themselves to me and made me stronger and helped me to keep holding on.

In less than 48 hours, all of the wood trim on the main floor was scrubbed (no mean feat!), almost my entire house got painted (two coats, thank you), trim was replaced on three walls, four rooms had their flooring scraped and removed, all of the garbage in my house and garage was taken away, many awkward or fragile items were moved to the new place, a new platform for my washer and dryer was built and secured to my ridiculously crooked basement floor, and a beautiful walk-in closet system was built (not assembled; built from scratch).

Today, the house is inaccessible because the floors are being sanded and refinished over the next three days. Yet I am at peace with it. The house is ready for us. Thanks to sistering. I'm still tired, but boy am I strong.

surprise!

I kept waiting for it. I've never undertaken a big reno (never mind a whole bunch at the same time!), but I knew that there would be unexpected surprises. Like mould in the walls.  Or knob and tube where you thought you had updated electrical. Or a wall that just could not be moved.

Until today, everything had been going pretty smoothly. The timelines on a few things, mostly the replastering, were slipping a bit, but nothing to be alarmed about. And the electrician had made more holes and been a little rougher with my old walls than expected, so my contractor/plasterer had more work to complete than expected. But it was all under control, and nothing really out of the ordinary.

Tonight, I went to see the house and was rather annoyed that the subfloor in the bathroom still wasn't in. This is one of those things that just kept slipping; it was supposed to start a week ago Monday, then the Thursday, then the Saturday, then this Monday, then yesterday… And still, tonight, it wasn't done. Before I could call my contractor, he gave me a call.

He sounded the way your mom sounds when she calls to tell you your uncle is in the hospital in critical condition. Literally, my first thought when he said, "well, things aren't great" was that he was sick - like really, really unwell. And I was worried about him.

It turns out that the joists in the floor in the bathroom are in really rough shape. One of them had been hacked away years ago when they put in or moved the plumbing for the toilet waste. My plumber had to cut away the rest of it to move the plumbing to an adequate spot. My contractor thought he'd be able to sister that one up and reinforce other parts, but it would seem that there's not much to hang onto in there. It doesn't help that the joists are two feet apart - not nearly up to today's code. So he's bringing in a heritage carpenter tomorrow to consult on what needs to be done. Most likely, they'll have to cut away about half of my kitchen ceiling to do the work.

My reaction: cool; that ceiling is a mess anyway. Now I'll have new drywall up there! Second thought: great; now I know the floor will be good and strong (it was a concern what with the really heavy tub, that is deep and thus can hold lots of heavy water).

I'm rolling my eyes a bit because I know it means that the tiling will definitely not all be done before we move in (the floor will be done, but probably not the walls), and it means more plaster dust and sawdust in the kitchen - just when I thought I'd seen the end of that.

But I am surprised at how calm I'm feeling. Zero anxiety. Some switch went off last weekend that made me realise that it doesn't all have to be done when I move in. I also realised that I like the process of all this - and yes, I may be crazy. So no need to rush it all. I don't want to live in a construction zone, but it's okay if I still have little jobs here and there over the coming months to make it just the way I want it. There is time.

Meanwhile, my light fixtures were installed this week. They are beautiful. And they make the house look amazing. As I stood in my half-painted (and thus totally garish) kitchen this evening, I actually wept with joy. This house really is going to be beautiful. And it feels like home. For the very first time, today it feels like home.

This is going to be good. Surprises and all.

to have and to hold

If I were the type to dole out unsolicited advice - and who am I fooling, I am - I would tell anyone who would listen that it's ill-advised to start up a new job while single. It is much worse if that new job comes after voluntarily leaving a job you had for more than half a decade, a job you happened to have loved. Because you will get home every evening that first week, and there will be no partner to talk to about it. No one to convince you that you made the right move, to remind you why you left in the first place, to tell you that you rock.

You will miss your colleagues who became friends, colleagues you relied on to share a quick bitch session with and move on from the doldrums and laugh off whatever absurdity has befallen you; if you work in government, there are many, many absurdities. These are the moments that coming home to your spouse, to someone who will simply hold you, get you through the tough spots. Yes, you miss those people, but here are a pair of arms to hold you, a comfy shoulder to cry on, and eager ear to listen.

That's the stuff I miss. I miss hugs from someone who weighs more than 75 lbs. Someone who can listen and actually understand what I'm saying. Someone for whom I'm not entirely responsible. Someone who can carry me a bit in the rough patches.

