Yesterday I slipped easily from slumber early into the peaceful grey morning. Soft words were spoken over black coffee in the half light and then a muffled drive on unploughed roads to Parchment. There are no turns to make from my one house to the other; it’s effectively the same road, just a name change as it meanders north west.
The house was quiet and still, having rested over night from the cacophony of construction.
We are down to the studs and a revelation in how not to build a house has been declared. With 30 total combined doors and windows, not one has a structural header and the second floor ‘load bearing’ wall in the master bedroom is built like a house of cards.
In some ways I’m secretly pleased, but don’t tell the guys that. What this means (apart from a whole lot more money) is I have more time to ponder the ideas and fancies I have for the house. I have quickly learnt as soon as one job finishes another is ready to start and there can be no delay. I must be ready to say what I want. It’s one thing making style decisions for a photo set but when it comes to something as permanent as a house I get rather jittery. It’s all such a commitment. What if it’s wrong? Will I have regrets? Will this be the measure of me?
I guess I find the process of making decisions most comfortable by remaining fluid, until one simply cannot any longer. With my time up and having taken so many weeks to figure out a new door needed for the kitchen, I was at a point of relative despair. So many parameters seemed to come into play, each of them fighting for the highest compromise. But finally, yesterday in the quiet, still morning a solution came. It had actually been in front of me the whole time but in looking for the new I had failed to see something that was already there.
I’m learning, slowly, to pay attention to the things in shadow as much as in the light.