I have friends - and they are great. And they have supported me through a lot these two years. And have been there for me and with me through the insanity of my renos (and continue to support me). But it's just not the same when you come home to an empty house, or to two little kids who need you to be on. I'm running out of energy to be on. I just want someone to have and to hold right now.

change

I used to think I hated change. Maybe I did. Goodness knows I had enough change as a child: my brother moved out when I was three, my dad got really sick when I was six and died when I was 13. Friends moved away - and I was never really good at making friends. There were lots of changes and lots of goodbyes.

I am going through a whole lot of change these days. The divorce is on its way to being final, I've bought a house that needs more transformation that the average resale home, and now I'm starting a new job. I told my best friend a few weeks ago that I hate change. She laughed in my face.

"But you thrive in change."

I'd never really considered that. It's true, though. The work I prefer is high-intensity and constantly changing. I am always thinking of the next reno (even in my little rented house). And I am easily bored with routine.

Tomorrow, I start a new job. The responsibilities will be essentially the same as my previous job: manager of a team of seven or eight people, in public relations, in the government. But the files are new, the people are new, the culture is new, the processes are new. And I've heard that some things could use a bit of a shakeup and reorganization. I actually got excited about that part.

But with every new thing comes a goodbye to that which it is replacing.

I had a fabulous team at my previous job. I loved them, and I think the feeling was mutual. They are a bunch of professionals who excel at their job, who care, who put in effort. They are smart and funny and kind. Every one of them. I said goodbye to them on Friday. Not a final goodbye, of course, since I'll be seeing them again for sure, and I may even work with them in the future - this is a small town, and you never know who you might work with - or for - again. But goodbye to seeing them every day, to relying on them, to having them make me look good.

I'm a bit nervous about this next step. Fingers crossed that change really is good.

it still stings

Nearly two years in, the kids are still holding out hope. Maybe they will never stop.

Today in Sunday School, the lesson was about paradise. The kids were asked to list the things that would be in their paradise, and some even made a few drawings. Boo had a list consisting of "no violents," "more time with my hamster Henrietta" - just to name a couple. Then there was the drawing. There was little Henrietta with a big smile on her face, a great big tree in a beautiful field, and Mommy and Daddy were there. Holding hands. The Bean was more straight forward. Her list included "my Mom and Dad aren't divorced."

This afternoon, about half an hour before it was time for me to drop them off at Dad's, they both started complaining that they wanted more time with me. At one point, I told The Bean that I know how hard it is, and that I miss them more than anything when they aren't with me. Boo stormed out of her room and yelled at me: "That's not true. If you missed us, you would have tried harder." She meant, of course, that I would have simply made the marriage work, period. That I'd still be living with Dad.

I took them both by the hand and made them sit down with me right where we were - in the upstairs hallway. Boo wouldn't make eye contact.

"Listen. I won't take long to say this, but I need you to hear me," I waited for Boo to look up. "I DO miss you. And me and Dad not being together has nothing to do with that. At all. We worked hard, really, really hard. And..." My voice broke here. The Bean took my hand. "If I could have made it work so that I could be with you everyday, of course I would have done it."

Boo looked away, not quite satisfied. The Bean gave me a hug, wiped my tears.

Those are tough conversations. It hurts to think that they can imagine that I love them less than I do. I love them with every fibre of my self. And I can't be with their Dad. Those are two truths that coexist and that seem to be impossible for the kids to understand. I'm still working on it. I wish ... well, I'm not always sure what I wish. But I do wish that they were and are happy. That's all I really want for them.

faith, blessings, and God

I have had an up-and-down relationship with the divine. I grew up in an evangelical church, with the big feelings and the big faith. When I left home, I searched for something different. I fell into a beautiful family of faith: a liberal Anglican church full of love and acceptance.

But for a very long time, probably as long as my faith life itself, I have struggled with how to understand God - how do I conceptualize God? What or who, exactly, is God? I have allowed that to get in the way of actually having a relationship with God/the divine/the sacred. But I've never stopped having faith. I've never stopped thinking that God - whatever God is - is out there.

Over the past two years, I have had struggles. And during that time, I have had more blessings than I can count. Perfect strangers giving me furniture. Friends showing up at the exact right time for a conversation, a shoulder to cry on, or a pair of hands to help. Acquaintances simply sharing their experiences with me, that lifted me up and gave me hope.

Today, a friend came by to build a wall and insulate it; finally, the rebuilding in the house has begun. Another friend, with her husband, daughter and daughter's boyfriend, drove from out of town to pick up a fridge and stove I found used, and delivered them to my house; now I have appliances. The man who sold me the fridge and stove gave me some of my money back - simply out of generosity. I have more offers of help than I know what to do with some days.

And that's where I find God. Not out there, after all. But much, much closer. In the love. In the blessings. In the relationships.

So I believe. I have faith. I am truly blessed. And I thank God.